Chapter 5- A meeting

Cassie woke to an unfamiliar ceiling — high, white, and gleaming with a sterile kind of elegance.

For one disoriented heartbeat, she thought she’d died and been reincarnated as someone with better taste in furniture. Then the pounding in her skull reminded her that she was, unfortunately, still very much alive… and possibly kidnapped.

She pushed herself upright, blinking against the light spilling through floor-to-ceiling glass. The city glittered below — distant, taunting, indifferent. Everything in the room whispered wealth. Sleek furniture. Sculptural lighting. The faintest trace of expensive cologne in the air. It was the kind of place that looked more like an exhibit than a home. And it was definitely not hers.

On the nightstand sat a single glass of water and a pill.

“For your head,” a low voice said from behind her.

Cassie whipped around — and there he was.

He leaned against the doorway with the lazy confidence of someone who never had to try. The first thing she noticed was the stillness — the kind that came from control, not calm. His suit looked like it had been stitched directly onto him. His tie sat perfect. His eyes — dark, assessing — gave away nothing.

Her heart stuttered. He looked like a man carved from power and purpose.

And her first coherent thought was: He smells like sin and money.

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded, voice rough with sleep.

“Someone with better timing than whoever left you unconscious on the side of the road,” he said evenly. His tone wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cruel either — just factual, deliberate. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Cassie blinked. “So… what? You just kidnapped me?”

“‘Kidnapped’ is dramatic,” he said, straightening. “You were bleeding and unconscious. I took you somewhere safe. You’re in my guest room, not a dungeon.”

“Semantics,” she muttered. “You could’ve called an ambulance.”

“I don’t trust hospitals.”

That stopped her for a second. He said it so flatly, so unapologetically, that she couldn’t tell if it was paranoia or experience talking.

She rubbed her temple, trying to piece together the night before. “You have a real talent for making people uncomfortable.”

He gave her a small, humorless smile. “I’m aware.”

Her gaze darted toward the glass of water again. “What’s in that?”

“A painkiller. You have a concussion. Take it before you collapse again and bleed on my carpet.”

She hesitated, then took the pill anyway. “You’ve got a terrible bedside manner.”

“I’m not your doctor,” he said, slipping his cufflink into place. “Thank God for both of us.”

Cassie swung her legs off the bed. The silk brushed her skin — cool, unfamiliar — and that’s when she realized the nightwear wasn’t hers.

She froze. “Where are my clothes?”

He didn’t look up. “Cleaned. You can thank the housekeeper.”

Her throat tightened. “The housekeeper changed me?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t?”

His gaze finally met hers — steady, sharp. “If I had, you wouldn’t be awake to ask.”

It wasn’t what he said. It was the way he said it — calm, effortless, and edged with something darkly certain.

Cassie exhaled through her nose. “You have a really strange idea of reassurance.”

“I don’t do reassurance,” he said simply.

He checked his watch, already half-turned toward the hallway. “You should eat before you pass out again.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“I said you should eat.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You always this bossy with your houseguests?”

“I don’t usually have any,” he said. Then, after a pause that felt longer than it should’ve been: “You’re the exception.”

She didn’t know whether to feel flattered or nervous. Maybe both.

---

They crossed the minimalist living room together, Cassie keeping a few cautious steps behind him. The place was spotless, almost impersonal. No photos. No clutter. No sign of a life being lived.

“Did your interior decorator scam you,” she asked finally, “or is ‘soulless museum’ your personal aesthetic?”

He chuckled — a low sound that almost didn’t belong to a man who looked so composed. “Peace and quiet,” he said. “That’s what I bought.”

“Looks more like isolation and tax evasion,” she muttered.

That earned a faint smile. “You talk a lot for someone who nearly got herself killed last night.”

“You sound like my mother.”

He shot her a glance, dry and sharp. “She must be a patient woman.”

“She’s dead,” Cassie said flatly.

Something flickered behind his eyes. Pity? Guilt? He masked it before she could be sure. “Then I stand corrected.”

The elevator doors slid open, reflecting both of them — her small and wary in borrowed silk, him tall and unreadable in an immaculate suit. They looked like two people from completely different worlds forced into the same mirror.

She crossed her arms. “You know, most people would ask before dragging someone to breakfast.”

“I’m not most people.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I figured.”

He glanced at her then really looked. And for the first time, there was something almost human in his expression. Curiosity. Amusement. Something she couldn’t name.

“What do you think I am, then?” he asked.

Cassie hesitated, studying him. “A mystery man with too many secrets and not enough hobbies.”

He smiled faintly. “Close enough.”

The elevator chimed. He gestured for her to step out first. “After you.”

“Such a gentleman,” she said under her breath.

“Always,” he replied smoothly.

“Do gentlemen usually kidnap women off the street?”

He looked over his shoulder, that same faint smile tugging at his mouth. “You’ll have to tell me after breakfast.”

She blinked. “You’re assuming I’m going.”

“I’m assuming you’ll say yes.”

She should’ve said no. Normally she would’ve. But there was something in the way he said it — quiet, certain, almost… protective.

And to her surprise, she found herself nodding. “Fine. But you’re paying.”

That earned her a real smile, brief and dangerous. “I always do.”

He extended a hand, formal and unhurried. “Arden Rhett,” he said.

She hesitated before shaking it. “Cassie.”

“Cassie,” he repeated, like he was testing the sound. “Good. I like knowing the names of the people I save.”

Her pulse jumped again. “I’m not sure you saved me.”

He leaned closer, his cologne wrapping around her like a whisper. “Not yet,” he murmured. “But I will.”