The Challenge
Cassian's POV – Board Conference Room
Twelve people, one polished table, and too much silence.
Cassian stood at the head of the boardroom, jacket buttoned, hands loose at his sides. The kind of stance that made people underestimate the power he wasn't showing yet.
One of the directors cleared their throat. "There's a concern."
Cassian didn't blink. "There usually is."
Another leaned forward. "The executive clinic logged a restricted-level treatment. Under your clearance. For a non-executive. Ms. Elmont."
He waited a beat before answering. "She required care."
"She isn't family. She isn't on a provisional list. You authorized a protected clinic."
"I did."
The room flickered with contained discomfort.
A third director, older, blunt, not fond of nuance: "There are rumors. If any internal code of conduct was violated—"
"I suggest we tread carefully," Cassian said, voice cool, almost soft. "Because if you open an inquiry, I will open the archives."
A hush spread across the table.
"Every nondisclosed expense. Every flight listed under 'wellness sabbatical' that was spent in Aspen. Every partner hired, fired, and paid to keep quiet. If we want to review executive behavior, I'm not exempt. But neither are any of you."
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"We're not looking for retaliation," the chairman said, measured now. "We're looking for clarity."
Cassian's gaze didn't waver. "Then let's all be very clear. If any action is taken against Lyra Elmont, I'll consider it a direct move against my office."
No one argued.
They just stared.
And Cassian stared back.
---
Lyra's POV – Admin Floor
The envelope was thin. Official.
Inside: a printed directive from HR.
> Per policy 5.2.9A: All confirmed pregnancies among Omega employees must include paternity clarification. Forms must be submitted within ten working days. Failure to comply may result in formal arbitration.
She read it twice. Then folded it in half and placed it beside her keyboard.
Not the trash. Not the drawer.
Just there. Close enough to feel like a pulse.
Talia found her like that, elbow on the desk, hand pressed to her temple.
"What's that?" she asked.
Lyra didn't answer.
Talia picked it up and read.
Her hand clenched. "I'll burn the server farm."
"You won't."
"I'll smash the HR door with a chair."
"I know you want to help."
"I want to protect you."
Lyra sat still. "You think I don't?"
Talia dropped into the chair next to her. "You're not naming him."
"I don't know."
"You're not."
"I already did," Lyra whispered. "I just haven't turned it in."
Talia exhaled like someone had knocked the wind out of her. "Then don't."
Lyra stared at the form.
Her handwriting on the line.
Father: Unknown.
A lie she almost mailed.
Talia touched her wrist. "He would never forgive you."
"That's not what I'm afraid of."
"Then what?"
"That he might forgive me too easily."
Talia's voice softened. "Lyra."
She closed her eyes.
"I can't pretend he doesn't matter. Not anymore."
---
Cassian's POV – Late Evening
His office was dark except for the city glow through the windows.
He didn't open his laptop. He didn't touch his phone.
Instead, he walked to the shelf, picked up the small ceramic box he'd moved twice today just to keep his hands busy.
The earring was still inside.
And now the board knew.
They didn't know the child. The scent. The way he'd woken up that morning in his penthouse and thought, not about power, or fallout. But about whether Lyra had slept.
He hadn't asked her to name him.
But if she did, if she pulled him into the fire with her. He wouldn't flinch.
What terrified him wasn't exposure.
It was what would happen if she left him out