“You think you are,” I corrected.
He tilted his head slightly, considering me. “You’re used to shifting dynamics in your favor.”
“Yes.”
“You’re good at it.”
“I know.”
A faint exhale left him, something close to a quiet laugh.
“And you believe this is the same terrain.”
I felt the truth of that accusation. I had navigated boardrooms filled with men who underestimated me. I had redirected conversations, reframed arguments, made them believe an idea was theirs when it had been mine all along. Influence was muscle memory.
Cassian wasn’t one of those men.
Still, I wasn’t ready to relinquish that part of myself.
“I believe I matter in this,” I said.
His eyes darkened slightly.
“You do.”
“Then let me affect you.”
The air shifted.
His thumb brushed slowly along the inside of my wrist, tracing the faint pulse there. The touch was measured, deliberate, and the intimacy of it sent heat threading up my arm.
“You think you haven’t?” he asked.
The quiet certainty in his voice made my breath thin.
I held his gaze. “I want to see it.”
He stepped closer, the space between us dissolving until I felt the solid warmth of him against me. His free hand settled at my waist, fingers splaying across my lower back, drawing me subtly forward without force.
“You’re looking for evidence,” he said.
“I’m looking for truth.”
His mouth hovered near my temple, his voice lowering.
“You’ve already changed my plans.”
The admission landed hard.
“How?” I asked.
“I don’t explain my adjustments.”
The restraint in that answer both frustrated and thrilled me. He wasn’t offering me a map. He was offering me fragments.
His hand slid up along my spine, fingers pressing into the space between my shoulder blades. The gesture felt grounding rather than possessive, but the pressure was unmistakable.
“You want to know if I’ll bend,” he said.
