The silence in the hallway was a living thing. It pressed against my eardrums, a stark, deafening contrast to the chaos we'd left behind. I could still feel the phantom thump of the bass in my bones, but here, there was only the soft hum of climate control and the frantic, runaway rhythm of my own heart.
Cassian had released my arm, but his presence filled the narrow, elegant space. He didn't move to touch me again. He simply stood, watching me, as if I were a complex equation he was solving.
"Seven minutes, Nova," he repeated, his voice softer now but no less potent. "What do you intend to do with them?"
The question hung in the air, stripping away the bravado of my grand, defiant gesture. I had walked into this without a plan, powered by pure, white-hot spite. Now, with the object of my revenge—Liam's shocked face—no longer in view, the fuel was gone. I was just a girl in too-high heels, stranded with a stranger who felt more like a natural disaster than a person.
"I…" My voice cracked. I swallowed, forcing steel into it. "I intended to make a point."
"And you have." A flicker of something—not quite amusement—passed behind his eyes. "Quite vividly. The question is, was the point for them… or for you?"
He began to walk slowly down the hallway, his steps silent on the deep carpet. He didn't look back, but I knew I was expected to follow. It wasn't a request. The door back to the club felt miles away, and the thought of pushing through it, back into that circle of judging eyes and Liam's fury, was impossible. So I followed the enemy, my heels sinking soundlessly into the plush pile.
He stopped at a simple wooden door, unlocked it with a key from his pocket, and held it open.
It wasn't a closet. It was a small, pristine study. A single leather armchair sat beside a sleek modern desk. A low bookshelf held a few volumes that looked old and serious. A large window looked out over the city's glittering skyline, a silent panorama of a world that knew nothing of tissue-paper kisses or birthday betrayals.
"My occasional refuge from the noise," he said, gesturing me inside. "It will suffice for your seven minutes of… heaven."
The way he said "heaven," with a subtle, dry irony, made my face heat. I walked in, clutching my small purse like a shield. He closed the door, and the last thread of connection to my old life snapped.
He didn't sit. He leaned against the edge of the desk, crossing his arms. The pose was deceptively casual, but his attention was absolute. "You used me as a weapon, Nova. A rather blunt and dangerous one."
"I didn't mean to—" I started, then stopped. I had. I absolutely had. "They were all expecting me to pick him. After what he did. I just… couldn't give them the satisfaction."
"So you chose the nuclear option." He nodded slowly. "To punish him. To shock them. To reclaim your dignity in the most dramatic way possible."
He was dissecting me with an accuracy that was terrifying. "Yes."
"And did it work?"
I thought of Liam's shattered expression. The dead silence of the circle. "Yes."
"Good." The single word was approving, but it held no warmth. "Then the first part of your mission is accomplished. But weapons have recoil, Nova. You have now made yourself the story. You are no longer the wronged girlfriend in the background. You are the girl who chose Cassian Vale. And that," he said, his gray eyes holding mine, "is a far more complicated role to play."
A chill that had nothing to do with the room's cool air traced down my spine. "What does that mean?"
Before he could answer, a sharp, insistent buzzing came from his desk. A sleek phone lit up. He glanced at the screen. A faint, cold smile touched his lips. "Speak of the devil. And he is currently in a hell of his own making."
He picked up the phone, swiped to answer, and put it on speaker without a word of greeting.
"WHERE IS SHE?!" Liam's voice erupted from the speaker, raw and shrill with rage and something else—panic. "Uncle Cassian, I don't know what game she's playing or what she told you, but you need to send Nova out here right now. This isn't funny!"
Cassian watched me as he replied, his voice calm and utterly flat. "I wasn't aware I was required to be amusing, Liam."
"You know what I mean! She's my girlfriend! She's upset and she's acting crazy! Just… put her on the phone!"
My hands clenched into fists. Upset. Acting crazy. Reducing my fury to hysteria. Erasing my reason.
Cassian's gaze never left my face. "Miss Sterling is currently my guest. She is under no obligation to speak to you."
"Your guest?" Liam's voice cracked. "What the hell does that mean? It's been ten minutes! The dare was for seven! This is bullshit! Nova, I know you can hear me! Get your ass out here now or we're through!"
The threat, once my greatest fear, now landed with all the weight of a feather. It was empty. He'd already blown us apart the moment he leaned toward Chloe.
Cassian raised an eyebrow at me, a silent question: Do you want to answer?
I shook my head, once, sharply.
"Your ultimatum is noted," Cassian said into the phone, his tone frosty. "I suggest you take your friends and leave, Liam. You've made enough of a spectacle for one night."
"You can't just— She's mine!"
The possessiveness in that word, after his public disrespect, ignited the fury in me again. I took a step toward the phone.
Cassian held up a hand, stopping me. His voice dropped, losing all pretense of civility, becoming something quiet and lethally sharp. "Listen carefully. Nothing and no one is 'yours' simply because you have a label for it. You neglected her. You humiliated her. You forfeited any claim you imagined you had. Now, you are shouting in my ear. Stop. Or the next conversation you have about your future will be with your father, and I will be on the other side of the desk."
The line went dead silent. I could almost hear Liam's breath catching, the rage choking into something colder—fear. The power dynamic had just been outlined in brutal clarity. Liam's allowance, his car, his entire cushy future—it all flowed through channels Cassian could dam with a word.
"…Fine." The word was gritted out, defeated. The phone call ended with a dull click.
The room plunged back into silence, now charged with a new, heavier energy.
Cassian set the phone down. "Recoil," he said simply.
I felt dizzy. In seven minutes, I had not just broken up with my boyfriend. I had somehow enlisted his formidable, terrifying uncle as my… what? Ally? Avenger? Another, more dangerous problem?
"Why did you do that?" I whispered. "Why back me up?"
He studied me for a long moment. "Because you walked across a room full of hyenas to choose the lion," he said finally. "It was either a stroke of brilliant instinct or catastrophic foolishness. I'm curious to find out which. And hyenas," he added, pushing off from the desk, "need to be reminded of the food chain."
He walked to the door and opened it. The seven minutes were long gone. "Your escape route is clear. My driver can take you home. Or you can go back out there and face the aftermath. The choice, this time, is entirely yours."
I stood in the center of the quiet room, the city lights twinkling mockingly outside. Going home meant safety, but it also meant this ended here—a strange, explosive incident. Going back out there meant owning the choice, facing the shattered pieces.
I thought of Liam's face. The fear in his voice when he spoke to Cassian. The tissue paper.
I adjusted the strap of my purse on my shoulder, lifted my chin, and walked toward the door—not toward the exit to the waiting car, but back toward the hallway that led to the club.
Cassian's lips quirked, the barest shadow of a smile. "Interesting."
As I passed him, I paused. "Thank you. For the… refuge."
He gave a slight, acknowledging nod. "Until next time, Nova."
The way he said it wasn't a goodbye. It was a promise. A threat. An inevitability.
I walked back down the hushed hallway, alone. The guard opened the door, and the wall of sound and light hit me like a wave. The music was still pounding, but the VIP section was a different scene. The crowd was thinner. Liam's friends were huddled together, talking in low, urgent tones. Chloe was gone.
And Liam was alone, slumped on the couch, head in his hands. He looked up as I emerged.
The look in his eyes was one I'd never seen before: not just anger, but a deep, bewildered hurt, mixed with a dawning and terrible understanding.
The game was over. A new one had just begun.
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[End of Chapter 2]
Next: The Walk of Shame or Triumph? | Confrontation with Liam | The Ripples Begin