[BL] Bound to My Enemy: The Billionaire Who Took My Girl-Chapter 55: I am a man

NOAH

The door to my bedroom didn’t just close; I made sure it echoed. A sharp, final thud that felt like a punctuation mark on the disaster of the last hour.

I was being held hostage. Me. Noah Bennett. I’d survived a man with a weapon and a manifesto only to be treated like a malfunctioning printer by the man who actually owned my contract. The whiplash was enough to give me permanent medical issues. One second Cassian is looking at me like he’s ready to burn the city down to find me, and the next, he’s barking at me to get in the car and treating me like a liability.

"I hate him," I whispered to the empty, overly luxurious room. "I actually, legally, and spiritually hate him."

I started pacing. The suite was massive, which was unfortunate, because it gave me too much room to walk off my adrenaline. My brain was doing that thing where it replays the worst moments on a loop. The man’s ragged breathing. The smell of the maintenance closet.

And then... Alex.

When the world had exploded into motion, it hadn’t been Cassian who caught me. It was Alex. I could still feel the phantom weight of his arms, the way my chest had slammed into his, the heat of his breath against my face as we hit the floor. His eyes weren’t cold like Cassian’s. They were intense, sure, but they were kind.

Which was a problem. A huge, confusing, hetero-destabilizing problem.

I’d spent twenty-something years being very comfortably, very boringly straight. Then Cassian Wolfe happened, and suddenly my internal compass was spinning like it had been hit by a magnet. But Cassian was a monster. Cassian was a force of nature. Being attracted to him felt like being attracted to a thunderstorm, it was terrifying and probably meant you were going to get struck by lightning.

But Alex? Alex was an angel. If I was starting to notice how nice a man’s jawline was, or how he smelled like expensive soap and actual stability, what did that say about me? Was I just broken now? Had the trauma of the last few weeks rearranged my DNA?

What is wrong with me?

I’d never, never, looked at men like that before Cassian.

And now I was noticing Alex Hendrix’s eyes? His smile? The way he smelled like expensive soap and competence?

Am I gay?

Bi?

Cassian-sexual with a side of anyone-who-saves-me-sexual?

I groaned and collapsed onto the bed face-first.

This was a disaster.

I was a disaster.

And Cassian,

I squeezed my eyes shut.

What does he want from me?

The question looped endlessly, unanswered, exhausting.

"Get it together, Noah," I muttered, dragging my hands through my hair. "You’re just... exhausted."

I stripped off my ruined, sweat-stained shirt and retreated into the shower. I stayed under the water until my skin turned pink, trying to wash off the smell of that maintenance room and the lingering feeling of Cassian’s cold fingers on my jaw at the hospital.

When I emerged, dressed in clean jeans and a soft hoodie, the suite was silent. The sun was dipping low over the Spanish horizon, casting long, orange shadows across the marble floors. Cassian was still out. Probably doing ’Wolf’ things. Interrogating people. Being scary. Existing out of spite.

I wandered into the living area, feeling the hollowness in my stomach. I wasn’t hungry, but I needed something to do with my hands. I headed for the suite’s private bar, eyeing the array of bottles that cost more than my college tuition. I settled on a glass of something amber and expensive-looking, pouring a conservative finger’s worth.

My phone buzzed on the counter.

Mason: Dude, are you alive? I heard there was a ’situation’ at the Seville site.

I sighed, leaning against the bar. Noah: Barely. I was the situation. I’ll tell you later. What’s happening at the office?

Mason: Drama. The usual. But get this, Preston Wolfe showed up today.

I blinked. The brother. I’d heard the name, but the Wolfes were like legendary creatures, you knew they existed, but you didn’t really want to see one in the wild.

Mason: He’s like Cassian but... filtered. You know? Like someone took Cassian, ran him through a ’Prestige and Calculated Charm’ app, and gave him a better haircut. Same intensity, totally different packaging. He looks like he’d ruin your life with a smile and a lawsuit, whereas your boss looks like he’d just use his bare hands.

I shivered. "Same intensity, different packaging." Just what the world needed. More Wolfes.

Mason: Anyway, everyone’s terrified. I’ve hidden in the breakroom twice. Stay in Spain, man. It’s safer.

"Safer," I scoffed, taking a sip of the drink. It burned all the way down. "Yeah, clearly."

A sudden, sharp knock at the door made me jump, nearly sloshing whiskey onto my hoodie. I stared toward the entryway. It was a long walk, the suite was big enough to have its own zip code.

I set the glass down and made my way to the door. I assumed it was Cassian, having forgotten his key or wanting to continue our argument. I prepared my ’I’m-not-talking-to-you’ face.

I pulled the door open. It wasn’t Cassian.

It was a hotel staff member, standing behind a rolling silver cart piled with gourmet delicacies. There were covered silver platters, a bottle of chilled sparkling water, and a small, white envelope resting on a lace doily.

"Compliments of Mr. Hendrix," the man said with a polite bow. "He wished to ensure you were comfortable after the day’s events."

I stood there, stunned, as he wheeled the cart into the suite, set it up with practiced efficiency, and vanished.

I stared at the spread. Smoked salmon, artisanal chocolates, pastries that looked like tiny works of art. I picked up the envelope. My heart did a weird little skip-hop.

Noah, the note read in elegant, firm handwriting. I wanted to personally apologize for the lapse in security today. No one should ever feel unsafe in my building, least of all you. Please enjoy these, and know that I am truly sorry for the distress this caused. , Alex.

I sank into one of the velvet chairs, the paper fluttering in my hand. A CEO. A billionaire. An actual, world-renowned human rights activist was apologizing to me. An assistant. A ’toy’, as Cassian liked to put it.

The thoughtfulness of it felt like a warm blanket. In a world where I was constantly being shoved, pulled, and barked at, Alex Hendrix was treating me like a person. An important person.

My phone buzzed again. This time, it was an unknown number.

Unknown: Did you get what I sent?

I didn’t even have to ask who it was. My thumbs hovered over the screen. Noah: I did. Thank you, Alex. You really didn’t have to do that.

Alex: I felt I had to. I’ve been thinking about you since this afternoon. Are you feeling any better?

My face went hot. Thinking about me? Noah: A bit jumpy, but okay. The food looks amazing.

Alex: Good. You deserve a distraction. Actually, I’m nearby. Some friends and I are at a small place not far from your hotel. Would you like to join us? Just for an hour. No business, no talk of hostages. Just a drink.

I froze. I looked at the door to the suite, then back at the phone. Cassian would lose his mind. He’d told me to stay put. He’d made it clear that Alex was off-limits.

But why? Because Cassian was a jealous, controlling prick who thought he owned my very soul?

I thought about the way he’d looked at me in the hospital, not with care, but with ownership. Like I was a car he’d accidentally dented.

"I’m a man," I whispered to the empty room, my voice gaining strength. "I am a grown adult. I have a degree. I pay taxes. I am not a dog on a leash."

I looked at the pastries. Then at the dark, oppressive luxury of the suite.

Noah: Give me ten minutes.