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The air was thick with heat, skin against skin, breath tangled in sighs. She arched beneath him, fingers threading through his hair, her lips brushing his shoulder with practised ease. Every move was choreographed, sensual, and familiar.
But Cassian wasn't there. Not really.
His body moved, yes—thrusting into her, hands gripping her hips like he was holding onto something real. But in his head, there was only noise.
What was her name?
Scarlet?
No. Not scarlet.
He blinked hard.
Ash? Ashline? Something with an A.... Maybe?
Her moan broke through the fog, high and breathy. She was close. She thought he was, too. But inside, all he felt was static—like chasing a climax through glass.
She gasped, lips at his ear. "Don't stop."
He almost laughed.
I never even started.
Faster. Harder. His body obeyed, desperate to feel something—anything. To chase that final moment, that edge he hadn't touched ever.
But it was always the same. The higher he climbed, the farther away it felt. The pleasure didn't build—it frayed.
Still nothing.
He gritted his teeth, sweat sliding down his temple. Her fingers clawed at his back now, drawing lines across his skin like that would fix him.
It wouldn't.
No one could.
She came with a cry, soft and satisfied. Her body relaxed beneath him, her arms pulling him closer. "You're amazing," she whispered.
He froze.
Her voice wasn't right. Her hands weren't right. Her presence felt hollow.
He pulled out slowly, sat at the edge of the bed, and ran a hand through his hair. The silence between them screamed louder than the moans had.
She sat up, the sheet slipping down her chest. "Cassian? What's wrong?"
He stared at the floor, jaw tight. "Nothing."
But his hands were shaking. His muscles were tense. And he still hadn't come.
He never did.
Because she wasn't her.
The hotel room still smelled of sex—salt, sweat, and her perfume, sweet and floral. Cassian sat on the edge of the bed, still shirtless, running a hand through his damp hair as his phone buzzed on the nightstand.
He answered without checking.
"Another failed attempt?" came the voice, smooth and dry. His best friend. Addie Smith. The only one who knew the full extent of his curse.
Cassian exhaled slowly. "Yeah."
There was a pause. "Damn. That's the fourth this month."
"Fifth," Cassian corrected, eyes narrowing at nothing.
Another buzz. Another call. This time, the screen lit up with a name: Hayat – Assistant.
He answered. "What?"
"Sir," her voice clipped and efficient, "you asked me to keep a list of... encounters. For reference. You haven't sent over the name yet."
Cassian sighed and turned his head toward the woman still lying tangled in the sheets, scrolling on her phone, unaware she was being logged like a lab result.
"What's your name?" he asked, flatly.
She looked up, blinking. "Seriously?"
He waited. No apology. No smile. Just blank detachment.
She scoffed, clutching the sheet to her chest. "It's Tania."
He repeated it for Hayat. "Tania. Add it to the list." Then he hung up.
Tania stared at him, her lips parting like she wanted to say something—maybe demand why he cared so little. But she stopped herself. Maybe she already knew the answer.
Without another word, she slid off the bed and walked toward her bag, pulling out a bikini. She slipped it on quietly, her movements slower now, like something had cracked under the weight of his indifference.
"You could've at least remembered my name," she said, not looking at him.
He didn't respond.
She stepped out onto the balcony without a sound, the door shutting gently behind her.
Cassian lay back, staring at the ceiling, a dull ache thudding in his chest. Not from longing. Not from guilt. Just exhaustion.
It was never about the women. Never about the act. It was about the one he hadn't found.
His eyes closed, the silence folding in. And for a moment, just before sleep pulled him under, he thought —
What would be her name?
But then it faded, like everything else. And Cassian drifted off into a sleep as hollow as the pleasure he kept chasing.
Morning in Paris.
The soft hum of the city seeped through the curtains as the first rays of light filtered into the luxury suite. Cassian rose from bed with precision, every movement deliberate. There was no trace of last night's exhaustion in his expression—only the calm, calculated focus of a man raised to command.
He buttoned his crisp white shirt and adjusted the cuffs of his navy blazer, the logo of Marlowe Constructs embroidered subtly on the inside. His architectural empire had built skylines across continents, and now, it was Paris that called him.
The resort project on the edge of the Seine was in its early stages—glass and stone waiting for vision. Cassian arrived at the site, exchanged sharp words and sharper glances with contractors, and in just under an hour, the groundwork was laid. Paris would have its masterpiece.
But no sooner had Cassian stepped back into the quiet calm of his Paris hotel room than his phone lit up with the name that made his heart still—Kassie.
He answered immediately, voice that with concern. "Kass?"
There was a pause. Then her voice came through, small and stuffy, thick with sleep and something sadder. "Cass... I'm sick."
His heart clenched. "What happened?"
"I have a fever," she sniffled. "It's not too bad, I guess. Just... I miss you. And—" she paused, her voice trembling with a mix of drama and genuine longing, "—I want ice cream."
He blinked, momentarily thrown by the innocence of her request. "You want ice cream?"
