Chapter 24
Five years had passed p>
They moved like a negotiation Cassian never agreed to but somehow still won.
Cassian Draymond returned to his routine the way men returned to battlefields. Familiar. Cold. Efficient. He stopped waiting for things to make sense and focused instead on making them obey.
Work became his language.
Executives feared his silence more than his anger. He corrected mistakes without raising his voice, dismantled arguments without lifting a finger, and dismissed incompetence with a single look. People learned quickly. Those who didn’t were replaced.
His name climbed quietly.
Then loudly.
Then permanently.
By the time the media started attaching numbers to his net worth, Cassian had already stopped paying attention. Wealth was never the goal. Control was.
That evening, he stood in front of the mirror, fixing his cufflinks with practiced ease. The man staring back at him looked composed, untouchable, sharp around the edges. Nothing about him suggested weakness. Nothing suggested hesitation.
Ryan stood nearby, tablet in hand.
“The board expects resistance on the final clause,” Ryan said. “They’re worried about p>
“They won’t resist,” Cassian replied calmly.
Ryan paused. “Sir p>
“They’ll hesitate,” Cassian corrected, adjusting his collar. “Then they’ll agree p>
The meeting went exactly as predicted.
The boardroom was stiff with tension, polite smiles stretched too tight. Projections filled the screen. Voices overlapped cautiously, each executive careful not to speak out of turn.
Cassian listened.
Let them talk. Let them convince themselves they still had leverage.
When it was his turn, he leaned back slightly, hands resting with casual authority.
“You’re concerned about risk,” he said evenly. “That’s understandable. But hesitation is already costing you more than commitment ever will p>
A man across the table cleared his throat. “Mr. Draymond, this expansion p>
“Is inevitable,” Cassian interrupted calmly. “You can either be part of it or watch it happen without you p>
Silence followed.
Decisions were made.
They always were.
By nightfall, he stood at the entrance of a private estate glowing beneath chandeliers. Music drifted through open doors, soft, curated, expensive.
The party noticed him before he spoke to anyone.
“Is that p>
“Cassian Draymond p>
“He actually came p>
“He looks… dangerous p>
Cassian accepted a drink from a waiter without breaking stride. He acknowledged greetings with brief nods, nothing more.
A woman approached first, confident smile, expensive perfume clinging to her like armor.
“Mr. Draymond,” she said smoothly. “I’ve heard so much about you p>
He glanced at her briefly. “I doubt all of it was accurate p>
She laughed softly. “You’re even more handsome in person p>
“So I’ve been told,” he replied, already turning away.
Another followed. Then another.
Some tried subtlety. Others didn’t bother.
“You don’t wear a ring,” one woman remarked, her gaze deliberate.
Cassian met her eyes coolly. “I don’t wear distractions p>
Men approached next.
Investors. Politicians. Men who wanted proximity to power more than conversation.
“Draymond,” one said eagerly. “We should talk. There’s potential synergy p>
“There usually is,” Cassian replied. “Good evening p>
He moved on.
The party blurred together. Noise without substance. Faces without consequence.
He found himself irritated.
And the irritation did not come from the noise alone.
Cassian stood near the edge of the room, glass untouched in his hand, watching conversations unfold like rehearsed performances. Laughter came a second too late. Compliments landed too carefully. Everyone here wanted something. Access. Validation. Safety by association.
A man leaned closer than necessary. “You’ve been quiet tonight, Mr. Draymond p>
Cassian glanced at him briefly. “I prefer listening p>
“To what?” the man asked, eager.
“To who wastes time,” Cassian replied.
The man laughed awkwardly and stepped away.
Someone else recognized him from across the room, whispered his name like a warning. A group shifted subtly, straightening postures, lowering voices. Cassian felt it. The invisible clearing that followed him wherever he went. Respect sharpened by fear.
He caught fragments of conversation.
Cassian took a slow sip of his drink. The taste barely registered.
For a moment, something flickered through his mind. Not a memory. An echo. A presence that once stood beside him without trying to impress him.
He dismissed it immediately.
The past had no seat here.
A woman brushed past him deliberately, fingers grazing his sleeve. “You disappear quickly,” she said, smiling like it was an invitation.
“I tend to,” Cassian replied.
She studied him, searching for warmth. Finding none. She left with a polite nod.
Cassian exhaled slowly.
The party felt smaller now. The walls closer. The air heavier.
He did not belong in rooms like this anymore.
Excusing himself, Cassian headed toward the restroom, craving silence. The moment the door closed behind him, the world softened.
White marble. Clean lines. Order.
He washed his hands slowly, grounding himself. Cold water. Steady breathing. He adjusted his bow tie, then crouched to retie his shoelaces.
Careful. Precise. A double knot.
Footsteps echoed. Cassian glanced sideways, expecting annoyance.
Instead, a child walked in.
The boy couldn’t have been more than five. He wore a miniature tuxedo, shoes polished to perfection. He moved with quiet confidence, as if he belonged here more than most adults outside. Or as if he had more important things than signing multimillion deals.
Cassian straightened slightly, watching him.
The child washed his hands properly. No splashing. No distraction. He dried them neatly, then bent down.
And tied his shoelaces with small, practiced fingers.
A double knot.
Cassian’s fingers stilled midair.
The boy looked up.
Hazel eyes met hazel eyes.
Too sharp for a child.
The boy tilted his head, studying Cassian with open curiosity.
“Uncle,” he said casually, “do you always stare at people like they owe you their life p>
Cassian blinked once.
“My mom says it’s rude to stare at strangers,” the boy added.
Cassian almost chuckled. “Your mom has good habits p>
The boy nodded, accepting that as fact. “She also says loose knots mean careless people p>
Cassian’s lips pressed together briefly. “Your mom sounds disciplined p>
The boy smiled, proud. “She says discipline keeps things from falling apart p>
A pause.
Then the boy straightened his bow tie.
“I should go,” he said matter-of-factly.
Cassian watched him turn toward the door.
“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice controlled.
The boy looked back, scanned him from head to toe, as if calculating the risk. Finding none, his face went flat and serious.
“Lucien,” he said.
Then he walked out.
The door closed softly behind him.
Cassian remained where he was.
The reflection in the mirror looked unchanged. Still composed. Still controlled.
Yet something beneath the surface had shifted.
“Are kids born annoying,” he muttered, “or do they resemble their family members p>
He straightened, adjusting his cuffs.
“Whatever p>