56. Grayson
56
GRAYSON
I wake up before Margot. Sunlight filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long golden streaks over the sleek, modern lines of my bedroom. The city sprawls below, the early morning light bouncing off glass skyscrapers, the hum of distant traffic barely audible from this high up. I turn my head, my gaze landing on Margot, her hair splayed over the pillow, her bare shoulder peeking from beneath the sheets, her breathing slow and steady. She looksat peace. And for the first time in weeks, I feel it too. I should let her sleep. Sheneedsit. But instead, I can’t resist trailing my fingers lightly along her arm, watching as her brow furrows slightly before she stirs.
Her eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep, and when they land on me, a slow smile curves her lips. “You’re staring, King.”
I smirk, brushing my fingers through her hair. “I was appreciating my victory.”
She groans, burying her face into the pillow. “Too early for gloating.”
I chuckle, leaning down to press a kiss to her shoulder. “It’s never too early forthat.”
She stretches, then peeks up at me, her expression softening. “We actually did it, didn’t we?”
I nod. “Yeah. We did.”
Her fingers skim my jaw. “And now what?”
Now. That’s the real question. Now that the war is over, whatcomes next?
By the time we make it downstairs, Olivia is already waiting in the penthouse’s open-concept living space. She’s dressed for war, impeccable black suit, tablet in one hand, coffee in the other.
Margot groans as she flops onto the couch. “Please tell me you’re here with good news andnotanother crisis.”
Olivia smirks. “Depends on how you feel aboutmassive opportunities.”
I arch a brow. “Definemassive.”
She tosses the tablet onto the coffee table, and I glance down. My stomach tenses slightly at the sight of the email header: Laurent International Proposal – Joint Venture Discussion
I glance at Margot, whose expression shifts into somethingsharper. “Cassian?” she asks, reading over my shoulder.
Olivia nods. “He sent it this morning. He wants to set up a meeting.”
Margot leans forward, her elbows on her knees. “For what?”
Olivia’s lips curve slightly. “Toexpand Perfectly Matched .”
Silence. I exhale slowly, taking in the full weight of those words: Expansion. Cassiannevermakes small moves. He plays on a global scale. If he wants to back Perfectly Matched , that means he sees an opportunity big enough to be worthhistime.
Margot’s voice is careful. “What kind of expansion are we talking about?”
Olivia taps on the screen, scrolling down: “ International matchmaking: Perfectly Matchedgoesglobal—high-profile, ultra-elite matches on a worldwide scale. Cassian wants to fund it, set up strategic locations in key cities. London. Paris. Dubai. Tokyo. ”
Margot lets out a breath. “That’s… massive.”
I nod slowly, my mind already working through the logistics, the power shifts, the risks. It would changeeverything.
Margot glances at me, reading my hesitation immediately. “You’re not convinced.”
I exhale sharply. “I don’t trust Cassian.”
Margot smirks. “Well, duh.”
I shoot her a look. “Hedoesn’tmake investments. He makesplays. If he’s doing this, it’s because he sees an angle we don’t.”
Olivia shrugs. “Obviously. But does that mean it’snotworth considering?”
I look at Margot again, weighing the possibilities. She bites her lip, her gaze shifting to the tablet. I can practicallyseethe wheels turning in her head. The strategist. Thevisionary. This is what shelivesfor. I already know her answer before she even says it.
Margot exhales slowly, then lifts her chin. “Set up the meeting.”
Meanwhile, Cassian sits at the bar at The Black Orchid, the luxurious cocktail lounge, his usual self-assured smirk firmly in place. If anyone were watching, they’d assume nothing had changed. He looks perfectly at ease, his suit impeccable, his watch gleaming under the ambient lighting, his demeanor as infuriatingly smug as ever.
Isabella, however, isnotfooled. She glares at him from where she stands, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. Cassian takes a slow sip of his whiskey before breaking the silence. “You’re going to pretend it didn’t happen, aren’t you?”
Her eyes narrow. “Nothinghappened.”
Cassian’s smirk deepens. “Oh,Monroe.” He sets down his glass, turning slightly so that he’s fully facing her. “You kissed me.”
She rolls her eyes. “You kissedmeback.”
He chuckles, low and knowing. “Enthusiastically.”
Isabella lifts a finger. “It was amistake.”
Cassian’s gaze flickers with something darker, something that makes the airthicker. “Was it?”
Silence. Her throat works as she swallows, and Cassianseesit, the way she hesitates for just a fraction of a second. That’s all the confirmation he needs.
He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “You’re scared.”
She scoffs. “Ofyou? Not a chance.”
His grin is slow and predatory. “No. Not ofme. Ofthis.”
Isabella forces a laugh, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Please. You’re a walking red flag, Laurent. I’d never fall for your type.”
Cassian tilts his head, eyes gleaming. “Fall for me?” He tsks, shaking his head. “Oh, Monroe. Ineversaid anything aboutfalling.”
Her pulsespikes and shehates it, but she doesn’t walk away. Cassian watches her, his smirk widening. He’s the picture of composed arrogance, sprawled lazily in one of the deep leather booths, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His tie is slightly loosened, his usual crispness giving way to somethingdangerously relaxed, as if he is utterly unbothered by the world around him.
Isabella is the opposite, rigid, her back straight, her fingers curled around the stem of her martini glass. There is a storm brewing beneath her sharp gaze, something electric andundeniably tense.
Cassian watches her withfar too much amusement. “You seem… tense,Monroe.”
Isabella, reclining slightly, takes a slow sip of her drink without breaking eye contact. “And you seemunbearably smug.”
He grins, slow and deliberate. “I can’t help it. Winning does that to me.”
She arches a brow. “Youwon?”
Cassian leans in slightly, his expression darkening. “Wewon. And yet, you’re still looking at me like youdesperately want to throw that drink in my face.”
Isabella sets her glass down, tilting her head as if considering. “Maybe I do.”
Cassian smirks. “Do it.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “Youwantme to?”
“Oh, absolutely,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. “I think you’d lookincrediblein a fit of rage.”
Isabella exhales sharply, shaking her head. “God, you’reinsufferable.”
Cassian chuckles. “And yet, here you are.”
She glares. “Don’t flatter yourself. I came for thecocktails.”
He tilts his glass toward her. “And stayed forme.”
She makes a sound in the back of her throat, half irritation, halfsomething else. “Laurent, if I evermurderyou, just know it wasdeserved.”
Cassian grins, his gaze dipping briefly to her lips. “Duly noted.”
Silence stretches between them, heavy andundeniably charged. For a second, it seems like neither of them will break it. Then suddenly,recklessly, Isabella leans forward. “You talk too much.”
Cassian barely has time to smirk before shegrabs his tieandpulls him into a kiss. It’sfireworks, it’schaos, it’severything we all saw coming from a mile away.