[BL] Bound to My Enemy: The Billionaire Who Took My Girl-Chapter 91: Surprise Wedding

"Whose wedding is this?" I asked, tugging at the collar of the shirt which felt slightly too high, or maybe that was just the anxiety.

"Louis Durant’s daughter," Cassian said, not looking up.

"And we’re going because...?"

"Business."

Cyan leaned over, his perfume, something that smelled like expensive candy and secrets, filling my personal space. He whispered in my ear,

"Translation: Cassie’s going to ruin someone’s day. He’s like a wedding crasher, but instead of sleeping with a bridesmaid, he bankrupts the father of the bride. It’s much more dramatic."

I slumped against the leather seat. Of course. We weren’t there for the "I do’s." We were there for the "I owe you’s."

The venue was staggering. It was an estate that made Mateo’s place look like a summer cottage. It was dripping with old-world wealth, not the loud, flashy kind, but the kind that smelled like centuries of compound interest.

A live string quartet was playing something elegant under a canopy of white roses and twinkling fairy lights. It was beautiful. It was romantic. It was the last place a man like Cassian belonged.

As we walked in, the atmosphere shifted. It was subtle, like the air pressure changing before a storm. Heads turned. Whispers rippled through the crowd of well-dressed aristocrats.

People stared at Cassian with a mix of awe and genuine fear. I stayed as close to him as possible, trying to blend into the shadows of his black suit.

Please don’t let this be a disaster, I prayed. Please let us just eat some cake and leave.

The father of the bride, Louis Durant, was across the lawn. He had a kind face and silver hair, the picture of a proud father, until he saw us. Or rather, until he saw Cassian.

His pleasant smile didn’t just fade; it froze, his skin turning a shade of gray that matched his hair. He stood up abruptly from a table of dignitaries, whispering an excuse before marching toward us.

"Mr. Wolfe—" Louis said, his voice forced and brittle. "I... I wasn’t expecting you."

"My apologies for the intrusion, Louis," Cassian said, his voice as smooth as the silk on his lapels. "I wouldn’t miss such a joyous occasion. Especially when your family’s future is so... intertwined with mine." He reached into his jacket and produced an envelope. "A gift. For the bride."

The crowd watched, mesmerized. Louis took the envelope with hands that were visibly shaking. "That’s... very generous."

Cassian leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rumble that only Louis could hear, though I was close enough to catch the chill. "Perhaps we could speak privately? Just for a moment. Before the dancing begins."

Louis swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He nodded slowly. "Of course. Follow me."

Cassian gestured for Cyan and me to stay behind. He followed Louis toward a side room, looking less like a guest and more like a grim reaper in a bespoke tuxedo.

Did we just crash a wedding? I wondered, looking at the confused guests. Yes. Yes, we did.

"Oh my god, Noah, did you see the bride’s dress?" Cyan chirped, plumping himself down at an empty table toward the back of the reception hall. "Gorgeous. Absolutely stunning. Tulle for days! And the flowers! Those arrangements are to die for. I think I want my funeral to look exactly like this."

I didn’t answer. I just wanted to disappear into the upholstery. I was focused on the only thing that made this nightmare tolerable: the catering.

I pulled a plate of mini quiches and fancy cheeses toward me, ignoring the champagne. No more alcohol for me. Every bad decision I’d made in the last year involved fermented grapes and Cassian’s proximity. I was sticking to water and carbohydrates.

"Mmhmm," I mumbled, my mouth full of a pastry that tasted like it cost more than my first car.

"And the string quartet! So elegant! Don’t you think?" Cyan was talking at two hundred words per minute, his eyes darting around the room, cataloging every guest’s fashion faux pas.

"Mmhmm," I said again, reaching for a piece of Manchego.

Suddenly, Cyan stopped mid-sentence. The silence was so abrupt it made me pause my chewing. I looked up. He was tilting his head, his glittery eyes fixed on me with a terrifyingly casual, almost playful expression.

"You have a thing for Cassian, don’t you? Like you’re almost in love."

I didn’t just choke; I practically had a near-death experience. A piece of quiche went down the wrong pipe, and I started coughing so violently I thought I was going to turn inside out. Several nearby guests turned to stare in horror as I pounded my own chest, my eyes watering.

"Careful, sweetheart! Don’t die on me!" Cyan patted my back with a little too much force. "I need you alive for the drama!"

"Where, where did that come from?!" I managed to gasp out, my face burning red.

Cyan gave me an innocent, wide-eyed smile. "Oh, you don’t need to be shy about it, Noah. I’m a professional observer of human messiness. I know what’s going on between you two."

"There’s, nothing, going on!" I hissed, clutching my water glass. "He’s my boss! He’s a tyrant! He makes me fold his shirts by the color of the rainbow!"

"Please," Cyan laughed, waving a hand dismissively. "I’m not blind. I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you’re not looking. It’s like he’s trying to decide whether to eat you or buy you a continent. And the way you look at him? Darling, you look like a girl in a gothic novel who just realized the vampire is actually kind of hot."

"I don’t... I’m not... " I stammered, my heart racing for an entirely different reason now.

"It’s okay! I think it’s adorable," Cyan said, leaning back and sipping his champagne. "It’s like Beauty and the Beast, but the Beast has a better tailor and the Beauty is a very stressed-out American."

"You’re imagining things," I said, trying to regain my composure. "There is absolutely nothing between us. I am his employee. This is a professional relationship. A very, very weird, toxic professional relationship."

"Mmm. Okay," Cyan said, his voice humming with amusement. "So you don’t have feelings for him? Not even a little bit? Not even a tiny, tiny crush on the big bad wolf?"

"No," I said firmly, looking him dead in the eye. "I do not."

"Good to know," Cyan chirped.

I let out a long, relieved breath. Finally. "Why are you asking, anyway? Are you writing a blog? Is this for your memoirs?"

Cyan turned to face me fully. His expression shifted. He was still smiling, but the playfulness had evaporated, replaced by something much sharper, much more calculating. It was like seeing the predator behind the glitter.

"Because if you don’t want him..." He leaned in closer, his voice soft and silky, "I can take him off your hands."

I froze. My fork was halfway to my mouth, a piece of smoked salmon dangling precariously from the tines.

What?