(8) The Cassian Method

The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall of Lucas Cassian's private gym, casting golden rays across his sculpted form. He moved with mechanical precision on the treadmill, his black athletic shirt clinging to muscles that seemed carved from marble. A bead of sweat traced a path down his temple, catching the light like a diamond.

Perfect, one might think. Surreal, even.

Lucas adjusted his earbuds, the pounding beat of some classical remix filling his ears as he ran. His expression remained stoic and unreadable, the face of a man who had conquered boardrooms and broken competitors without breaking a sweat.

Behind him, the door slid open.

Charity stepped inside, her mouth slightly ajar. She had come to deliver the signed contract, to report the success of their plan, to do business.

Instead, she found herself frozen in the doorway, her eyes tracing the lines of his back, the flex of his shoulders, the way the sunlight seemed to worship him like some kind of Greek god who had wandered into a corporate gym.

Her throat went dry.

"No," she told herself firmly. "Absolutely not. He's everything but nice. He's cold, calculating, and probably has zero emotional intelligence."

But her eyes refused to listen.

She cleared her throat. Loudly.

Lucas didn't flinch. Didn't even twitch. The music was too loud.

Charity's brows furrowed. She cleared her throat again. Nothing.

"Is he ignoring me? Or is he actually that absorbed?"

She stepped closer, opening her mouth to speak and then paused. Come to think of it, Lucas looked... almost angelic like this. Without his overbearing presence, without his sharp, assessing gaze, he was just a man. A ridiculously attractive man who happened to be bathed in golden light like some sort of celestial being.

"Stop it," she scolded herself. "Focus. You're here for revenge, not for.."

Lucas suddenly hit the stop button on the treadmill. The machine whirred to a halt, and he turned to face her.

His thick brows knitted together, his dark eyes sharp and immediately assessing. The angelic illusion shattered, replaced by the predator she knew so well. Charity felt heat creep up her cheeks. She had been caught staring.

"What is it?" He stepped off the equipment and approached her, his movements fluid and deliberate.

Charity's brain short-circuited. "Oh! Uhmm..."

She desperately tried to look anywhere but at his face. His chest was also a problem. She settled on staring at the wall behind him. Very interesting wall. Great wall. Ten out of ten.

"Were you just here to stare?" Lucas asked, his voice dripping with mockery. He reached past her, grabbing his bottled water from the counter just behind her shoulder.

"No, I'm not!" she snapped, her embarrassment flaring into defensiveness. She slapped the stack of papers against his chest. "I signed the contract. I'll play the leading role just like you wanted."

Lucas raised an eyebrow, his gaze dropping to the papers before returning to her face.

"Like I wanted?" He caught her hand instead of taking the papers, his grip warm and firm. "Isn't this what you wanted too?"

"Don't play coy. We wanted their downfall." Charity tried to pull her hand back, but his grip tightened.

Lucas stepped closer, pressing her hand against his chest. The warmth of his skin seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"Good job." His voice dropped, low and almost hypnotic. "Do you want something from me?"

Charity's breath caught. She backed away instinctively, but the corner of the kitchen island stopped her retreat. She was trapped.

"I..." She hesitated, her mind racing.

Of course, Lucas Cassian could afford anything in the world. One word, and he would provide whatever she needed for their alliance. But standing this close to him, with his dark eyes boring into hers and his thumb tracing absent circles on her wrist, she couldn't remember a single thing she wanted.

"You... want what?" Lucas leaned closer, his tone dropping to almost a growl. His gaze flickered to her lips, lingering there with an intensity that made her knees weak.

Charity gulped. Her lips parted. The words were right there, on the tip of her tongue..

Buzz, buzz!

The smartwatch on Lucas's wrist vibrated violently. Their attention snapped to the small screen, where a name flashed:

Uno.

Lucas's expression shifted instantly. He released Charity and stepped back, his demeanor cooling as he answered the call through his earpods.

"What?" His voice was distant, demanding, the voice of a CEO, not a man who had just been moments away from... whatever that was.

Charity couldn't hear the conversation, but she could observe his face. He was silent for a moment, listening, then his brows began to knit together.

"Was it Paige?" he asked, his tone sharp. A pause. "I won't. Alright, next month."

He ended the call and turned back to Charity, his expression easing slightly as if he was calculating something. She watched him carefully, her curiosity piqued.

Who is Uno? And what did Paige do?

Charity placed the signed contract on the counter, deciding to mind her own business. Lucas walked close to her again, his presence once again overwhelming.