"You promised," she whispered, like a child clinging to the last string of hope. "Last week, you said you'd take me to Sweet Swirls. You broke your promise, Cass."
His chest tightened. Her voice sounded so small—so unlike the bright, fearless girl he'd left back home. And he hated that she had to feel alone, even for a second.
He checked the time, already reaching for his watch. "I'll be home by evening. That's a promise I won't break."
"But—"
"Shh." His tone softened. "Don't move from bed. Rest. I'll take care of the ice cream part."
The line was quiet for a moment, and then she breathed, "You're the best."
He smiled faintly. "Don't forget it."
The moment the call ended, he turned to his assistant without hesitation. "Hayat," he said, already slipping on his coat. "Ready the jet. We leave in twenty."
She blinked, startled. "Sir? What about the resort—?"
"It can wait. My sister can't."
There was steel in his voice. A rare crack in the fortress of Cassian Marlowe. And for the first time that day, he didn't care about blueprints, business, or Paris.
All that mattered was getting home—to the one girl who had never asked for anything but his time.
Evening — USA.
Cassian stepped off the jet with the urgency of a man who had been told the fate of the world depended on a single scoop of ice cream. His coat billowed behind him like a cape, his jaw set with brotherly determination. Within an hour, the black SUV pulled into the circular drive of the Marlowe Mansion.
He barely reached the front door when it burst open.
"Cassian!" came the squeal.
There she was—Kassie Marlowe, wrapped in an oversized hoodie three sizes too big and fuzzy socks that didn't match. Her nose was pink, her hair a chaotic mess of curls, and in her arms, a hot water bottle shaped like a penguin. Dramatic as ever.
"You're late," she sniffed, pouting. "I might've died, you know."
Cassian smirked and caught her in his arms before she could launch into a dead actress. "You're still breathing. Barely."
"I was preparing my will," she mumbled into his shoulder. "All my books were going to the cat shelter."
"We don't own a cat," he replied dryly.
"Exactly."
He pulled back to check her forehead. "You still feel warm."
"I'm a woman of fire," she said proudly, but he raised a brow, and she cracked. "Okay, okay, it's just a tiny fever now. But I didn't lie. I missed you."
Cassian softened. He pressed a kiss to her hair. "I missed you too, baby."
She grinned. "So? Did you bring it?"
He blinked. "Bring what?"
Kassie gasped, clutching her chest like he'd just betrayed her family name. "The Ice cream, Cassian. You flew across the Atlantic and forgot the ice cream?"
"I thought we'd go together," he said, deadpan. "You can't die before your chocolate sundae."
"Smart man," she said, already tugging him toward the car. "Let's go. The seat of destiny awaits."
At Sweet Swirls.
Cassian sat stiffly in the bright pink booth of Sweet Swirls, feeling wildly out of place. His suit probably cost more than the shop's rent, and the teenage cashier was nervously trying to draw a heart in whipped cream.
Across from him, Kassie was practically vibrating with excitement, diving into a towering monstrosity of a sundae decorated with rainbow sprinkles, fudge drizzle, and a very aggressive amount of gummy bears.
"You're going to explode," Cassian warned.
She looked up, cheeks full. "Worth it."
He sipped his black coffee like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality.
Kassie narrowed her eyes. "Don't look so grumpy. This is quality sibling bonding. If you smiled a little, the world wouldn't end."
"I smile," he muttered.
"When? In 2012? During a thunderstorm?"
Cassian's lips twitched.
She pointed a spoon at him. "There it is. A smirk. We're making progress."
They sat in content silence for a while—her inhaling sugar, him enjoying the rare peace of being just a big brother, not a CEO, not a man cursed by things no one could see. Just Cassian, the guy who kept his promises—even for sundaes.
Kassie nudged his arm. "Thanks for coming home."
He looked at her, eyes soft. "I'll always come home for you."
"Even if I call you crying over ice cream and a minor flu?"
"Especially then."
She grinned. "Good. Because next week I'm faking a stomach ache to get pizza."
Cassian chuckled, shaking his head. "You're impossible."
"I'm adorable," she corrected.
And he couldn't argue with that.
Kassie leaned back in the booth at Sweet Swirls, twirling her spoon lazily in the melting pool of her sundae. Her eyes sparkled with sugar-fueled happiness, but a small sigh escaped her lips.
"I just wish this place was closer to home," she murmured wistfully. "It's, like, a whole hour away. If it were next door, I'd basically live here."
Cassian looked at her over the rim of his coffee cup, one brow arching. "You want unlimited ice-cream next door?"
She grinned. "Dream come true."
He chuckled, but her words settled deep in his mind—like a quiet seed planted in fertile ground. Her birthday was only a month away. And if there was one thing he never did, it was give ordinary gifts.
A minute later, his eyes flicked to his bodyguard. "Take her back to the car. Stay with her. Tell her I'm just wrapping up a call."
Kassie looked at him suspiciously. "You're not going back to Paris, are you?"
He rolled his eyes. "No, princess. Just stay in the car and keep eating that monstrosity you call dessert."
