Page 30 of Claimed By My Exiled Alphas
Which meant showing up with Thai food at ten PM wasn’t impulse. It was deliberate.
He was nothing like Vincent. Everything with Vincent had come with strings attached, obligations wrapped in gestures that looked like generosity until you tried to refuse them. But Cassian’s help over the past two weeks had been different. When I’d pushed back on his offer to connect me with his remediation contacts, he’d simply provided the information and let me make the decision. When I’d insisted on paying market rates for contractor work, he’d negotiated on my behalf but never tried to subsidize costs himself.
He helped, but he let me maintain control. Made me feel capable rather than rescued.
Cassian pulled out two sets of chopsticks and looked around the empty bistro with an expression I’d learned to read as amusement. “Are we eating at the desk, or should we find somewhere more comfortable?”
“The floor?” I suggested. “The way we did that first day?”
Something flickered across his face. Warmth, maybe. Or satisfaction that I’d referenced that afternoon two weeks ago when everything had changed.
We settled on the floor near the front windows where moonlight mixed with streetlamp glow, containers spread between us like an impromptu picnic. The position put us closer than sitting at a desk would have, close enough that I could catchhis scent underneath the Thai food spices. Cedar and leather, something crisp that I’d started associating with competence and careful attention.
I grabbed the pad thai and took my first bite, flavors exploding across my tongue with the kind of balanced complexity that came from a kitchen that knew what it was doing. Sweet and sour and salty and bright with lime and fish sauce.
“Oh my god,” I said around the mouthful, all pretense of dignity abandoned. “This is incredible.”
“The owner is from Bangkok. Trained at her grandmother’s restaurant before moving here to be near her husband’s family.” Cassian opened the green curry, steam rising with the scent of coconut and Thai basil. “I asked about sourcing local ingredients for the bistro. She gave me names of her suppliers.”
Of course he had. Because that was what Cassian did. He didn’t just solve immediate problems, he thought three steps ahead about what I might need next.
“You don’t have to keep helping me,” I said, the words coming out sharper than I’d intended. “I mean, I appreciate it. Obviously I appreciate it. But you’ve already done so much these past two weeks, and I don’t want you to feel obligated.”
He paused with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth, gray eyes studying me with that unsettling intensity that always made me feel like he was seeing past every defense I’d carefully constructed. An intensity I’d gotten more familiar with over the past two weeks but still wasn’t entirely comfortable with.
“Why would I feel obligated?”
“Because you’re trying to establish your consulting business. Because helping the new restaurant owner might make good strategic sense for your reputation, but it’s eating up your time.” I set down my container, needing to understand his angle. “Or because you’re just genuinely helpful and I’m reading too much into basic human decency.”
“I’m not that selfless.” The corner of his mouth lifted in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Ask my family.”
“Your family cut you off for doing the right thing. Their opinion about your character is worth exactly nothing.”
The words came out fiercer than I’d planned, defensive in a way that surprised us both. Over the past two weeks, I’d learned bits and pieces about his situation. The development project he’d sabotaged. The family that had disowned him. The way he’d chosen principle over profit and paid for it with everything he’d been raised to value.
And every piece of information had made me respect him more, even as it made me more confused about why he was spending so much time helping me.
Cassian went very still, his chopsticks forgotten. “You’ve been talking to people about me.”
“I’ve been listening when people talk. Small town, remember?” I picked up my pad thai again. “People have opinions about the Black family and what almost happened here. And the more I learn, the more I think you made exactly the right choice.”
“Most people don’t see it that way.”
“Most people don’t know what you gave up.” I met his eyes directly. “But I’m starting to understand it. The cost of choosing integrity over everything you were taught to value.”
He studied me for a long moment, and I watched something shift in his expression. Like I’d said something that mattered more than he’d expected.
“So why are you really here, Cassian?” The question came out softer than before, genuinely curious rather than defensive. “We’ve been working together for two weeks now. You’ve helped me more than any consultant would for a client they barely know. What do you want from this?”
The question hung between us, heavier than I’d intended. His expression shifted into something more guarded, and I recognized the defensive walls going up because I’d seen them before. The same walls I put up when conversations got too personal too fast.
Then he said, “Honestly? I’m not entirely sure anymore.”
The admission surprised me with its vulnerability. This man who I’d learned could analyze a ten-page contractor bid in minutes, who always seemed to have the right answer to impossible questions, now confessing uncertainty.
“That’s not like you,” I said lightly. “You always have a plan.”
“I’m not sure I even had a plan when I first offered to help.” He set down his curry and met my eyes directly. “And somewhere over the past two weeks, I got lost in every waking moment thinking about how I could help you.”
