Cassidy #4
If I admit I’m struggling after offering to help, then that makes me unreliable.
Difficult.
Weak.
“I’m okay,” I say automatically, even as my scent betrays the lie.
Isaac sighs like he saw that answer coming a mile away.
“Cass.”
The softness in his voice makes my throat tighten. He shifts slightly on the carpet, his long legs stretching easily out in front of him, as he leans his back against my desk.
“You’ve got dark circles under your eyes, your phone’s dead, your nest somehow got fluffier since yesterday, and you smell stressed enough that Ev would probably start scent-marking the walls if he walked in here right now.”
His brows lift, caramel-brown eyes settling steadily on mine.
“You’re not okay, Cass.”
Heat floods my cheeks.
“I’m just a little behind.”
“With your work?”
My silence answers for me. Isaac drags a hand down his face slowly.
“Who?”
I stare at my laptop screen stubbornly.
“Cassidy.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I bite my lip, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to make an appearance.
Isaac is so sweet, so kind, that a tiny, selfish part of me just wants to unload all of my problems onto him and see if he can fix them.
See if he’d know how to fix me.
But I can’t. I won’t.
I know what that feels like.
“It matters if someone’s taking advantage of you.”
“No one is taking advantage of me,” I say quickly because the idea alone makes guilt curl heavily in my stomach. “Gemma—I mean, another one of the trainees—is just struggling right now. She suffers from migraines, and she looked awful yesterday and is just a little… behind.”
Isaac goes very still. He’s not angry, per se—just a little intense.
Focused, even.
Entirely on me.
Not angry.
“And how much work did she give you?”
I hesitate too long.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, shortcake,” he mutters, giving me a reproachful look. “You didn’t.”
“It’s temporary,” I insist. “She just needs a little help getting caught up, and I can’t not help her.”
“Sweetheart.” His voice turns painfully gentle. “People don’t accidentally dump multiple days of work onto someone they care about.”
My stomach twists, and I look down at my laptop to avoid the intensity in his caramel eyes.
A tiny part of me believes that. Believes it so deeply that I’ve been trying not to think about it.
“She’s my friend,” I whisper anyway.
Isaac’s expression does something strange at that.
“Shortcake,” he says quietly, “when was the last time she helped you?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. The silence feels deafening, but it’s not a fair comparison.
I don’t have issues like she does. I don’t have anything that stops me from working.
I don’t get to offload onto others.
I don’t even know how to ask for help.
Why should she be doing things for me when I’ve never once asked for it?
“It’s not like that between us,” I say instead. If I keep trying to explain, he’ll just blame my excuses and get frustrated.
I’m already upsetting him. I don’t want to make it worse.
Isaac watches me carefully, sharp cheekbones softening as concern settles across his features like he’s trying to figure out how much more I can survive before I finally break.
“Okay,” he says lightly, pushing himself back to his feet in one smooth movement, his lean frame unfolding easily from the carpet. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”
My brows knit together. “What do you mean?”
“You’re going to put the laptop away so we can get some food and water into you.”
“I had a sandwich earlier,” I argue weakly.
“When?”
I think back and grimace. “Tuesday.”
He stares at me, and I cringe. Fine, maybe arguing won’t do any good when I’ve not eaten in forty-eight hours.
I’m such a shitty omega.
“You deserve someone taking care of you, too, shortcake.” He points towards the nest and crooks his finger.
“Out you come.”
“What?”
“You heard me, shortcake. Out.”
Confused, I reluctantly untangle myself from the blankets and pillows, only for Isaac to leave my office.
I stand there helplessly, trying to figure out what to do now, when he steps back inside with two takeaway bags.
My tummy rumbles loudly enough that embarrassment heats my skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
When he places my favourite strawberry lemonade from the café across the street onto the desk, my tears aren’t from sadness.
“You brought me food?”
Isaac snorts, the movement softening his clean-shaven jawline.
“No, I brought it for the ghost haunting your office.” He winks when I deflate. “Of course, I brought it for you, shortcake.”
Something warm and painful twists in my chest.
