Cassie’s POV
Nowhere to be found.
The words kept ringing in my head. He had escaped. My father had vanished. I was so lost in thought that I didn’t even realize when my phone slipped from my fingers and hit the floor.
"Cassie, are you okay?" Damien asked, walking toward me.
"Yeah... fuck. I just dropped my phone." I quickly bent down and picked it up.
"Are you sure you’re okay?"
"Yes, I am," I said softly, turning away from him and walking into the bedroom before he could ask any more questions.
I couldn’t tell him that I had met my father last night. He would freak out. The first time he found out about my father, he had immediately arranged for his driver to take me to and from work every day. I couldn’t put that kind of burden on him—especially not now, after he had just broken up with Cece.
A few minutes later, he came into the bedroom and looked at me.
"We have a committee dinner tonight. Hope you have something decent to wear?"
"Dinner?" I blinked. "I didn’t plan for any dinner. I don’t have anything to wear."
"Not a problem. After we rest a bit, we can go out and get you something decent."
"You don’t have to worry. I’ll just wear one of the clothes I brought," I said without hesitation.
He glanced at the outfit I had pointed to. "Do you know the kind of people who will be at this dinner? Trust me, you’ll wish you had done better than that."
"Well, I’m proud of what I have," I fired back. "Besides, I’m just your assistant."
"That’s exactly why you need to look better than that."
I paused, staring at the dress. It was one of my favorites, but he had a point.
"...Fine. You win."
"I’ll let you know when I’m ready," he said, his voice softer than usual. "For now, get comfortable. If you need anything, just let me know."
"Okay," I replied as he left me alone in the suite.
He sounded more like we were here on vacation than for a business trip.
I walked further into the suite, taking it in properly for the first time. The king-sized bed looked enormous. When I sat on the edge, it was unbelievably soft, yet firm enough to support me. I could only imagine how nice it would feel to actually sleep on it. Of course, it was meant for Damien—he was the one who had paid for this place. Still, the living room sofa wouldn’t be so bad either.
Curious, I wandered into the bathroom.
It was nothing short of extraordinary.
Floor-to-ceiling slabs of white marble veined with soft gold covered the walls, while polished black marble flooring gleamed under the recessed lighting. A massive backlit mirror stretched across the double vanity, lighting up automatically as I stepped closer.
The shower itself looked sleek and deliberately designed—brushed gold fixtures, dark marble walls, and a control panel filled with unfamiliar symbols. I stepped closer, curious. There were options for water temperature, pressure, and what I assumed were different shower modes. Before I could fully understand them, my fingers brushed against the panel.
A soft chime sounded.
Water suddenly streamed from the ceiling, catching me completely off guard. I barely had time to step back before the powerful spray fell directly over me, soaking my hair and clothes within seconds. I gasped, stumbling away as cold water trickled down my face and into my eyes.
I reached for the controls, but the display had changed, and I couldn’t tell which symbol would stop the water. I pressed one button, then another, frustration rising with every second I remained under the spray.
Finally, the water cut off.
I stood there breathing hard, my blouse clinging tightly to my skin, water dripping from the ends of my hair onto the marble floor. I brushed the wet strands away from my face and stared at the shower in disbelief.
Who on earth needed a shower that complicated?
I was still trying to figure out what I had done when I heard the bathroom door open behind me.
Damien.
"What are you doing?" His voice was flat, but his eyes stayed on me.
"I... I was just checking out the bathroom," I said quickly. "I accidentally brushed against a button and now... this."
I stood still as water continued to drip from my head down to my toes. My clothes were completely plastered to my body.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
His gaze lingered—just a second too long—before he looked away and reached for one of the folded towels on the rack.
"Here," he said, holding it out.
"Thanks," I murmured, taking it and trying to dry myself as best as I could. I let my hair loose, the wet strands falling freely against my skin and shoulders.
As I stepped out of the shower area, my foot slipped on the wet marble.
I felt myself falling.
Damien moved instinctively, his hand shooting out to catch me. For a brief second, his fingers closed around my waist—warm, firm, steady. Then, almost as quickly, he let go, as if the contact had burned him.
I hit the floor hard.
"Ouch... what the fuck," I muttered, pain shooting through my body. "What is wrong with you? You could’ve caught me."
