Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Cassian
We could see the Southeast Asia new business line turning profitable a full quarter ahead of schedule, and this year's net profit growth hit the highest mark in five years...
In the conference room, the CFO droned on for half an hour.
I tapped my fingers on the table. Solid. Every number landed right in my expected range. Some even beat it.
The annual meeting stayed quiet. Even the old board member who usually nitpicked the most kept his mouth shut today. He just leaned back in his chair, looking steadily satisfied.
After it wrapped, that old board member came over.
"Great job, Cassian. The company's doubled in size this year, all thanks to you."
I smiled politely. "It's everyone's effort."
Then I grabbed my files and headed out of the conference room. My assistant trailed behind, rattling off the afternoon schedule. I listened as I walked to my office, pushed the door open, dumped the stuff, and sank into my chair.
Once he finished and left, the office fell silent except for my shallow breaths.
My hand automatically slid open the top drawer. Inside lay a black velvet jewelry box.
I opened it, and blue shards of light spilled out. I touched it—the smooth warmth lingered.
I pulled out the ring and cradled it in my palm.
Sapphire. Rimmed with tiny diamonds. Sunlight from the window hit it, refracting deep blue glows inside.
Six years, and I'd never let it out of my sight. Like she was still right here.
Luna. Her name always twisted something sharp in my chest. Later, I figured it was longing.
Where was she now? Would she come back?
I didn't dare think about it, especially the worst possibility.
A knock came. I snapped back, shoved the ring in the drawer.
Before I could say "come in," the door swung open.
Marco strolled in with his usual lazy vibe. He dropped into the chair across from me, crossed one leg over the other, all casual. "Numbers look good this year, huh?"
Marco was one of the few I could call a friend and a damn strong partner. We met in business school; he was a couple years behind, but sharp as hell. We teamed up on projects back then.
After graduation, we drifted apart until a cocktail party two years ago. He was stuck in some dead-end spot, wasting talent. I was expanding the company hard, needed someone solid, so we clicked instantly.
He hadn't let me down. In just a few years, he'd helped nail down projects big and small.
"Cassian, you gonna say something?" Marco sat there, leg jiggling, smirking at me.
"King Group expanded for the third time in six years—this one swallowed our biggest West Coast rival whole. Normal people wouldn't just sit there zoning out in the boss chair."
"It's fine," I said. "But Southeast Asia's got two new players entering the field next half."
He threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Whoa, can I celebrate for five minutes first?"
"Go celebrate in the conference room," I said. "I've got work here."
He dropped his hands, exasperated. "Cassian, normal people would ride this high for a day. You can't even last three seconds."
I didn't bite.
"Fine, straight talk," he said, leaning forward, ditching the slouch.
"I want to throw a victory party for this project. Bring in the key partners... You know deals get sealed over drinks. It's not just celebrating. It's networking for the next move. You in?"
"No."
"You're the core of this thing." His eyes widened. "You skipping looks bad. Those guys asked about you a bunch; I can't say our main partner's some recluse monk."
"I'm not a recluse." I leaned back. "I just skip pointless events."
"This isn't pointless." Marco uncrossed his legs, planted his hands on the desk, dead serious.
"Cassian, tell me, in these six years, besides work, have you actually connected with anyone? Given yourself a damn break?"
I didn't answer, my gaze drifting to the drawer.
Marco sighed.
"I'm not pushing you," he said, voice laced with real concern. "I just think this isn't healthy. You can't live on numbers and files forever. You're shutting yourself off too tight."
"Marco," I finally said. "This isn't your worry."
He stared at me a beat, then sighed again. "Fine. Just the party—you going or not?"
"Two hours." I paused for a few seconds, then gave in.
Marco slipped back into his easy grin. "Deal. Tonight at eight. I'll text you the spot and who's coming."
"Fine."
He stood, headed to the door, then turned back. "Wear something decent. Don't look like a stiff old-timer."
"I'm not helpless yet."
He chuckled and left, door clicking shut.
I swiveled to the window. Washington's evening sky darkened, streetlights flickering on one by one.
It reminded me of another dusk. Luna on the balcony, coffee in hand, back to me, gazing out. Sunset lit her profile, gilding her blonde hair in a hazy glow.
