Signed to Obey

the temptation

Cassian’s POV

The restaurant was a cage of velvet and gold, all soft lighting and softer lies.

I didn’t choose it. Clarissa did.

She always picked places like this—where the air smelled of old money and the waiters moved like ghosts, trained to disappear. It was her stage, and she played it well.

I sat at a corner table, the kind that screamed private without needing a sign. My scotch sat untouched, the ice melting into a pool of defiance against my restraint.

Clarissa was late. Deliberately, no doubt. She liked to make entrances, to pull focus like a spotlight was her birthright.

Three months.

That’s how long Eden had been in my life—a thorn in my carefully ordered world. Three months of her sharp tongue, her reckless defiance, her refusal to fade into the background like I’d planned.

And now, Clarissa—another variable I thought I’d eliminated—was demanding my attention.

The door swung open, and there she was.

Emerald dress, tight enough to be a second skin, her platinum hair cascading like it was scripted. She didn’t walk; she glided, every step a performance. Heads turned. Whispers followed. She thrived on it.

“Cassian,” she purred, sliding into the seat across from me like she belonged there. Her perfume hit me first—floral, expensive, cloying.

“You’re a hard man to pin down.”

“I don’t like being pinned,” I said, voice flat, eyes fixed on her. “What do you want, Clarissa?”

She smiled, slow and deliberate, leaning forward just enough to make her neckline a suggestion.

“Straight to the point. I always liked that about you.”

“You don’t know me well enough to like anything.”

Her laugh was soft, practiced, like she’d rehearsed it in a mirror. “Oh, I know you better than you think. And I know you’re not happy with… her.”

Eden’s face flashed in my mind—those sharp eyes, that smirk that cut deeper than it should.

I pushed it away. “You don’t get to talk about her.”

Clarissa’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes sharpened, like a predator scenting weakness.

“Touchy. That’s new.”

She reached for her wine glass, her fingers brushing mine as she did. Deliberate.

“I’m not here to fight, Cassian. I’m here to offer something… better.”

I leaned back, arms crossed, my expression carved from ice.

“There’s nothing you have that I want.”

Her lips parted slightly, a calculated pause.

Then she stood—slow and fluid—and moved to my side of the table.

Before I could react, she perched on the edge, her thigh grazing my knee, her scent suffocating now.

She leaned in, close enough that her breath was warm against my ear.

“You’re lying,” she whispered, her voice a velvet blade. “You’re a man who wants control, Cassian. And that girl? She’s chaos. You don’t need chaos. You need someone who understands power. Someone like me.”

Her hand slid onto my arm, fingers curling lightly, testing boundaries. Her eyes locked on mine, bold and unapologetic, daring me to push her away.

I didn’t move.

Not because I wanted her. Not because her touch stirred anything.

It didn’t.

It was like being touched by a mannequin—cold, hollow, perfectly crafted but lifeless.

No, I didn’t move because I wanted to see how far she’d go.

How desperate she was to claw her way back into my life.

“Clarissa,” I said, my voice low, dangerous, “you’re embarrassing yourself.”

Her smile flickered—just for a second—but she recovered fast.

She leaned closer, her lips brushing the edge of my jaw, a calculated risk.

“Am I? Or are you just afraid to admit you made a mistake with her?”

Eden’s voice echoed in my head again.

“You don’t own me.”

Sharp. Defiant. Alive.

It was louder than Clarissa’s whisper.

Brighter than her polished seduction.

I grabbed Clarissa’s wrist—not hard, but firm—and pushed her hand off my arm.

“You’re wasting my time.”

Her eyes flashed—anger, maybe, or something closer to desperation.

She stood, smoothing her dress, her composure slipping like a mask too heavy to hold.

“You’ll regret this, Cassian. She’s not one of us. She’ll drag you down.”

I stood too, towering over her, my voice colder than the room.

“If I wanted you, Clarissa, I wouldn’t have walked away. And if you think you can manipulate me with a dress and a whisper, you don’t know me at all.”

Her lips parted, but no words came.

For the first time, she looked small.

I didn’t wait for her response.

I left the table, the restaurant, the weight of her gaze.

The night air hit me like a slap—sharp and clean—and I welcomed it.

Eden was a problem. A loud, infuriating, unpredictable problem.

But Clarissa? She was a reminder of everything I’d rejected—empty, calculated, a mirror of the world I already ruled.

And for reasons I didn’t want to name, Eden’s chaos was starting to feel like the only thing keeping me awake.

---

Eden’s POV

I wasn’t supposed to know where he was.

That was the deal, right?

I play the pretty wife, smile at his galas, keep my mouth shut when it suits him.

I don’t get to ask questions.

I don’t get to care.

But I’m not stupid.

The driver let it slip.

Not on purpose—poor guy probably didn’t even realize I was listening when he muttered about dropping Cassian at some fancy restaurant downtown.

And when I saw the way the maid’s eyes darted away when I asked what was on his schedule, I knew.

He was meeting her.

Clarissa Milton.

The polished princess his parents wanted him to marry.

The one who probably smelled like Chanel and regret.

I paced my room—my room, not ours, thank God—my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet like it was quicksand.

My nails bit into my palms, and I hated the way my chest tightened, like I’d swallowed something sharp.

Why did I care?

I didn’t.

Not really.

Cassian could drown in a vat of Clarissa’s perfume for all I cared. He wasn’t mine.

This wasn’t a marriage. It was a contract, a paycheck, a temporary cage I’d walked into with my eyes wide open.

But the thought of her—perfect, poised, probably purring his name like it was a damn spell—made my skin crawl.

Not because I wanted him. God, no.

I didn’t want his cold eyes or his colder hands.

I just hated the idea of her thinking she could win.

Because if anyone was going to rattle Cassian Wolfe, it was going to be me.

I stopped pacing, catching my reflection in the mirror.

My hair was a mess of curls, my tank top wrinkled, my shorts barely covering enough to be decent.

I looked like I’d just rolled out of a fight, not a fairy tale.

Good.

I grabbed my phone, scrolling through nothing, trying to distract myself.

But my mind kept circling back to him.

To the way he’d looked at me on the stairs last night, like I was a puzzle he didn’t want to solve but couldn’t ignore.

What was he doing with her?

Was she touching him?

Smiling that fake, glossy smile?

Did he lean into it, or was he sitting there, cold as ever, shutting her down like he did everyone else?

I threw my phone onto the bed, hard enough to make it bounce.

“Get a grip, Eden,” I muttered. “He’s not your problem.”

But he was.

Because every second I spent in this house, in this deal, in his orbit, I felt myself slipping.

Not into love—God, never that—but into something else.

Something dangerous.

Like I was starting to want to c***k him.

To see what was behind that icy wall.

And that scared me more than Clarissa ever could.

I flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. The silence was back, heavy and mocking.

I hated it.

Hated how it made me feel small, like I was just a guest in his world.

So I did the only thing I knew how to do.

I got loud.

I grabbed my speaker, cranked the volume, and let music blast through the room—something raw, angry, full of bass that rattled the walls.

If Cassian wanted to play games with Clarissa, I’d make sure he came home to a reminder of me.

Let him try to ignore this.