As soon as she was gone, Cassian stood and approached the counter where the young cashier—still a little starstruck—straightened her apron nervously.
"Call your owner," Cassian said smoothly. "Tell them I want to buy this place."
Her eyes widened. "Uh—sir?"
"I'll pay double the market value," he added before she could speak.
Ten minutes later, the owner arrived, slightly breathless and clearly skeptical—until Cassian slid a folded document across the table with a signed offer too good to refuse. In less than an hour, the shop was his.
He turned to the cashier and the ice cream maker, who had been watching the transaction unfold in stunned silence.
"I want you both to keep working here," Cassian said. "But under me now. I'll double your pay and give you full benefits. In return, you serve one very important customer."
They agreed on the spot, too shocked to argue.
Two Weeks Later.
Construction had begun on the vacant plot right next to the Marlowe Mansion—a space Cassian rarely gave a second glance until now. He worked with top designers to build something truly magical: a Barbie Rapunzel-themed Sweet Swirls shop, complete with soft pink towers, pastel florals, and golden lantern lights strung across the curved windows.
The floor tiles shimmered like a fairytale ballroom. The interior was a dreamscape of soft velvet seating, glittery menus, and a custom neon sign that read: "Kassie's Kingdom of Cream."
Cassian oversaw every single detail—from the custom Rapunzel braid-pattern wallpaper to the secret room in the back where she could "rule" over her sugary empire.
Until her birthday, the whole project remained hidden behind white construction drapes and a "COMING SOON" sign that revealed nothing.
And every time Kassie sighed about Sweet Swirls being "so far away," Cassian simply smiled to himself—knowing that in just a few weeks, she'd wake up with a fairytale castle of ice cream waiting right outside her window.
The Next Morning.
The atmosphere in Marlowe Constructs buzzed with victory. Cassian strolled into the boardroom, greeted by his executive team.
"The New York resort deal is ours," his VP beamed.
Cassian's expression didn't change—but his eyes gleamed. "Set up a meeting with the developers. Today. I want the design team present as well."
"Yes, sir. They're sending their lead now—from Seraphina Designs."
He froze for just a moment.
Seraphina Designs.
Her company.
Seraphina.
An Hour Later.
The door to the conference room opened, and in she walked—heels clicking with confidence, hair tied back in a perfect knot, portfolio in hand. Seraphina Thalor. The same girl who once debated him into silence at university. The one who challenged his designs, his ego, and everything in between.
Now she was here. On his turf.
"Miss Thalor," Cassian greeted flatly. "Didn't expect to see you on this side of the city."
"Cassian," she replied, with a sugar-laced smile. "Didn't expect to find you still stealing awards you didn't earn."
The team chuckled awkwardly. Cassian smirked.
They got through the meeting—barely. Every suggestion was a duel, every compliment laced with condescension. But professionalism kept them civil.
The room had just emptied, the sound of polished shoes and shuffling papers fading behind the heavy oak doors. Cassian Marlowe stood at the head of the table, hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the skyline beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Seraphina Thalor remained behind too, arms crossed, jaw tight, her heels clicking deliberately as she walked toward him.
The silence between them wasn't peace—it was the crackle of a storm waiting to erupt.
"You know," Seraphina said, her tone silkier than usual—too smooth to be anything but loaded, "I'm still trying to wrap my head around why they'd award you the New York resort."
Cassian turned, arching a brow. "Because I'm the best. Obviously."
She gave a sharp, mocking laugh. "Right. I forgot—Cassian Marlowe, the golden boy of concrete and ego."
He took a slow step toward her, unbothered. "And you're what? The tortured artist with a Pinterest board and daddy's company?"
Seraphina's eyes flashed, but her smile didn't waver. "Correction: I built Seraphina Designs from scratch. Unlike you, I didn't inherit an empire—just ashes."
Cassian's jaw tightened, but he didn't flinch. "Then maybe you should design something that doesn't look like it belongs in a children's coloring book."
"Oh?" she tilted her head, stepping closer. "Better that than your cold, lifeless slabs of steel pretending to be modernism."
He leaned in just slightly. "At least I don't build fantasies that fall apart in the rain."
The air between them thickened, charged with too much history and far too little patience. Her breath caught for a moment, and then, without warning—
CRASH.
Seraphine's water glass tipped, shattering as it hit the edge of the table—its contents splashing directly onto Cassian's expensive Italian leather shoes.
He blinked, slow and venomous.
She smiled sweetly, and murmured through clenched teeth, "Never insult my work again."
Cassian looked down at his drenched shoes, then back up at her, a dangerous calm washing over his face.
"Was that an accident," he asked coolly, "or a tantrum?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" she said, turning on her heel.
"Careful, Seraphina," he called after her. "You drop too many glasses and people might start thinking you're just... clumsy."
She paused at the door, looking back over her shoulder with that signature smirk.
"Careful, Cassian," she echoed. "You challenge me too often, and people might start thinking you're... In love with me."
———
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