She didn't know I was watching. I stood in the study doorway a moment, didn't approach, just turned back inside.
What if I'd gone to her? Stood beside her, said nothing, just been there? Would things have turned out different?
No what-ifs.
I shoved the thoughts down, headed to the lounge. I could grab a couple hours' sleep before heading out.
After the nap, my head cleared. I changed and met up with Marco to go.
The car pulled up at the restaurant. We got out.
It had massive floor-to-ceiling windows—one side facing Washington's night skyline, the other overlooking a stunning sea view. Inside, lights dimmed low, hidden speakers pumped fast beats, pulling everyone into motion, drawing them close in the buzz.
"This is it," Marco shot me a look. "Let's go in and celebrate!"
I smirked and followed him through the main door.
The second we stepped in, music and lights hit like a wave. I let myself unwind in the vibe.
Staff ditched their usual stiffness and came up to toast. Partner execs dropped the serious act, laughed, and chatted freely.
Yeah, I was a young gun in business, company on the rise. We raised glasses, faces lit with grins.
Stick to the path, and we'd dominate Washington in time—that thought fired everyone up.
I should have been thrilled, but something felt off. The career win gave a quick hit of satisfaction, but now, watching the frenzy, the clinking glasses, I felt like an outsider.
I rubbed my temple, backed toward the wall, trying to regroup.
"Hey, Cassian." A voice cut in from the side.
I turned. A woman had slid up next to me, dressed in red, makeup perfect, smile just right.
"I'm Megan Taylor, Marco's friend, heir to Taylor Group." She lifted her glass. "Heard a lot about you from him. Impressive."
"Thanks." I clinked with her.
"You here alone?" She leaned closer, her perfume hitting strong, almost choking.
I wanted to pull back, but space was tight.
"Yeah."
"Me too," she smiled. "What a coincidence."
I'd seen this play a hundred times. Six years ago, I'd shrug it off—not go further, but not shut down someone useful. Now, though—
"Excuse me," I sidestepped.
Her smile froze, then recovered. "Sure, have fun."
I wove through the crowd to the balcony. Door shut, and the laughs and music faded.
Wind whipped hard out there, pressing my shirt against me. Below, city lights sprawled endlessly. Traffic crawled, red taillights weaving a glowing stream.
If Luna were here, how would she share this with me?
Maybe she'd cook something herself, lean in close with genuine praise. That thought pulled a real smile from me.
I admitted it. I missed her like crazy.
I leaned on the railing and lit a smoke. Smoke curled up, blurring my view.
The door pushed open behind me. Marco, carrying two whiskeys. He handed one over. "What? Megan's hot."
I took it, didn't sip, just held it. "Not interested."
Marco turned, leaned on the railing, and sighed. "Six years, man. You're still like this—women approach, you bolt like they're poison. Planning to die alone?"
I didn't answer, just dragged on the cigarette. The tip flared and died, like my flickering days these years.
Marco clapped my shoulder. "After this wraps, grab a drink? Just us, no flock of birds."
I shook my head. "Nah. Got somewhere to be."
He didn't push. "Don't burn yourself out. You're the winner now—but winners need to breathe."
Then he shifted tone. "But right now, time to celebrate with the Taylor Group crew!"
I caught his wild grin, cracked one back, and dove into the party.
It ended past twelve-thirty. I'd tried to bail midway but got roped in. Washington's midnight streets felt empty. They grew familiar as we drove, until we stopped at the house.
The flowers by the door had wilted in the chill wind—or maybe just because she was gone.
I unlocked it. Six years, and everything inside stayed exactly as she'd left it.
Pushed the door open, and the living room sensor light flicked on.
That potted plant by the window still thrived, leaves glossy, fuller than six years ago. Branches spread wide, claiming most of the sill. The housekeeper had watered it today—droplets clung to the leaves.
I walked over, touched one. The coolness sharpened my mind.
Luna had loved this plant. I'd catch her fussing over it patiently. Looking back, she poured her heart into everything here.
Once, that included me. But I'd lost her.
Under the light, it cast a nice shadow, leaf edges pooling on the floor. A breeze from the window stirred them gently—alive, the only thing still growing in this empty space.
I shrugged off my suit jacket and tossed it on the couch. Unbuttoned my shirt one by one, fingers shaky. Headed to the master bedroom. Same bed, pale gray sheets, her old pillow. I sat, buried my face in it, and inhaled deeply.
