A Predator

Reina’s POV

I should not be here.

The thought slams into me the moment I step foot inside Cassian Morelli’s mansion.

The sitting room is cold, impersonal. The walls, a pristine white, are lined with art pieces I don’t recognize, their worth probably more than I’ll ever make in my lifetime. The ceiling stretches high, disappearing into shadows cast by the golden chandelier above. The space is beautiful, immaculate… and yet, suffocating.

Like a cage.

I sit stiffly on the edge of an expensive leather couch, hands clasped in my lap, trying to steady my breath. The silence stretches, thick with something I can’t name. The only sound is the soft tick of a clock somewhere in the room, each second dragging like an eternity.

I am not here to admire the wealth, I remind myself. I am here for a job. A mission.

I inhale deeply, pressing my shoulders back. The police made it clear—I have no choice. I either infiltrate Cassian Morelli’s life, or I rot in a prison cell for the death of David Lance.

It should be easy. He is nothing to me.

Just another rich, powerful man who believes himself untouchable.

A predator in the shadows.

And I am here to be his downfall.

The thought makes my stomach churn. I curl my fingers into fists, willing my pulse to slow.

I cannot fall prey to men like him anymore. Men who thrived on watching others suffer.

I have survived worse than him.

Footsteps echo in the hallway outside.

I tense, every muscle in my body locking into place.

The door opens. I lift my gaze and everything inside me stills.

Cassian Morelli is not what I expected.

I have seen his pictures. I have read the files. I thought I knew what I was walking into. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared me for the man before me.

The photographs did no justice.

Even while on a wheelchair, he towers over the room with a presence that demands attention.

His features are sharp—ruthless, sculpted with a precision that feels almost inhuman. Dark eyes, cold and unreadable, bore into me, pinning me in place. His jaw is cut like stone, his lips a firm, unyielding line. A thin scar slices through his left eyebrow, adding to the dangerous allure that coils around him like a shroud.

But it is not just his looks that unsettle me.

It is the way he watches me.

Like he knows something I don’t.

Like he has already figured me out.

His wheelchair moves forward smoothly, noiselessly and the bodyguard next to him moves in sync. And yet, there is no weakness in him. No fragility.

Only power.

A power that lingers in the air between us, thick and suffocating.

I swallow hard.

“You must be Reina Vale.” His voice is deep, smooth, a blade wrapped in silk.

It takes me a second too long to respond. I force my spine straighter. “Yes. Mr. Morelli, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

His lips curve—not into a smile, but something far more dangerous. A ghost of amusement, laced with something darker.

“I doubt that,” he murmurs.

A shiver skates down my spine.

I try to ignore it.

I am here to do a job. Nothing more.

“You’re early.” He steepled his fingers, eyes never leaving mine.

“I believe in being punctual.”

“Good.” He studies me, a quiet intensity in his gaze that makes my breath hitch.

Seconds stretch.

I force myself not to fidget.

He is testing me. Waiting for me to crumble beneath the weight of his scrutiny.

I won’t. I hold his stare, matching his silence.

A flicker of something passes through his eyes—approval, maybe. But it vanishes before I can grasp it.

“You read my file?” he asks, voice casual.

“I read what was given to me.”

Another ghost of a smile. “And what did it tell you?”

I hesitate. “That you were injured in an assassination attempt.”

“Ah.” He tilts his head slightly. “And what do you think?”

“I think it must have been a terrible experience.”

His gaze sharpens. “That’s not an answer.”

My pulse pounds in my ears.

There is something in his tone. A challenge. A trap.

I tread carefully. “I think you’re lucky to be alive, sir.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Interest. Amusement.

“And yet, you don’t sound convinced.”

I keep my face blank. “I don’t make assumptions about my patients.”

He hums. “A wise choice.”

Silence drapes over us again, heavier this time.

I feel it—the weight of his stare. The way he dissects every inch of me, searching for cracks.

I cannot let him find them.

He signaled to the man beside him with a subtle tilt of his head. “Paulo, place Miss Vale’s belongings in the room across from mine,” he instructed, his voice laced with an unspoken promise—something dark, something inevitable.

A shiver ran down my spine, my heart stumbling over itself as his words settled in. Heat coiled low in my belly, a traitorous thrill tightening my core. What the f*ck is wrong with me? I should be alert, maybe even afraid. But instead, I felt something dangerously close to anticipation.

As soon as the man left with my bag, I reached for my examination bag, forcing the tension from my shoulders. “Shall I begin my evaluation?”

A pause.

Then, “If you must.”

I move toward him, careful to keep my steps measured, steady.

The closer I get, the harder it is to breathe.

His presence is overwhelming.

A storm caged in a man.

I kneel beside his chair, reaching for his wrist to check his pulse.

The moment my fingers brush his skin, I freeze.

Heat. Electricity.

His skin is warm—too warm. A contrast to the cold calculation in his gaze.

I swallow, forcing my expression to remain neutral as I count the beats beneath my fingertips. Steady. Controlled. Just like him.

Too late, I realize he’s watching me. Not just watching—studying.

“Something wrong, Dottoressa?” The way he says it—doctor, in his native tongue—shouldn’t send a shiver down my spine, but it does.

I shake my head, releasing his wrist. “Your heart rate is stable.”

He leans back slightly, but the intensity in his eyes never wavers. “Good. I’d hate to think you were already unnerved.”

Liar. He wants exactly that.

I open my mouth to respond when the door bursts open.

A man stumbles inside, his face bloodied, his hands bound behind his back. Two men flank him, dragging him forward.

Cassian doesn’t even blink.

The man trembles, eyes darting toward me before snapping back to Cassian. “Per favore, I—I didn’t know—”

Cassian exhales, slow and deliberate. “And yet, here we are.”

The room tilts. The suffocating wealth, the elegance—it’s all just a façade.

This is who he truly is.

Predator. Executioner. King.

I should look away. I should remind myself of my mission, of why I’m here.

But when Cassian tilts his head, amusement flickering in his dark gaze, I realize something horrifying.

He’s waiting. Testing me.

He wants to see if I’ll flinch. If I’ll run.

And for some godforsaken reason, I don’t.

I met his gaze. Hold it.

Something in the air shifts. A ghost of a smirk curves his lips.

And then, without looking away from me, he gives a single nod.

A gunshot shatters the silence. Warm blood splatters against my skin.

I don’t move. I don’t scream. I just breathe.

And Cassian Morelli smiles.

What have I just walked into?