Chapter 26
“Alessia?” Cassian’s voice was pitched in an unconvincing register of surprise. “What a coincidence to see you here!”
I narrowed my eyes at him.
Coincidence.
We were standing at the entrance of a paintball arena.
The restaurant launch was consuming me. Every detail, every decision felt monumental.
It wasn’t just another project; it was my case to Mrs. Garcia.
My evidence that I was still worth her trust, her partnership, her second chance.
The pressure had coiled so tightly in my chest that Naija had finally taken my laptop away yesterday and announced an intervention.
Hence, paintball.
Now, here we were. Me, Naija, Felicity.
And Cassian. And Liam. And—
My gaze slid past Cassian’s forced smile and landed on Rohan.
Rohan, who had been in my office yesterday to sign the contract for his second modeling shoot. Rohan, who had sat there quietly, pen in hand, while Naija and Felicity loudly confirmed the time and location for today.
Rohan, who was suddenly very, very interested in the safety waiver sign pinned to the wall. His neck was flushed a deep, guilty pink.
“Uh-huh,” I said to Cassian, my voice flat. My eyes stayed locked on Rohan, who was now examining his shoelaces. “What a coincidence.”
Cassian smiled at me, that unguarded, hopeful smile I was seeing more of lately. “Well, since we’re all here together… why don’t we just go inside and play together?”
I dragged my gaze to his. “And why would we do that?”
His smile widened, a glint in his eye. “You’d have more people to shoot.”
That… would be fun.
I glanced at Naija. Her expression had shifted from annoyed to calculating. She gave me a small, approving nod. Felicity, as always, was here for moral support and snacks.
“Are we doing teams?” Liam piped up. “Girls versus boys?”
“Absolutely not.” Cassian’s response was immediate, almost defensive. “I’m on Alessia’s team.” He caught my glance and added, too quickly, “What? I want to win.”
“So you’ve already chosen,” Liam said flatly. “Then I get to pick.”
“I didn’t choose anyone—”
“Rohan,” Liam announced, as if I hadn’t spoken at all.
“Fine.” I crossed my arms. “I choose Naija.”
Felicity’s head snapped toward me, wounded. “Sia!”
I winced. “I would’ve picked you, El, but… you know.” I gestured vaguely. “The shooting people thing.”
She sighed. “Fair enough.” She turned to Liam with a helpful, almost apologetic expression. “Just so you know, I’ve never actually played. I mean, I’ve been to paintball, but I usually just stand behind Naija or Alessia and let them handle the actual… shooting parts.”
Liam gave her a reassuring smile. “That’s fine. You can do the same here. Rohan and I will handle everything.”
A small voice emerged from behind him. “I’ve also never played before.”
Liam’s head whipped toward Rohan so fast I heard a faint crack. “What?”
Rohan blinked, startled by the intensity. “I said I’ve never—”
“What do you mean you’ve never played before?” Liam’s voice had gone up an octave. “Look at you! Look at your—” He gestured vaguely at Rohan’s entire frame. “—your shoulders!”
Rohan glanced down at his shoulders, as if he’d never noticed them before. “What do my shoulders have to do with—”
“So I have two amateurs on my team?” Liam’s gaze dropped to the floor, his voice hollow with dawning defeat. “Two.”
Felicity frowned, crossing her arms. “You just said you were fine with me not knowing how to play.”
“That was when I thought Rohan could play!” Liam threw his hands up. “I had a whole strategy! Now what are we supposed to do?”
I shrugged, already walking toward the locker rooms to gear up. “Lose.”
I didn’t look back to see Liam’s face, but I could feel his despair radiating across the lobby.
It was going to be a very good day.
The outdoor arena was a sprawling maze of wooden barriers, overturned vehicles, and clusters of scrubby bushes. The rules were simple: the last team standing wins. Loser buys lunch.
Our team found cover behind a weathered wooden barricade near a cluster of rusted oil drums. The paintball gun felt familiar in my hands, its solid weight a welcome sense of control after weeks of emotional chaos.
“So,” Cassian whispered, crouched beside me, his voice low and serious, “what’s our strategy?”
Naija and I exchanged a look.
“Shoot people,” we said in unison.
Cassian blinked. A beat of silence. Then he nodded, accepting the wisdom. “Got it.”
We moved out, creeping through the underbrush, using the scattered structures for cover. Distant pops echoed through the trees.