Nobody has ever looked at me struggling and decided I deserved care before. Usually, they just expect me to handle it better.
I expect me to handle it better.
Isaac opens the food out of the containers with the same meticulous care he seems to approach life with, placing it on the desk and gesturing for me to sit next to him.
“You don’t need to fix everything tonight,” he says quietly.
My eyes sting unexpectedly.
“I do if I don’t want everyone to realise I’m failing.”
His gaze flicks towards me sharply.
“Cass.” His voice gentles again. “You’re not failing.”
I look down at the mountain of paperwork surrounding us, and I can’t bring myself to argue.
No matter what he says—it certainly feels like failure.
***
“You’re exhausted.”
I gasp, looking up at Silas in shock, startled I never even heard him approaching.
Sure, the copying machine is loud, but there’s no way a man his size should be able to move so quietly.
At 6’4”, Silas Varrick doesn’t simply enter rooms.
He takes them over.
Broad shoulders fill the narrow space beside the copier with ease, warmth radiating from him strongly enough that I suddenly become hyperaware of how cold my hands are.
“I’m fine, honestly.”
“I’m not arguing whether you’re happy with your situation or not,” he says dryly. “I said you were exhausted. Is Harlan working you too hard?”
I shake my head quickly, and he narrows his eyes.
“Then?”
“I’ve just got quite a bit to do,” I say carefully. “I’ll be able to rest this weekend.”
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
I’ve got a charity event to attend on Saturday night with my mum, and then on Sunday, I need to be at Aunt Jess’s early in the morning to help prepare for the twins’ party that afternoon.
It’ll be hectic, but it’s a different kind of tired. One I can manage.
Silas’s strong brows draw together. “I don’t like it.”
The words are simple. There’s no snark like I’d get from Harlan or quiet gentleness like I’d get from Isaac.
Silas is just bluntly calm about his opinion, and somehow, that makes him infinitely more intimidating.
“I’m sorry, sir—”
“Silas,” he interrupts immediately.
Heat floods my cheeks, but I nod quickly.
“Silas,” I correct softly. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
The expression that flashes across his face catches me completely off guard.
It’s not angry, not really. But I don’t know him well enough to figure out what it means.
It twists his normally composed features into something far more dangerous, his deep brown eyes darkening beneath thick lashes.
Now, it’s me who doesn’t like it.
But as quickly as it appears, he smooths the expression away again.
“No.”
His gaze drags slowly across me, taking in the dark circles beneath my eyes, the papers clutched against my chest, the exhaustion I clearly haven’t hidden nearly as well as I thought.
“You’re going to force my hand if you keep running yourself into the ground, little moon.”
I freeze as the words settle heavily between us. They’re not just a warning—they’re a threat.
“You’re falling apart,” he continues, stepping directly into my space like it belongs to him. My breath hitches at how easily he does it—how naturally my body lets him.
The movement is unhurried, like he already knows I won’t run.
Even if I want to.
Warmth surrounds me instantly as he reaches up, rough thumb brushing gently across my jaw before the broad span of his hand cups my cheek fully.
The contrast nearly undoes me. Such a dangerous alpha handling me so carefully.
Even though he shouldn’t be touching me at all.
My lips part slightly in surprise, but he closes my mouth softly with the press of his thumb.
A violent shiver dances down my spine. Goosebumps erupt across my skin so fast they itch.
My glands perfume helplessly under the neutraliser.
“And I’m not going to let that continue,” he says with terrifying certainty.
The deep steadiness in his voice wraps around me more securely than the touch itself.
Then he’s gone.
Just… gone.
Taking all the impossible warmth with him.
I watch in stunned silence as he strides away down the corridor, dark brown hair slightly mussed, and he doesn’t look back.
Before I can even begin processing what just happened, the copy machine beeps loudly beside me.
I jump, grabbing the paperwork from the tray automatically.
Silas isn’t the only one unhappy with my current appearance.
But I’m trying.
I’m trying so, so hard to be enough.
Hopefully, it’s enough to survive whatever I’ve apparently set into motion.
Because I’m starting to think none of them are going to let this go.