The invitation to the Midas Gala wasn't just a social event; it was a deliberate move in Cassian's intricate power play, a test disguised as a perk. He was dangling access, watching to see if I'd bite, how I'd react, whether I was indeed the player he suspected or just another starry-eyed woman caught in his orbit. The thought chafed, even as a cold, strategic part of me recognized the opportunity. An exclusive gala meant potential new contacts, whispered secrets, and a chance to observe Cassian in a different environment. It also meant an entire evening in his calculated presence, playing a role that felt increasingly dangerously close to reality.
Monday morning arrived, crisp and unforgiving. I walked into Wolfhart Dynamics headquarters, the sleek glass and steel feeling less like a fortress and more like a gilded cage. The encounter with Vincent Creed the previous week still prickled at the back of my neck. His veiled threat, his knowing eyes – he was a wild card, loyal to Cassian but with an agenda I hadn't fully deciphered. For now, he was a complication I had to navigate carefully.
Cassian was already in his office when I arrived at precisely 8 AM. He looked up as I entered, a faint, unreadable smile playing on his lips.
"Right on time, Reyna. Punctuality. I like that."
"Efficiency is key," I replied, setting my bag down near my desk in the outer office. I had deliberately chosen not to sit, waiting for his lead.
He gestured for me to come in, then closed the door behind me, a move that immediately ratcheted up the tension. His office, usually a place of controlled chaos, felt still, charged.
"About your role here," he began, leaning back against his imposing desk. "Strategic Communications is... valuable. But I've been reviewing your preliminary work, and frankly, your insights are wasted on broad-spectrum analysis."
My heart gave a tiny, unwelcome lurch. Was this it? Had he seen through the facade?
"My apologies if my work hasn't met your expectations," I said, keeping my voice even.
He shook his head slowly, pushing off the desk to walk towards me. The movement was fluid, predatory.
"On the contrary. Your insights are too sharp, too focused. You see the angles others miss. You anticipate the moves before they're made."
He stopped directly in front of me, and I had to resist the urge to step back. His gaze, that intense, stormy gray, felt like a physical touch.
"I need someone closer," he stated, his voice low and gravelly. "Someone who isn't afraid to get their hands dirty, who can handle... sensitive matters. Someone who can anticipate my needs before I even voice them."
My mind raced. Sensitive matters? Anticipate his needs? The implication hung heavy in the air.
"What exactly are you proposing, Mr. Wolfhart?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"A new position," he said, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "My personal assistant."
The offer landed like a punch to the gut. A personal assistant. It was exactly the kind of close-quarters access I needed, more direct than Strategic Communications could ever offer. It would put me in the heart of his operations, expose me to his private world, his contacts, his vulnerabilities. It was also the most dangerous position imaginable. Working side-by-side with the man I intended to destroy.
"That's... a significant shift," I managed, allowing a hint of surprise to show.
"It is." He watched me closely, searching for any sign of hesitation or fear. "It requires absolute discretion, unwavering loyalty, and a willingness to be... adaptable."
Adaptable. A euphemism, I was sure, for crossing lines, for navigating the murky ethical waters that defined his world.
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you remain in Strategic Comms," he said, shrugging as if the decision was insignificant. "Valuable, yes. But ultimately, on the periphery."
On the periphery. A place where I wouldn't find the evidence I needed, wouldn't get close enough to uncover the truth about Maya. This was the pivot point, the moment where I had to choose between playing it safe and diving headfirst into the fire.
"What would this position entail, specifically?" I asked, buying time, my mind already listing the potential gains. Access to his calendar, his calls, his personal files... and a constant, unnerving proximity to my target.
"Everything," he said simply. "Managing my schedule, handling my private affairs, representing me when necessary. You would be my gatekeeper, my confidante... my shadow."
The word hung in the air. Shadow. Following him, observing him, becoming a part of his life. It was both horrifying and exhilarating.
"It's a demanding role," I said.
"Only for those who aren't built for it." He stepped closer still, until I could feel the faint heat radiating from his body. His hand reached out, not to touch me, but to rest on the doorframe beside my head, effectively boxing me in.
"Are you built for it, Reyna?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Are you willing to play a game where the stakes are everything, and the rules are constantly changing?"
His eyes held mine, a challenge burning in their depths. He wasn't just offering a job; he was offering a test, a partnership in deception, a dance on the edge of a precipice.
This was the game. The game of fire and ice. And he was asking me to step onto the board with him.
I met his gaze squarely, pushing down the tremor that ran through me.
"Try me, Mr. Wolfhart," I said, my voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil inside. "I excel at adapting."
A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. "I have a feeling you do." He lowered his hand, the physical barrier between us dissolving, yet the invisible one felt thinner than ever.
"You start today. My current assistant will brief you."
He turned and walked back to his desk, the brief, intense interlude over. But the air between us still crackled, thick with unspoken possibilities and dangerous intentions.
As I walked back to my desk, the weight of the decision settled upon me. I had just accepted a position that would put me in constant, intimate contact with the man I was here to destroy. I had stepped into the wolf's den, not as a distant observer, but as his chosen companion.
The game had just become infinitely more perilous. And I had a sinking feeling I was already starting to lose control.