20. Cassian
CASSIAN
The phone hits my desk with enough force to crack the screen. I don't care. The rage coursing through me needs an outlet and since I can't put my fist through a wall—not here, not at Black Lake headquarters where appearances matter—the phone takes the hit.
Jordan appears in the doorway, eyes wide. "Sir, are you?—"
"Get out."
"But the design team meeting?—"
"Reschedule it. Cancel it. I don't give a fuck what you do with it. Just get out of my office."
He vanishes. The door clicks shut behind him.
I drop into my chair, press the heels of my hands against my eyes until spots bloom in the darkness. Amara's voice still echoes in my head—accusatory, furious, convinced I'm the architect of this disaster when all I did was exist in proximity to Raylin Hart for too many years.
You handed Raylin the pen.
Maybe I did. Maybe by not shutting her down harder, sooner, more publicly, I gave her the ammunition she needed to blow up everything I've been trying to build with Amara and June.
Years of tolerating her presence at events, of polite deflections instead of brutal honesty, all because making a scene felt uncomfortable.
Well, now there's a scene. A massive, public, career-threatening scene splashed across every gossip site in Manhattan.
My office line rings. I ignore it. It rings again. Then my cell phone lights up with my father's name on the screen.
I answer. "What?"
"My office. Five minutes."
The line goes dead.
I stand, straighten my tie out of habit, and head down the hallway toward the executive suite. Other employees scatter when they see me coming, probably picking up on whatever energy I'm radiating. Smart of them.
My father's door is already open. He's standing at the window, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders rigid. The posture of a man preparing for battle.
"Close the door."
I do. He doesn't turn around.
"I just got off the phone with Leonard Hart."
Of course he did. Leonard Hart, Raylin's father, Black Lake's longtime business partner and the man who's been quietly positioning his daughter as my future wife for the better part of a decade.
"And?"
"He's pulling his investments. Every partnership, every collaboration, every joint venture we've built over the last fifteen years. He wants out."
I hold back my snide remark about the Hart family as a whole. Black Lake doesn't need Leonard Hart's money—we're solvent without him—but losing that relationship creates ripples. Other investors get nervous, competitors smell weakness, the board starts asking questions.
"Because Raylin's feelings got hurt?"
"You humiliated his daughter publicly by choosing another woman.
A woman who, according to him, is using a child you didn't know existed to manipulate you into a business deal that benefits her career.
" My father finally turns, eyes cold. "He's threatening legal action against Sapphire Studios.
Claims the collaboration is fraud, that we're using company resources to benefit your personal life at the expense of legitimate business interests. "
"That's insane."
"Is it?" He moves toward his desk, taps the tablet sitting there. "Because from the outside, it looks damning. Mystery woman shows up after six years, suddenly has your daughter, immediately lands a massive deal with Black Lake through a connection with you. The optics are terrible, Cassian."
"The optics don't change the fact that Amara's work is exactly what we need. You said it yourself. She's culturally relevant, emotionally resonant, everything we've been missing." I cross my arms, hold my ground. "This partnership stands on merit."
"The public doesn't care about merit. They care about scandal.
And right now, Black Lake is tangled in a scandal that makes us look either incompetent or complicit in nepotism.
" He sits, leans back in his chair. "The board wants answers.
Investors are asking questions. And I need to know the truth, Cassian, did you push this collaboration because of Amara or because it's actually good business? "
The question stops me cold. Because the honest answer is both. Yes, I want to be near Amara. Yes, discovering June made every professional boundary I'd maintained feel irrelevant. But none of that changes the fundamental truth. Her work is exactly what Black Lake needs.
"Both," I say quietly.
His jaw tightens. "Then you lied to me."
"I told you her work was extraordinary. That hasn't changed."
"But you left out the part where you have a daughter with her and by bringing her into Black Lake, you're mixing business with personal complications that could destroy what I've spent decades building.
" He stands abruptly. "You should've disclosed this from the beginning.
The moment you realized Amara Campbell had your child, you should've recused yourself from any business dealings with her. "
"And let someone else handle the collaboration? Someone who doesn't understand her work, who'd try to sand down the edges and make it palatable for mass consumption?" I shake my head. "No. Amara needs someone who gets what she's trying to say. I'm that person."
"You're also the father of her child, which creates a conflict of interest so massive it's visible from space."
"Then fire me. Remove me from the project.
But don't pull the collaboration." I move closer, force him to meet my eyes.
"Sapphire Studios and Amara Campbell bring exactly what you asked for.
If you cancel because Raylin Hart leaked photos to gossip sites, you're letting petty revenge dictate business strategy. "
"This isn't about Raylin."
"It absolutely is. She's the one who exposed June.
She's the one feeding narratives to the press about Amara being an opportunist. And her father's the one threatening to pull investments because his daughter didn't get what she wanted.
You're letting the Harts weaponize a five-year-old girl to punish me for not marrying Raylin. "
Silence fills the office. My father's expression doesn't change, but something shifts in his eyes. Recognition, maybe, or the beginning of doubt.
"I don't bend to threats," he says finally. "Not from Leonard Hart, not from anyone."
"Then don't. Tell Hart to pull his investments if he wants. We'll survive without him. But keep the Sapphire collaboration because it's good business, not because of who Amara is to me."
He studies me for a long moment. Then he picks up his phone, dials a number. "Katheryn Caldwell. Conference call. Now."