He stood a few steps away, looking strangely unsettled, like he had just had a small panic attack.
"Why are you acting like you’re the one who got hurt?" I snapped, still on the floor. "I fell. Not you. You already had me... and then you let go."
He still didn’t say anything. I groaned softly, the ache in my body settling in.
After a few long seconds, he finally walked closer.
"Your hair..." he said quietly. "Can you pack it up?"
I stared at him. "My hair? You’re scared of my hair?" I scoffed. "Is that why you let me fall? Because it was loose? You’re unbelievable."
I struggled to lift my sore arms and gather my wet hair, wincing at the pain.
"Fine. I’m done," I said after a moment. "Can you help me up now?"
He hesitated, then slowly came closer. His hands settled carefully around my waist as he helped me stand. The moment I put weight on my body, pain flared through me.
"Oh my—" I gasped, leaning into him without meaning to.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice lower now, concerned.
"No. My body aches. I’m in fucking pain," I muttered, my damp clothes pressing against his chest.
"We need to get you to a clinic."
"No. I can’t. It hurts too much to move like that."
He looked at me for a moment, then exhaled. "Okay. I’ll lay you down on the bed... but not with these wet clothes still on."
I glanced down at myself. My clothes were completely soaked.
"Alright," I said. "I have a free gown in my luggage. Help me get it. I need to change."
He nodded and went through my luggage carefully until he found it.
"There... that’s it," I said when he held it up.
He looked at me. "Can you put it on yourself... or do you need help?"
I hesitated. "You’ll need to help... but keep your eyes closed."
"Why? I need to see what I’m doing."
"Because I don’t want you to..." I trailed off, heat rising to my face. "I’ll just direct you."
"...Fine."
He closed his eyes.
His hands moved carefully as I guided him, helping me out of the soaked blouse without putting more pressure on my aching body. Every movement was slow, deliberate. The air between us felt heavier than it should have.
"Okay... now my pants," I said before I fully realized how the words sounded.
He paused for half a second, then knelt slightly, eyes still closed. His hands found my hips, searching for the buttons. The warmth of his palms against my skin made my breath catch. I was supposed to be directing him... but for a moment, I just watched him—his focused expression, the way his brows slightly furrowed as he worked blindly.
"What should I do next?" he asked quietly.
I blinked, snapping out of it.
"Cassie... Cass."
"I’m sorry," I said quickly, my voice softer than I intended. "Just... pull it down now."
His hands moved slowly, carefully sliding the fabric down. My body reacted before my mind could catch up—an involuntary shift, a quiet tension I couldn’t quite name.
"Done," he said, standing back up with his eyes still closed.
I looked at his face. In that moment, he looked almost... different. Softer. Still masculine, still him—but somehow less guarded.
What is happening to me?
Why did I feel this way around him? He was mean. Arrogant. Difficult. He had broken Cece’s heart and made my work life miserable more times than I could count. I should have despised him... not looked at him like this.
"The gown?" he asked, interrupting my thoughts.
I handed it to him and carefully guided his hands again, making sure he didn’t touch anywhere he shouldn’t. Every brush of his fingers against my skin felt louder than it should have.
"We’re done, right?" he asked, as if he had been waiting for the moment to end.
"Yes," I said, though something in me hesitated.
He opened his eyes. For a second, his gaze moved over me—from my face down and back up again.. before he spoke.
"I did a decent job."
"Yeah," I muttered. "Now help me to the bed."
He lifted me carefully, his arms steady around me, and laid me down gently on the mattress. Then he immediately reached for the hotel phone to request medical attention.
A few minutes later, a nurse arrived.
Damien frowned the moment he saw her. "Just one person? Didn’t you hear the urgency in my voice?"
The nurse looked slightly taken aback.
"What are you—an intern?" he continued, his tone sharpening. "I need a proper doctor."
Without waiting for a response, he pulled out his phone and started calling people. One after another. His voice was firm, almost demanding, as he explained that it was a serious situation and that he needed a doctor immediately.
Not long after, the doorbell rang again.
This time, when he opened it, a full medical team stepped inside, led by a middle-aged man who appeared to be the doctor.
Damien stepped aside, his expression still tight with concern as they approached the bed.