NOAH
SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.
The words looped in my head like a broken record, each repetition louder than the last.
Shit. Shit. SHIT.
This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.
But it was.
The man I punched, the man whose face I'd swung at in a drunken rage, the man who'd pinned me down and taken my wallet and made me feel things I didn't want to think about, was standing in front of me.
My new CEO.
Cassian Wolfe.
And I was so, so fucked.
My heart was hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat. My hands were shaking. My palms were slick with sweat. The air in the room felt too thick, too heavy, like it was trying to suffocate me.
I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't think.
All I could do was stand there, staring at the floor, praying that maybe... maybe, if I didn't look at him, this would all go away.
But it didn't.
"You know why you're here, don't you?" His voice was soft. Almost gentle.
But there was nothing gentle about it.
I nodded quickly, still not looking up.
"I asked you a question, Noah."
His tone sharpened, just slightly, and I flinched.
"Y-yes," I stammered, voice cracking. "I know."
"Say it."
My throat went dry.
"Because..." I swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "Because I punched you."
"Mmm." I could hear the smile in his voice. "And?"
My mind raced. And what? What else does he want me to say?
Oh.
Oh no.
"Because... you have my wallet," I whispered.
"Good boy."
The words hit me like a freight train.
My knees almost gave out.
Not because they were threatening. Not because they were cruel.
But because of the way he said them.
Satisfied. Pleased. Like I'd done exactly what he wanted.
And my traitorous body reacted.
No. No, no, no. Not now. Not again.
I clenched my fists, trying to focus on anything else. The floor. The hum of the air conditioning. The faint sound of traffic outside.
Anything but the way my heart was racing for all the wrong reasons.
I had to fix this.
I had to save myself.
Before I could think it through, my knees hit the floor.
"I'm sorry!" The words burst out of me, desperate and frantic. "I'm so, so sorry. I was drunk. I wasn't thinking. I mistook you for someone else, my girlfriend, she left me for someone, and I thought... I thought you were him, but I was wrong, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"
I bowed my head low, pressing my forehead almost to the ground.
This always worked. Apologizing. Groveling. Being pathetic enough that people felt bad for you.
It worked with my seniors. With my managers. With my parents.
If I just showed him how genuinely sorry I was, maybe he'd let this go.
"I'll take whatever consequences you give me," I added quickly, voice shaking. "Whatever punishment. I won't fight it. I won't complain. Just—please. I'm begging you."
Silence.
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of my own ragged breathing.
And then I heard it.
A low, amused chuckle.
"Are you really ready to bear the consequences?"
My blood turned to ice.
That wasn't relief in his voice.
That was a threat.
My head snapped up, and I found him staring down at me, that same wicked glint in his eyes, that infuriating smirk curling at the corner of his lips.
He looked like a predator toying with its prey.
And I was the prey.
"I—" My voice cracked. "I said I would—"
"Have you ever been to jail, Noah?"
The question hit me like a punch to the gut.
"W-what?" I whispered, eyes wide.
He tilted his head, expression calm, almost casual. Like we were discussing the weather.
"Jail," he repeated. "Prison. You know, the place with bars and concrete walls and men who don't take kindly to pretty boys like you."
I couldn't breathe.
"I'm sure the CCTV footage from the club is more than enough to get an arrest warrant," he continued, voice smooth and clinical. "Battery. Assault. Maybe even defamation, depending on how my lawyers want to spin it."
No.
"And once you're in there," he went on, leaning back slightly, "well. That's it, isn't it? Your life is over. Your family goes into debt trying to bail you out. Your career? Gone. Your future? Nonexistent."
I felt like I was going to pass out.
"And you know what's funny?" He leaned forward now, close enough that I could smell the faint trace of smoke and cologne on him. "With a face like this—" His hand reached out, fingers brushing along my jaw, tilting my head up. "—and a body like this? You'd have quite the time in there."
The image flashed in my mind, unbidden and horrifying.
Cold cells. Strange hands. Violence.
I swallowed hard, bile rising in my throat.
"Maybe that would teach you not to swing at random strangers," he murmured, voice dripping with mock sympathy.
"No—" The word tore out of me before I could stop it. "Please. Please. Don't—"
I scrambled forward, hands grasping at his legs, his shoes, anything I could reach.
"Please don't ruin my life," I begged, voice breaking. "I'll do anything. Anything. Just—please—"
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, hot and humiliating.
I was trembling. Shaking like a leaf.
And he just... watched.
Silent.
Unmoving.
Like he was savoring every second of my desperation.
Finally, finally, he moved.
He leaned down, lowering himself until we were almost eye-level, and his hand reached out again.
This time, he cupped my jaw gently, his thumb brushing away the single tear that had slipped free.
His touch was warm.
Too warm.
"But of course," he said softly, that deadly smile returning, "I'm not such a heartless bastard."
Hope flickered in my chest, fragile and desperate.
"There's always another option in situations like this," he continued, his voice low, almost a purr.
I stared at him, barely daring to breathe.
"What... what option?" I whispered.
His smile widened.
And somehow, that scared me more than anything else.