He puts it on speaker. Three rings, then Katheryn's voice fills the room. "Lucian. I assume you've seen the news."
"I have. Is Amara with you?"
"She's here."
"Put her on."
A pause. Shuffling sounds. Then Amara's voice comes through clearly. "Mr. Griffin."
"Miss Campbell. I'm going to ask you a direct question and I need a direct answer. Did my son push for this collaboration because of your personal history or because your work merits the partnership?"
Another pause. I can picture her—standing in Katheryn's office, hands probably clenched into fists, fury and fear warring across her face.
"Both," she says finally. "Your son recognized the value in my work because he's seen it before and he understands my artistic vision better than most people in the fashion industry.
But yes, our personal history played a role in bringing this opportunity to my attention.
" She takes a breath. "That doesn't make the partnership any less legitimate.
My work speaks for itself. If you don't believe that, pull the contract. I'll find another company that does."
My father's eyebrows rise slightly. He wasn't expecting that—the challenge, the refusal to grovel or minimize. Amara's never been good at playing small.
"Your work is extraordinary," he says after a moment. "I meant what I said during our meeting. Black Lake needs what you're offering."
"Then why are we having this conversation?"
"Because public perception matters. If the media believes this collaboration is nepotism disguised as business, it undermines both our reputations."
"The media believes whatever generates clicks.
We can't control that. What we can control is the quality of the work we produce.
If we move forward with this partnership and create something innovative, the noise dies down.
If we cave to pressure and cancel because Raylin Hart threw a tantrum, we prove her narrative right. "
Katheryn's voice cuts in. "She's right, Lucian. Canceling now makes it look like the collaboration never had merit to begin with. We lose credibility, Amara loses momentum, and Black Lake looks like a company that folds under gossip."
My father taps his fingers on the desk. "Leonard Hart is threatening legal action."
"Let him try," Katheryn says. "Our contract with Black Lake is airtight. Amara's work is documented, her reputation is established, and there's zero evidence of fraud or misconduct. Hart's angry because his daughter didn't get what she wanted. That's not grounds for a lawsuit."
"He could make things messy."
"Everything's already messy. The question is whether we move forward despite the mess or let it dictate our decisions."
Another long silence. I watch my father's face, trying to gauge which way he's leaning.
Lucian Griffin built Black Lake by taking deliberate risks, by trusting his instincts even when the board pushed back.
But he's also a man who values reputation, who understands that scandal can tank a company faster than bad products.
Finally, he speaks. "The collaboration continues.
But—" He looks directly at me. "You're off the project, Cassian.
Someone else handles logistics and coordination with Sapphire Studios.
You stay away from Amara Campbell in every capacity.
Black Lake's involvement with her needs to be completely separate from your relationship. "
The words hit me like a sledgehammer. "Dad?—"
"That's non-negotiable. If this partnership is as legitimate as you claim, it doesn't need you managing it.
We'll assign someone neutral, someone without personal stakes.
" He leans forward. "And you need to deal with Raylin.
Whatever's happening between you two, end it.
Permanently. I don't care how you do it, but make it clear that she's persona non grata.
Her behavior this week has been unacceptable and I won't have her jeopardizing Black Lake's business because she's vindictive. "
"I already told her to stay away."
"Then tell her again. Louder. Publicly if necessary." His jaw sets. "Leonard Hart's daughter or not, she crossed a line by exposing your child to the media. That's not something I take lightly."
I nod once, throat tight.
"Amara," my father says into the phone. "You still there?"
"Yes."
"We're moving forward. Contracts stand, timeline remains the same. Someone from my team will reach out within twenty-four hours to coordinate next steps." He pauses. "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry about the media attention. No child should be dragged into this."
"Thank you," she says quietly.
The call ends. My father sets the phone down, looks at me with an expression I can't quite read, somewhere between disappointment and grudging respect.
"You care about her."
It's not a question. "Yes."
"And the daughter?"
"She's everything."
He nods slowly. "Then protect them. Not by inserting yourself into every aspect of their lives, but by giving them space to exist without becoming collateral damage in whatever war Raylin Hart is waging.
You have resources, Cassian. Use them. Hire security if necessary, get restraining orders, do whatever it takes to keep that woman away from Amara.
Because if she escalates—and people like her always escalate—you need to be ready. "
The thought sends ice through my veins. "You think she'd actually go after June?"
"I think a woman who leaks photos of a five-year-old to gossip sites has already demonstrated she'll use any weapon available. Don't underestimate her vindictiveness." He turns back to face me. "Now get out of my office. You have a mess to clean up."
I leave. The hallway feels too bright, too exposed. Other executives pass by, averting their eyes, pretending they haven't spent all morning gossiping about my secret daughter and the scandal threatening to tank Black Lake's latest partnership.
I head back toward my office. Jordan's hovering near the door, tablet clutched to his chest like armor.
"Sir, I rescheduled the design team meeting for tomorrow and your publicist called three times?—"
"Handle it," I say, brushing past him. "And clear my schedule for the rest of the day. I need to make some calls."
I close the door before he can respond, sink into my chair, and pull up my lawyer's number.
If Raylin wants a war, she'll get one. But it'll be fought in courtrooms with legal precedent, not in gossip columns with manufactured scandal.
And when the dust settles, when the noise dies down and the media moves on to the next story, I'll still be here, waiting for Amara to let me back in.
Even if it takes another six years.