Chapter 2 THE OFFER

Cassian’s POV

I didn't turn around when the doors to my office finally opened. I didn’t need to. I knew the rhythm of her stride—heavy, purposeful, and vibrating with an annoyance that I could practically feel against my back. Sloane Mercer didn't walk, she marched.

I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, my back to her, looking out over the city as if i was admiring the view and not thinking of how the fuck I was going to fix this.

It's a surprise even, that there was no paparazzi in sight around the penthouse.

“You wanted to see me?” She tried to pick a leaf wedged between her teeth with her tongue.

Her voice was like sandpaper on silk. I heard a faint clicking sound of her tongue against her teeth. She was probably picking at some low-rent cafeteria food she’d inhaled just to spite me by being late.

I turned slowly, my ice-blue eyes taking her in, keeping my face a mask of bored indifference. I needed her to feel the weight of the silence in the room. I needed her to see that while the world outside was screaming, I was the one holding the match.

“The board is unhappy.” My voice is low and lethal.

“No shit,” the words were out before she could stop them and she bit her lips in regret.

A flicker of annoyance crossed my face. “This merger is the future of this company, "I continued stepping toward my desk. “And it cannot stand this leak. My public image is… at stake here.”

Sloane just stared at me, those piercing gray eyes flat and unimpressed. "I’m a security, not a publicist, Sir. My job is to find the mole, not fix your PR."

“Your job,” I said, my voice dropping an octave as I reached the edge of my desk, "is whatever I say it is." I picked up a single sheet of paper. “The board believes my reputation needs a stabilizing influence, or as Roman likes to put it bluntly. A wife.” I’m okay said it with a grimace. “Someone who knows my in and out.

For a second, I thought she was going to laugh in my face.

"Okay. And? There’s a million socialites who’d sell their grandmother to be Mrs. Hayes," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "I can start a search right now. What would you want your potential partner to check off on your list? Besides the 'ins and outs' part—we can brief her on that."

She was sharp. Too sharp. She took the bait and threw it right back at me. I felt a surge of that familiar, dark heat—the one that made me want to break her just to see what she looked like when she finally lost her composure.

It's a surprise how easily she grasps words with a hundred meanings and not the obvious ones I just said, I glared at her. "I’m not asking, Sloane." I took a deep breath, centering myself and placed the paper across the desk facing her. MARITAL AGREEMENT written in bold black letters stared back at her. “I’m asking you.”

The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush a weaker person.

She raised a brow, looking at the paper and then back at me as if I’d just suggested we fly to the moon on a cardboard box. “To do what? Is the problem now finding a wife?”

“Marry me, on paper obviously.”

She didn't just laugh; she burst out in a series of dry, incredulous chuckles. “I'm sorry, come again. Or wait, don't. You’ve lost your mind. You’re actually insane.”

“It’s a two-year contract Sloane not a suicide mission. Just a performance in public. In return, you will receive ten million and a permanent seat on the board upon its conclusion.”

I watched her eyes. I expected greed. I expected a calculation of the numbers. Instead, I saw pure, unadulterated disgust.

“No. Not a chance in hell,” she snapped, her posture shifting into a defensive, athletic stance. “Shove a sword down my throat and I still won't.”

Always the dramatist, I thought. I didn't move. I simply shifted the file on the corner of my desk.

Beneath the top folder, a photograph lay exposed. I only let her see it for a heartbeat—a faded shot of a woman with dark hair and a wide, gummy smile. I watched Sloane’s face. The blood drained from her cheeks. She went rigid, her entire body turning to stone.

The pain in her eyes was so sharp it was almost physical. I felt a twinge of something—not guilt, I didn't possess that—but a recognition of power. I had her.

"I understand your reluctance," I said, my voice dropping to a deceptive softness that I knew she hated. I opened the file and slid it toward her.

Her eyes scanned the top page, her expression morphing into that of confusion.

She looked down at the financial report I had spent the last three hours perfecting with my best forensic accountants. Long columns of numbers, transfers, wire receipts and her name, printed clearly as the recipient of millions in "consulting fees"

Uh...what the fuck?

“What the fuck is this?” she hissed, her voice trembling with a mix of rage and fear.

“If you don’t sign the marriage contract,” I said, leaning forward until I was in her personal space, “I will personally hand this file to the authorities. You will be arrested for corporate espionage before the end of the day, you will spend the next decade in a federal prison and watch your life crumble from inside while I continue to build mine.”

Her gaze fell on me. I watched her process it. The fabrication was perfect and the evidence was damning.

“You're threatening me?”

“Do whatever you can to get what you want, you said that when I hired you.” I shrugged, “Your words not mine.”

This perfectly fabricated lie would ruin her life and her entire plans if it got out.

She bit her lips so hard I thought she might draw blood. A bitter disbelieving chuckle escaped her. She knew I was nuts, crazy, stupid, arrogant and everything but threatening my worker into marriage! She would not be surprised if this was a kink.

“Good one boss, I didn't think you would be able to go any lower and you just proved me wrong.”

My smile fell, and that brought her a little satisfaction.

I didn't like being called low. I liked being effective.

“Best believe I'm going to fuck you up real bad for this, Sir. I promise.” She snatched the pen from my desk and scrawled her name at the bottom of the papers with such violence the paper nearly tore. She flipped through every page, her eyes scanning for more traps. She was smart to do so. I had plenty of traps left because you can never trust a man like me

"Congratulations, Sloane," I murmured as she slammed the pen down. "You're moving into the estate tonight."

She turned on her heels and marched out without another word. I watched her go, the sway of her hips a sharp contrast to the lethal promise she’d just made.

I sat down in my chair and pulled out the photo of the smiling woman back toward me. I looked at the name on the back—a name that wasn't supposed to be in my files.

A name that linked Sloane Mercer to the one thing I was truly trying to hide.