NOAH
Cassian started rattling off options like he was reading from a five-star menu. Eggs Benedict, omelets with herbs I'd never heard of, avocado toast with some kind of specialty salt.
Can you actually make all of those? I wondered. Who are you?
"Just… eggs and toast," I said. "Simple."
He got to work.
It was the most surreal thing I'd ever seen.
Cassian Wolfe, the man who ran XUM with an iron fist, the man who probably had a body count higher than my GPA, was moving through a kitchen with the specific, quiet competence of a professional chef.
He knew exactly where the spatula was.
He cracked eggs with one hand. His movements weren't a performance; they were just functional.
And somehow, that was worse. Seeing his broad back, the way the silk of his shirt strained across his shoulders as he leaned over the stove… it was attractive in a way that felt deeply unfair. He looked domestic.
He looked like a husband.