Felicity might not be a shooter, but that woman could hide. She’d probably found a hollow log somewhere and was napping.
Liam and Rohan were wild cards. I’d never played with either of them. For all I knew, Liam was a paintball prodigy and Rohan’s “those shoulders” would finally prove useful.
We knelt behind a tall wooden barrier, the kind with slats that let you peer through without exposing yourself. Naija caught my eye and gave the signal—the tiny head tilt that meant I’m going out.
She slipped away, silent as smoke.
I scanned the arena, peering through the slats. I strained to hear anything over the distant pop of other games.
A crinkle.
I froze.
Another crinkle. Then the soft sound of something being unwrapped.
I turned.
Cassian was sitting cross-legged beside me. He had produced a paper bag from somewhere inside his vest and was unwrapping a sandwich—a real sandwich, with visible layers of meat and cheese.
He took a bite.
I stared at him. The paintball gun hung forgotten in my grip. “What… what are you doing?”
He glanced at me, mid-bite. “Eating a sandwich.” He took another bite, chewing with the contented focus of a man on a picnic.
I blinked rapidly, trying to process. “You can’t do that after the game? You have to do it now? In the middle of a paintball match?”
His chewing slowed. He looked at the sandwich. Then at me. Then back at the sandwich. “But I’m hungry now.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
“You know what?” I nodded slowly, turning back to my lookout. “Fair enough. Keep at it.”
Naija was creeping toward a thick oak near the edge of the clearing. To anyone watching, she looked like she was planning to take cover behind it. But her gun was angled up. Pointed at the branches.
In a flash, she raised her barrel and fired. Three quick shots, popping through the leaves.
A yelp. A rustle. Then a very indignant voice from the branches: “This was a very good hiding spot, Naija. Do you have any idea how fast I had to climb this tree? You could have taken a few more seconds. Let me have my moment.”
Felicity began her clumsy descent, branches shaking, leaves showering down. Her vest was marked with bright yellow paint.
Naija lowered her gun, utterly unrepentant. “Sorry.”
She glared at Naija. “No, you’re not.”
“No, I’m not.” Naija nodded calmly.
I was watching the exchange with a grin, my guard down for exactly the wrong second.
Rohan emerged from behind a stack of pallets like a ghost, his gun already raised. He fired twice before Naija could even flinch.
Paint splattered across her vest in a bright burst of color.
She looked down at the fresh paint blooming on her vest, then up at Rohan.
He stood there, gun still raised, expression carefully blank.
“You lied,” Naija said flatly. “When you said you’d never played before.”
Rohan looked at his gun. He rubbed his thumb over a nonexistent spot on the barrel. “Did I say that?” He tilted his head, the picture of feigned confusion. “I can’t seem to recall.”
My gun was up before I made a conscious decision. I sighted down the barrel, adjusted for the slight breeze, and fired.
The paintball hit Rohan square in the chest. The exact spot he’d hit Naija.
He looked down at the spreading red paint, then up at me, genuine shock on his face.
Naija glanced in my direction, a slow smile spreading across her face. She looked back at Rohan. “Looks like my boss is better than yours.”
Rohan shook his head, muttering as he inspected the damage to his vest. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”
Naija walked past him, patting his shoulder as she went. “Tell me about it.”
I turned back and leaned against the wooden barrier, glancing at Cassian. He was crumpling the empty sandwich wrapper, looking vaguely satisfied.
I smiled. “Are you finished, your highness? Or shall I fetch you a beverage as well?”
He stuffed the wrapper into his pocket. “Actually, water would be great.”
I raised my gun. “Cassian, I swear—”
“I’m kidding.” A warm laugh escaped him. “I’m done. Promise.”
I lowered the gun. “What do you know about how Liam plays? I haven’t seen him once since the game started. Not a glimpse.”
Cassian’s expression shifted, the humor fading into focus.
“Oh, Liam is strategic. More than he looks. He’ll find a secure spot—something with a clear sightline over an open area—and he’ll wait.
He doesn’t chase. He lets the game wear people down, lets them get impatient and expose themselves. Then he picks them off one by one.”
I nodded, filing the information. “Has he played here before?”
Cassian looked around, really looked, his gaze tracing the landscape. “Now that you mention it… no. He hasn’t.”
But I have.
Our eyes met. Understanding passed between us in a single beat.
