[BL] Bound to My Enemy: The Billionaire Who Took My Girl-Chapter 68: Picture

NOAH

The sound of Cassian’s car tires crunching against the gravel as he drove away with Cyan felt like a physical weight being lifted off my chest, only to be replaced by a vacuum of pure, unadulterated spite.

I stood in the dust of the construction site, my hands trembling slightly as I clutched my tablet. I felt small. I felt like a footnote in the grand, dramatic biography of Cassian Wolfe. He’d spent weeks treating me like a conquest, then a nuisance, and now, worst of all, he was treating me like I was invisible.

In that moment, a switch flipped. I was done being the "good boy." I was done being the confused intern who waited in hotel suites for a master who didn’t want him.

If Cassian wanted to ignore me, fine. I was going to make myself impossible to ignore. I was going to burn so brightly he’d have no choice but to look, even if it was just to watch me turn to ash.

"Remember when I said I don’t drink much?" I asked, turning to Alex.

Alex tilted his head, a curious spark in his eyes. "Yeah?"

"I changed my mind," I said, a dangerous smile tugging at my lips. "Let’s go for a drink somewhere."

Alex’s surprise was palpable, but it was quickly swallowed by a look of sheer delight. "Okay. I like this version of you, Noah. Where’s this coming from?"

"Does it matter?" I snapped, then softened. "I just... I need to not be this version of me for a few hours."

Alex nodded smoothly. "Perfect. I know just the place."

The "place" was a members-only club called The Vault. It wasn’t a bar; it was a cathedral of hedonism. Tucked behind an unmarked steel door in a cobblestone alley, it felt like entering another dimension.

The air was thick with the scent of expensive gin, heavy bass, and the kind of electricity that only exists when a hundred people are trying to forget who they are.

Alex moved through the crowd effortlessly. He didn’t just have a membership; he had presence. The bouncers nodded, the bartenders anticipated his order, and the people in the VIP lounge looked at him with a mix of envy and reverence.

"To a new Noah," Alex said, handing me a glass of something clear and dangerously potent.

I didn’t sip it. I drank.

The first glass burned. The second glass felt like a warm hug. By the third, the world had started to soften at the edges. The pounding bass was no longer an intrusion; it was my heartbeat. I shed my jacket, tossing it over a velvet chair, and followed the pull of the music.

I started dancing. Not the awkward, self-conscious sway I usually did at weddings, but actual, reckless movement. I didn’t care who was watching. I wanted to shed the "Noah Bennett" skin, the one that was too shy, too broke, and too entangled with a man who treated him like dirt.

I saw a group of women at the edge of the dance floor, watching me. I felt that old, familiar pressure to prove something. I was still attracted to women. I had to be. My body’s reaction to Cassian was just... a fluke. A glitch.

"Hey," I slurred slightly, approaching a tall brunette. I tried to flirt, tried to lean into her space the way Cassian leaned into mine. I tried to feel that spark, that rush of blood.

Nothing.

I felt like I was acting in a play where I’d forgotten all the lines. I was going through the motions, but the inside of me was a hollow shell. I glanced back at the VIP booth.

Alex was watching me. He didn’t intervene; he just sat there, sipping his drink, a calm observer of my spiral. Occasionally, when I stumbled back to the table, he’d place a steadying hand on my waist or lean in close to whisper something encouraging. He was being the "supportive friend," but his eyes were calculating.

"You’re really going for it tonight, huh?" Alex asked, catching me as I nearly tripped over a stray bottle. He pulled me close to steady me, his face inches from mine.

The lights flickered, red, blue, white. I was drunk. Not sloppy-drunk, but loose. Reckless. I looked at Alex and then I looked at my phone sitting on the table.

A terrible, wonderful idea began to form in my vodka-soaked brain.

"Alex," I said, my voice thick. "Take a picture with me? I... I want a souvenir. For being such a good fan of you."

Alex smiled, but there was a sharp edge to it. "A picture? Sure, Noah. But everything has a price."

"What price?" I asked, my head tilting.

Before I could blink, Alex snatched my phone from my hand. He scrolled to the camera with practiced ease. "This," he murmured.

He didn’t wait for permission. He grabbed my jaw, his fingers firm against my skin, and pulled me toward him. He kissed me. hard. It wasn’t like Cassian’s kiss; it didn’t feel like a soul-shattering event. It felt like a claim. Click. The camera shutter sounded in the background, a digital guillotine.

He pulled away, smirking. "You’re welcome."

I stood there, dumbfounded, my lips tingling but my heart remaining stubbornly cold. "Th—thanks," I stammered, screaming internally.

I sat down and stared at the photo. My face was flushed, my eyes were half-closed, and Alex’s hand was wrapped around my neck in a way that looked incredibly intimate. It looked like we were mid-affair. It looked... scandalous.

I started doing calculus in my head. Am I gay? I didn’t hate the kiss, but I didn’t feel the world end. If I were gay, wouldn’t it feel like it does with Cassian? But if it feels like that with Cassian, then I’m definitely gay. But I can’t be gay for a murderer.

My logic was a mess. But the spite was still there, clear and sharp.

Fuck it.