~Zara~ I kissed him, then stole from him. A one-night stand with a billionaire wasn’t supposed to end in a job offer—or a manhunt. Cassian Wolfe isn’t just rich—he’s dangerous. He doesn’t ask questions. He takes. And when I disappear after stealing his family heirloom, he doesn’t call the cops. He hunts me. But instead of revenge, he offers a job. One that keeps me right under his control... and him right under my skin. I thought I could play him. Use his obsession. Use the secrets buried inside Wolfe Enterprises to destroy everything he stands for. What I didn’t expect... was to fall for the man I came to ruin. And now? I’m not sure who’s really playing who.
View More"I’m offering you a job.”She blinked.He smiled. Slow. Dangerous. “Executive assistant. High compensation. Full access. Proximity guaranteed.”Zara stared.“You want me under your nose?” she asked, voice dry.“I want you under control.”“That sounds like a threat.”“It’s an opportunity.”“To be your secretary?”“To see how long you can lie without slipping.”She stood, closing her file. “I’m not interested in playing games.”Cassian rose too, stepping around the table.“Who said anything about games?” he asked, stopping in front of her. “This isn’t about fun, Zara. It’s about leverage.”She didn’t move.“You’re dangerous,” he said softly. “And I want you where I can see you.”Her heart kicked harder.But she looked up and met his eyes with steel.“Fine,” she said. “But you’re not the only one watching.”She walked out without looking back.And Cassian Wolfe, the man who didn’t chase anyone, already knew:He wasn’t going to stop until she unraveled completely.The badge clipped to
Cassian Wolfe didn’t get rattled.He made billion-dollar decisions before breakfast. Signed off on mergers that gutted empires. He walked through his world like a king in a city built to kneel.But that morning, as the glass elevator carried him to the top floor of Wolfe Enterprises, the silk ring of her perfume still clung to the inside of his jacket—and it bothered him.He didn’t know her name.Didn’t know where she went.Didn’t even know if Zara was real.But he remembered the way she said it, cool and offhand, like she’d done this before—like disappearing was a habit, not a trick.The elevator doors opened into glass and gold.His assistant, Leona Vixon, stood at her desk, typing at speeds that suggested someone had already pissed her off.She looked up.Paused.“You look like you committed murder in a tux,” she said without missing a beat.Cassian didn’t answer. He walked past her, tossing his jacket onto the back of the nearest leather chair.“I need you to find someone,” he sai
"A threat" There was no smile on his face, just calm calculation. But there was something else, too. Beneath the corporate menace beneath the tailored suit and strategic stillness something dangerous flickered.Interest.Desire.She could use that.“Then maybe you should have left me downstairs,” she said, brushing past him, fingers trailing the edge of a velvet curtain.“I tried,” he said, his voice low and close. “But then you turned around in that dress, and I forgot every rule I made about unknown women.”She turned. “I’m not unknown.”“Not yet.”He stepped closer. She didn’t back away.Cassian’s eyes dipped, slowly, deliberately—past her mouth, down her throat, then up again. “Where are you from?”“Nowhere you’d recognize.”“What do you want?”“To disappear.”“Why are you lying?”“Because it’s safer.”The honesty was so stark, it stole the smirk from his lips. For the first time, he paused—not because he doubted her, but because she’d said it like a woman who’d had to.He stared
The smell of wealth was always the same like vintage cologne, iced liquor, and silent threats. Even here, three floors below the city's legal limits, it clung to the air like static before lightning.Zara Moretti stepped into the gold-lit ballroom like she owned it, even though the borrowed jewels around her throat still made her skin itch.“Careful,” Emilio whispered beside her, offering a flute of champagne he hadn’t paid for. “You’re looking a little too convincing.”“I should hope so,” she said, her eyes scanning the crowd behind feathered lashes. “I didn’t squeeze into this dress just to flirt with the bartender.”Emilio grinned. “He’s crying inside, you know. He poured that drink like he was imagining your entire mortgage.”“I don’t have a mortgage.”“Exactly. That’s why he’s crying.”The music was too soft, the kind that made people feel expensive. Around them, trust fund kids laughed like nothing could touch them, clinking glasses filled with thousand-dollar regret. The theme
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