Before The Flood
Cassian's POV – Executive Suite, Morning
The merger file hadn't moved in three days.
Cassian scrolled through the thread of board comments again. No signature. No direct objection. Just a familiar corporate hum of uncertainty disguised as "strategic delay."
They'd caught the scent of risk.
He didn't need confirmation to know what kind. It was always the same. A whisper of something personal bleeding into the professional. Something human in a system designed to punish humanity.
Theo knocked once and entered with quiet efficiency.
"They're watching her wellness log again," he said without preamble. "HR's tracker pinged a secondary review trigger."
Cassian closed the merger window.
"How long do we have?"
"A week. Maybe less."
Cassian opened the drawer beside him and took out a sealed envelope. "Here. You're my secondary signatory now."
Theo's eyes flicked to the envelope. Then to him.
"You're expecting fallout."
"I'm expecting a fight," Cassian said. "I want everything clean."
Theo didn't ask questions. Just nodded once. Took the envelope.
An hour later, a file landed in Cassian's secure inbox.
Subject: Protection Protocol – Omega Staff – Confidential Exceptions
From Theo. No comment. Just a file. Just a shield.
Cassian read every line.
And decided what he would burn first.
---
Talia's POV – Rooftop Parking, Afternoon
"Got it," her contact said through the phone. "But this is the last stall I can justify without someone flagging my own access."
Talia closed her eyes. "That's enough. Thank you."
She hung up. Then texted Lyra:
> Tracker slowed. Not stopped. Be careful.
Then she stared out at the sky, clouds rolling thick over the skyline.
Storm's coming, she thought.
And not just the weather.
---
Lyra's POV – Downtown Bistro, Early Evening
The hostess smiled with too many teeth. "Ms. Celeste Deveraux is waiting for you in the private booth."
Lyra's legs moved on their own.
Celeste sat perfectly poised, glass of white wine untouched. Her smile was serene. Polished.
"Ms. Elmont," she said softly. "I appreciate you coming."
Lyra slid into the seat opposite her.
"I won't waste your time," Celeste said. "I know you're involved with Cassian. I don't care about the how."
Lyra's breath stilled.
Celeste continued, voice velvet-soft. "But I do care about the damage. To him. To you. You're smart enough to understand that once this leaks, and it will, you'll be buried under the fallout. Not him. He'll survive the headlines. You won't survive the scrutiny."
She pulled a small folder from her bag.
"Inside, bank details. Travel documents. A business license proposal. Enough to start over, clean. Small town. New name. New life."
Lyra stared at it.
Celeste's tone didn't change. "No shame. Just practicality. Walk away now, and no one gets hurt worse than they already have."
She waited for an answer.
Lyra said nothing.
She left without touching the folder.
---
Lyra's POV – Street Outside
It was raining by the time she reached the curb. Hard and cold and blurring the lights into a smear of gold and gray.
She stood there until a cab pulled up.
The driver asked no questions. Just drove.
She pressed her forehead to the glass. Her pulse loud in her throat.
"I can't," she whispered to no one.
---
Cassian's POV – Penthouse
The knock came exactly when he expected it.
He opened the door and found her soaked through, hair dripping, jacket clinging, mascara trailing faintly.
Her lips trembled. "I can't. I can't do it to you."
He pulled her in without a word.
Towels waited on the bench inside. His jacket. A blanket.
He always waited.
She didn't speak again until the silence between them settled soft and thick.
She was curled against his chest on the wide couch, legs drawn under her, wrapped in one of his sweaters.
Cassian ran a hand down her damp hair, slow. Gentle.
"You knew she'd come to me," Lyra said at last.
He nodded. "Letizia warned me."
"She offered me a way out."
"I couldn't take it."
He kissed the top of her head.
---
Next Morning – Cassian's Kitchen
He cooked quietly. Eggs. Toast. Steamed rice. Nothing fancy. Nothing performative.
Lyra sat at the counter in one of his shirts, nursing warm tea.
"You're making me call in sick," she said without protest.
"Only fair. I'm doing the same."
Her lips curved slightly.
They didn't talk about the company. Not once.
They talked about Louisiana. The house she hadn't sold. Her sister who disappeared chasing dance.
About her grandmother's earrings. About the cat she almost adopted and the ones that visited her windowsill.
He told her about Beth. His nanny. The only adult who ever cooked for him without reason.
The first time he tasted food made for love, not image.
He said it like a memory. Not a confession.
Lyra reached for his hand.
Held it.
Just that.
And that was enough