Chapter 13

Sienna's POV

Days passed and nothing happened.

Nothing! To my surprise and worry. Feels like the peace before the storm.

No hand tricks.

No teasing glances.

No strange tension hanging in the air.

Just work.

Regular, exhausting, stressful work.

And I fell into it—gratefully, desperately.

Because normalcy was safe.

Back to Business

Cassian and I had always been a team which will never changed even after… everything. 

So when we sat down to go over the site plans, it felt like we had rewound time. Like we had never crossed any lines. Though she's flaming red every time she remembers.

He sat at his desk, flipping through blueprints. I leaned against the table, scrolling through my notes. Acting too hard to make everything normal.

"So, I talked to Damien," he said, voice all business. "He ran the updated cost projections. If we stick with Supplier B, we save 10% on bulk orders, but if we go local, we cut delivery delays in half."

I tapped my pen against the tablet. "Which means either we save money or we stay on schedule."

"Pretty much."

I sighed, rubbing my temple. "When's the deadline for finalizing material costs?"

"Monday. We've got three days."

I groaned. "No sleep for us then."

Cassian smirked. "You say that like we ever sleep."

I chuckled. A genuine, unforced chuckle.

Because for the first time in days, I wasn't panicking inside.

This felt good.

Casual Banter—Like Old Times

We worked late that night, ordering takeout like we had done a hundred times before.

Cassian sat back, scrolling through his phone while I shoved a bite of food into my mouth.

"You look like you're dying," he commented, glancing at me.

I gave him a deadpan stare. "I feel like I'm dying."

"Welcome to the club."

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. "Do you ever think about retiring early? Just taking all your money and running off to an island?"

Cassian smirked. "What, and leave you behind to deal with this mess?"

"Yes, exactly."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Not a chance."

I smirked. This. This was us.

Bantering, teasing, complaining about work like two overworked professionals who had no business being this deep in the industry.

And for the first time in weeks, I felt like maybe—just maybe—

Everything was going to be okay.

When Cassian called me into his office, my stomach twisted.

This was it.

The conversation I had been dreading for days.

The one where he would finally say, Sienna, what the hell was that night?

I didn't want to have this conversation.

I couldn't.

So I walked in, bracing myself, schooling my expression into perfect neutrality.

Cassian sat behind his desk, fingers loosely clasped, expression unreadable.

"Sit," he said simply.

I did.

The air felt too thick. Too tense.

I laced my fingers together in my lap, ready to bullshit my way through whatever this was.

And then—he did it.

He offered his hand.

Just like that.

Palm up, fingers relaxed, waiting.

Like nothing had changed.

Like we were right back where we used to be.

Or maybe we had never really left.

I stared at it, heartbeat thundering in my ears.

"Or do you want to talk?" he asked, voice too calm, too controlled.

I swallowed.

Because no, I did not want to talk.

A talk would ruin me.

Would force me to confront whatever the hell this was so I reached out.

Fell right back into the only routine I knew how to handle.

My fingers slid over his knuckles, tracing the familiar callouses, the ridges of his palm.

And Cassian?

Cassian just smirked, leaning back in his chair like he already knew I'd choose this.

Because he was right.

Because a talk would kill me.

But this?

This, I could survive.

Weeks passed.

Work piled up, more deadlines, more late nights, more stress.

And the routine?

It never stopped.

We worked, we talked, we pretended everything was normal.

But now?

I never went to him first.

I didn't seek him out like before.

I waited.

Because now, Cassian was the one calling me.

I didn't go to his office unless he told me to.

And when he did?

I went.

Every. Single. Time.

And like clockwork, he would offer his hand.

And I would take it.

Every. Single. Time.

No words.

No conversations about what we were doing.

Just the same quiet agreement we had fallen into.

I told myself it was fine.

That we were just keeping the peace.

That if we never spoke about it, it didn't mean anything.

That if I just waited for him to call me, it meant I wasn't the one chasing this.

And that, somehow, made it less dangerous.

Less real.

But deep down, I knew—

I was lying to myself.

This had become our routine.

Days blurred into each other, filled with stress, deadlines, late nights.

The client was a perfectionist, nitpicking every single design adjustment, delaying approvals, sending us into overdrive.

So, like clockwork, Cassian would call me in.

And like clockwork, I would go.

Because this—this ridiculous, insane ritual—was our stress reliever.

I'd take his hand.

Trace it. Kiss it. Worship it.

And Cassian?

He let me.

Because this was ours now.

But today was different.

I walked into his office after another exhausting meeting, and without a word, he held out his hand.

And I took it.

Like always.

Like I was meant to.