The lavender scent was long gone, but I swore I caught it.
I lay back, hand slipping into my waistband. Eyes shut, my mind didn't replay memories—it spun the now. What if she were here?
I pinned her down beneath me on the silk sheets, the weight of my body crushing her into the mattress just like that reckless night six years ago.
Luna's eyes flashed with that familiar mix of fury and hunger as I grabbed the delicate fabric of her nightgown and tore it open in one brutal yank, buttons scattering, lace ripping apart to expose her pale, perfect skin to the cool air.
She might shove at my chest, her small fists pounding weakly while she hissed "You bastard," but her body betrayed her instantly—hips already lifting, thighs parting instinctively, slick heat welcoming me even as her lips cursed my name.
I didn't give her time to think. My hands clamped hard around her narrow waist, fingers digging into soft flesh hard enough to bruise, and I thrust into her in one savage stroke—deep, rough, burying every thick inch to the hilt inside her tight, dripping cunt.
A muffled whimper tore from her throat, desperate and broken, the sound so fucking seductive it made my cock throb violently inside her.
She slapped a hand over her own mouth to stifle it, but I could still hear the wet, needy little cries leaking through her fingers with every brutal snap of my hips.
I ripped her hand away and sealed my mouth over hers, kissing her like I wanted to devour her soul—tongues clashing in a messy, saliva-slick battle, sucking, biting, tongues fucking each other as frantically as my cock was pounding her pussy.
Her nails raked down my back in long, vicious scratches, drawing hot lines of blood that only spiked the raw pleasure higher, turning the pain into liquid fire racing through my veins.
I growled into her mouth and fucked her harder, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room, her soaked walls fluttering and clenching greedily around my thick shaft with every punishing thrust.
Picturing her writhing helplessly beneath me, taking every brutal inch like the greedy little slut she became only for me, I wrapped my hand around my aching cock and started stroking—slow and deliberate at first, squeezing the base tight, sliding up over the swollen head where precum was already leaking in thick beads.
In my mind, she arched her neck, head thrown back against the pillow, teeth sinking into her swollen lower lip to trap the moans that still spilled out anyway—filthy, broken sounds that made my balls tighten.
Her full breasts heaved with every ragged breath, nipples dark and stiff, bouncing with the force of my imagined thrusts.
My grip tightened, pace quickening as I fucked my fist faster, rougher, matching the rhythm I was destroying her with in my fantasy.
Her legs wrapped around my waist, heels digging into my ass, urging me deeper while her cunt squeezed me like a vice, dripping down my balls with every savage plunge.
I could almost feel her body shuddering violently toward climax—trembling uncontrollably, inner walls spasming wildly around my cock as she came apart.
God, I wanted to crush her against me, feel those perfect tits smashed to my chest while she cried out my name in broken sobs, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks.
"Please...harder. Fuck me harder," she'd beg, voice wrecked and desperate, her pussy milking me in rhythmic pulses as her orgasm ripped through her.
"Luna..." I couldn't hold it anymore. The growl tore from my throat, low and hoarse, my voice completely wrecked with lust.
The release crashed over me like a violent storm, every muscle locking tight as thick ropes of cum erupted from my cock, spilling hot and messy over my pumping fist and onto my stomach.
My hips jerked involuntarily, fucking my hand through the last shattering pulses until I was completely drained, body collapsing back onto the bed in a boneless heap.
Sticky warmth coated my fingers and dripped down my wrist, but I had no strength left to care. I just lay there, chest heaving, staring blankly at the ceiling as the aftershocks faded and left nothing but a hollow ache behind my ribs.
Emptiness crashed in like a black hole, swallowing me bit by bit.
I rolled over, face in the pillow. Eyes wet—not tears, just exhaustion. Bone-deep tired, like I could drop dead.
What good was all the success? Cold house, joy I couldn't share. Frustration crushed down, stealing my breath.
I'd finally gotten it. Work wasn't everything. But she was gone.
I clutched the pillow, murmured low. "Luna... where are you?"
Night thickened like ink. I knew she couldn't hear. But I asked anyway, over and over.
Because now, without her, I missed her like mad.
And I'd wait for her to come back. Always.