Cassian grabbed his gun, rising to a crouch. “Where do I need to go?”
Five minutes later, we were both in position.
The arena had two elevated positions with clear sightlines over the central open area—natural sniper nests. Liam, unfamiliar with this particular terrain, would have struggled to find them. Which meant he couldn’t track our movements across the field.
Cassian slipped away toward the second position while I circled toward mine, keeping low and using scrub brush and scattered debris for cover. When I reached my position, I eased up behind it and carefully peered around the edge.
Liam’s back was to me.
He was crouched behind a stack of barrels, his gun braced against a wooden crate as he scanned the open area below with intense focus.
I smiled. I raised my gun, aiming directly between his shoulder blades.
“Hey, Liam?”
He turned at the sound of his name.
I fired before he could blink. The paintball splattered across his chest, a perfect splat of yellow.
He looked down at the mess, then up at me, betrayal and disbelief warring on his face.
“I want to eat steak for lunch,” I informed him, lowering my gun. “Make sure it’s somewhere good.” I turned and walked away.
His groan followed me down the path.
A few minutes later, Cassian fell into step beside me, his gun slung over his shoulder. A quiet smile played at the corner of his mouth.
“It feels good to win,” he said softly.
Liam, trudging along on Cassian’s other side, let out a scoff. “Win? What did you even do the whole game?”
Cassian’s smile didn’t waver. “I ate a sandwich.”
Liam stopped dead. Turned. Stared at him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.
Then he shook his head and kept walking. “You know what? I’m not even going to ask.”
My lips curved as I followed Liam toward the exit.
Then Cassian’s voice came from behind me.
“Alessia.”
I turned.
He was still standing exactly where I’d left him, a determined set to his jaw.
“Shoot me.”
I frowned. “What?”
He gestured at his vest—still pristine, not a single drop of paint on it. “Liam’s vest has your color on it. Rohan’s too. But mine doesn’t. And that just… doesn’t feel right.”
He spread his arms, presenting himself like a target.
“So shoot me.”
I shook my head and turned away, resuming my walk toward the exit.
“Nope.”
“Alessia, come on!”
“Please.”
“It’ll only take a second!”
His voice followed me, growing more desperate as I put distance between us. I didn’t turn around. I just kept walking.
“I’m not shooting you, Cassian.”
“But think about how fun it’ll be!” His voice carried across the field. “Just once! You only have to shoot me for a second, and then it’s done—”
I spun around, raised my gun, and fired before he could finish.
The paintball hit him square in the chest, a burst of yellow spreading across his heart.
I lowered the gun, a smile tugging at my lips despite myself.
“Happy?”
He looked down at the mark, then back up at me. His eyes crinkled at the corners, that unguarded, boyish smile breaking across his face.
“Yes,” he said softly.
I shook my head, still smiling, and kept walking, leaving Cassian standing there in his newly decorated vest.
Everyone had gathered near the benches, already deep in negotiations over where to eat.
Felicity turned to Liam. “I would be very grateful if you picked up the cheque. You know. Vet salary. Student loans. The crushing weight of adult responsibility.”
Rohan nodded solemnly beside her. “And you know exactly how much my paycheck is.” He paused, a thought visibly forming. “Speaking of which, I’ve been meaning to discuss a raise—”
“Let’s go, everyone!” Liam announced loudly, cutting him off.
He flourished a black card in the air like a trophy.
“Today’s meal is brought to you by Cassian and his card!”
Cassian, walking beside me, froze mid-step.
“Wait—how did you get my card?”
He was off like a shot, closing the distance to Liam in seconds. They immediately dissolved into bickering, their voices overlapping as their hands gestured wildly. Something about wallets. Something about trust. Something about “borrowing” versus “theft.”
I laughed.
The sound surprised me. Bright and genuine, escaping before I could contain it.
I glanced at Naija, walking quietly beside me.
“Hey,” I said, my voice softer. “Thank you for planning this. This was…” I searched for the right word, something that captured the unexpected lightness in my chest. “Actually good. I had fun.”
Naija looked at me.
Then her gaze drifted past me to where Cassian was still arguing with Liam, his card now being held hostage above both their heads.
Her mouth tightened, a small, telling press of her lips.
She looked back at me.
“I have to be honest.” Her voice was low, meant only for me. “I didn’t plan this.”
My step faltered.
She held my eyes, letting the truth land.
“Cassian did.”