60. Grayson
60
GRAYSON
C assian Laurent has made apower move. Not just any power move, one designed to shift the entire narrative ofPerfectly Matched. Bypersonally investingin the expansion, he’s made sure that when people talk about Perfectly Matched going global, they won’t just think ofmeorMargot. They’ll think ofhim. And that? That doesn’t sit well with me.
The moment we step into Cassian’s penthouse suite later that evening, it’s clear he wasexpectingus. He’s already poured himself a glass of whiskey, lounging in a sleek armchair near the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the glittering city skyline. The penthouse isridiculously extravagant, all high-end modern design, deep charcoal walls, velvet furniture, and a massive, abstract chandelier dripping from the ceiling like something out of a billionaire’s fever dream.
Margot, standing beside me in her ivory blazer and fitted trousers, crosses her arms, her expression sharp. “Youshould have told us about the press conference.”
Cassian sips his whiskey leisurely, completelyunbothered. “And ruin the element of surprise?”
I exhale sharply, my patience already wearing thin. “You didn’t just make an announcement. You made yourselfthe faceof the expansion.”
Cassian tilts his head slightly, as if considering that. “I preferaface of the expansion.” His smirk deepens. “And let’s be honest, King, you and Margot have your hands full keeping the business side running. I’m just adding a little…flair.”
Margot scoffs. “Flair?”
Cassian sets his glass down on the polished marble coffee table, leaning back with an easy grin. “Do youreallywant to sit through endless business dinners withdiplomats and sheikhs? Because Ido. You think the Tokyo elite is going to take meetings with just anyone? Iknowthese people. I speaktheir language.”
I narrow my eyes. “And in return, you getpower.”
Cassian raises a brow. “Did youthinkI was in this for charity?”
Margot clenches her jaw. “You’re stakingyourname onourcompany. That wasn’t part of the deal.”
Cassian’s smirk doesn’t falter. “Oh, Evans. You’re thinking toosmall.” He steeples his fingers. “This isn’t just about money. It’s aboutpositioning. We’recreatingan empire. And every empire needs a fewfigureheads.”
I cross my arms. “And let me guess. Youjust happento be one of them?”
Cassian leans forward slightly, his voice dropping just enough to soundalmostsincere. “King, you’re smart.Toosmart to think I’d sit on the sidelines and playsilent investor.”
Margot’s fingers drum against her arm, a telltale sign that she’s weighing the risks. She exhales. “So what do youreallywant?”
Cassian’s eyes flick to her, and for a fraction of a second, his smirkfalters. It’s barely noticeable, but Iseeit. Then, just as quickly, it’s back. He lifts his glass again, taking a slow sip before responding. “Legacy.”
Across the penthouse, in a private lounge connected to Cassian’s suite, Isabella Monroe isseething. She storms through the dimly lit space, the ambient glow of the crystal wall sconces doing little to soften the fury in her eyes. Her emerald dress clings to her every sharp movement as she paces, her manicured nails tapping against her phone. Cassian’sstuntat the press conference hascomplicatedthings. Not because shecaresabout Perfectly Matched , but because now,Cassian is playing with fire andhe knows it.
“You’re reckless,” she snaps, whipping around as Cassian steps into the room, his ever-present smirk firmly in place.
He exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose before smirking again. “You say that like it’s abadthing.”
Isabella glares. “Youknowwhat you just did. You didn’t just make yourself a partner. You made yourself atarget.”
Cassian watches her carefully, his smirk shifting, not disappearing, just evolving into something darker.
“So youareworried about me,” he murmurs.
Isabella scoffs. “I’m worried about what happens when you finallylosefor once.”
Cassian chuckles, low and amused. “I don’t lose.”
She tilts her head. “Everyone loses eventually.”
He steps closer.Tooclose. Close enough that the tension between themthickens, shifting from irritation to something muchmore dangerous.
Isabella swallows, but doesn’t back down.
Cassian studies her, his gaze flicking over her face, down to her lips, then back up. “Youlovethis, don’t you?”
She raises a brow. “Lovewhat, exactly?”
He smirks, leaning in just enough to make herawareof the space, or lack thereof, between them. “Thepush and pull. The way I drive youinsane.”
Her hearthammersagainst her ribs, but she keeps her expressioncool.
“Maybe I justhate you,” she says, her voice lower now.
Cassian’s smirk deepens. “Then why haven’t youleftyet?”
Silence. Achargedsilence. Then, Isabella takes a step back, straightening her shoulders. “You’re insufferable.”
Cassian watches her for a long moment, then lets out a quiet laugh. “And yet,here we are.” She turns on her heel, walking away. But theybothknow, this isn’t over. Not evenclose.