"Your schedule this month?" he asked casually, scrolling through contacts on his watch.

"Taping starts next week. Paige informed me it will be in Germany. At least a year there to wrap it up." Charity answered quickly, but her instincts told her something was coming. Something she wasn't prepared for.

Lucas paused, looked at her squarely, and said, "Let's go out tonight."

"What?" She was stunned. "As in... out? Like dinner?"

"Sort of." He studied her face for a moment, then sighed. "Wear something nice."

Charity was dumbfounded. She couldn't ask for more details, Lucas was already striding toward the door, the signed contract in his hand. He paused at the threshold, glancing back at her with an unreadable expression.

"Seven o'clock. I'll send a car."

And then he was gone, leaving Charity standing alone in the gym, her mind racing.

He's asking me out? On a date?

She stared at the door, her cheeks burning.

"Miss Vivianne!"

Charity raised her head to see Paige waiting at the gate of her house. She parked the car and stepped out, noting the troubled expression on his usually composed face.

"Are you alright? And please, don't call me that formally when it's just the two of us." She tapped her card on the scanner next to the gate, and it moved automatically to open. "In?"

"So... uh... Vivianne?" Paige's expression eased a bit, and when he smiled, Charity couldn't help but see a sunshine boy. He had that effect, warm, approachable, nothing like his intimidating boss.

"Better. We've known each other for two years." Charity led him inside the house, her heels clicking. "So, what made you come over? Did Lucas send you on an errand?"

"She's calling him Lucas?" Paige thought, but he didn't dare ask aloud. He followed behind her and answered, "Yes. Something came up. Do you have any clothes for tonight?"

"I'll look into my closet. It's just dinner, right? He might just bring me to a table and recite business data sheets." Charity raised her brows and sighed sarcastically. Knowing Lucas, he was the stiffest man there was. No wonder he was single.

"I see." Paige's lashes lowered as if he was thinking about something. Then he dropped the bombshell. "Did he mention he's bringing you to Christie's? The exclusive auction house?"

Charity came to a halt while placing her bag on the kitchen countertop. She turned to Paige in disbelief. "Christie's? Didn't he just decide on it? Christie's only hands out limited invitations..."

"A Cassian does it as a Cassian." Paige shrugged, unbothered by the spectacle that had clearly surprised Charity.

"Ah, yes. Brute force it with bucks." Charity massaged her head, feeling an ache bloom behind her temples.

She came to recall her marriage to Samuel.

Back then, they had tried desperately to get into a Christie's auction. It was the pinnacle of high society events, where billionaires mingled with royalty, where deals were made over champagne, where the elite decided who was in and who was out.

They had pulled every string, called in every favor, but were denied access due to the strict invitation-only policy.

Now, Lucas Cassian was waltzing her in like it was nothing.

"So," Paige said, snapping her back to the present, "now that you know, you have to get dressed properly. Lucas told me to contact a designer, but no one is available right now. I'll take you shopping."

He picked up her bag and handed it back to her in a gentlemanly way, his smile warm and encouraging.

---

Two hours later, Charity stood in front of a three-way mirror in an exclusive boutique, staring at her reflection.

Paige had outdone himself. The gown he had chosen was breathtaking, a deep sapphire blue that made her blonde hair and blue eyes pop. The fabric flowed like water, with a subtle slit that revealed just enough leg to be intriguing without being scandalous. The neckline was elegant, the back was daring, and the overall effect was... stunning.

"You look like a million bucks," Paige said, leaning against a nearby chaise lounge. "Actually, more like ten million. The dress alone costs that much."

Charity's eyes widened. "Excuse me?!"

"Don't worry. Lucas is paying." Paige grinned. "He said, and I quote, 'Get her something that will make everyone forget who they're looking at.'"

Charity blinked. "That's... oddly poetic for him."

"He has his moments." Paige stood and approached her, adjusting a stray strand of her hair. "There. Perfect. Now, about the auction..."

"What about it?"

Paige's expression turned serious. "There's going to be a lot of powerful people there tonight. Investors. Studio heads. The kind of people who can make or break a career. Lucas wants you to be seen, to be remembered. This is about more than just a dress."

Charity met his gaze in the mirror. "I know. It's about sending a message."

"Exactly." Paige smiled again, but this time it was tinged with something almost protective. "You're not just Vivianne Goldthorne tonight. You're his. And that means something in that room."

Charity's heart fluttered despite herself.

His. She's his.