[BL] Bound to My Enemy: The Billionaire Who Took My Girl-Chapter 201: Masterpiece

CASSIAN

Charles Wolfe entered the room like he was stepping onto a stage he had built with his own hands. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

Preston was on his left, Seraphina on his right, and the Governor was tucked into the center of the formation like a protected asset.

My father moved through the lobby, his voice carrying easily, warm and projected for the back row. He was the picture of benevolent authority.

"Gentlemen," Charles announced, his eyes sweeping the room. "What a fine evening. A gathering of minds for all the right reasons."

He walked straight toward us. He didn’t look at the security guards fleeing the scene. He didn’t look at the tension vibrating in the air. He looked at Nick Bennett and smiled, a look that was a perfect replica of genuine admiration.

"Dr. Bennett," Charles said, extending a hand. "The national hero himself. A pleasure."

Then, his eyes slid to Noah. He didn’t skip a beat.

"And you must be Noah Bennett," Charles said, his voice loud enough to be heard by the Governor. "My son’s assistant. I’ve only heard about you from my son. It’s definitely a pleasure seeing you here too. I’m guessing you are related to the man of the night here. You two look very alike after all, almost identical even.

Nick smiled. "We’re twins sir."

"Oh!" Charles exclaimed. "Well that’s no wonder."

Charles turned to George Bennett, shaking his hand with a warmth that felt like a death sentence.

"George, wonderful to see you. You must be extraordinarily proud," Charles said, gesturing broadly between the two brothers. "One son a national hero, and the other working directly under mine. It seems the Bennett family has done very well for themselves tonight."

The room went cold.

With one sentence, my father had rewritten the narrative. He had publicly linked Noah to the Wolfe name. He had validated Noah’s position in front of the Governor and every stakeholder in the room. He had placed George Bennett in a corner where he couldn’t disown Noah without insulting the Wolfes.

It was a masterpiece. And I hated every second of it.

This wasn’t an oversight. My father had assembled this entire tableau, the timing, the guest of honor, the "misunderstanding", just to watch me react.

He had known Noah was walking into a buzzsaw, and he’d waited at the door to walk in at the moment of maximum leverage.

"Let’s not stand on ceremony in the lobby," Charles said, his hand lingering on George’s shoulder as he began to lead the group toward the dining room. "The evening is young, and we have much to discuss."

He looked back at me and Noah. He didn’t say anything, but the smirk was there, the one only I could see. Welcome to the table, Cassian. Try not to spill anything.

The dining room was a sanctuary of dark wood, flickering candlelight, and the heavy geometry of formal place settings. It was a table designed for transactions, not meals.

Charles took the head of the table. The Governor took the foot. Power facing sanctioned power.

I was seated to my father’s right. Preston was beside me. Across from us sat Nick Bennett, placed near the Governor, the honored guest in the seat of prominence. George was adjacent to him.

And Noah.

Noah was seated off-center, halfway down the table. He wasn’t a principal, but the place card was there, embossed in gold. Charles had accounted for him. He had forced him into the center of the family he hated, under the watchful eyes of the man who had bought him.

I watched Noah sit. He moved like a man walking through a minefield. He looked at the place card, sat down, and immediately began to make himself smaller than the chair. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t look at his father. He looked at the white linen of the tablecloth as if it were the only safe thing in the building.

The dinner opened with a toast from the Governor. It was a practiced speech about service and excellence, a verbal medal pinned to Nick’s chest. Nick received it perfectly, modest acknowledgment, a deflection toward his team. He was well-trained. He knew how to play the "Hero" role for the cameras.

Charles waited for the toast to settle, then slid into the conversation like oil on water.

"Tell me—Nicholas," my father said, leaning forward. "The decision-making in the OR, when the Governor’s wife’s vitals dropped, what does the training look like that produces that kind of calm?"

Nick answered flawlessly. He spoke of precision, of the "tunnel vision" of the elite surgeon. George beamed beside him, radiating a pride that was almost tangible. I watched George look at Nick with a warmth that I knew Noah had never felt.

I looked at Noah. He was staring at his plate, his fork toyed with a piece of architectural greens. He looked like he was trying to vanish into the wood grain.

I pulled out my phone beneath the table.

Stop looking at your plate, I typed. You’re allowed to exist at a dinner table. Breathe.

I watched Noah’s phone light up. He glanced at it. I saw his jaw loosen just a fraction as he read the words. He didn’t respond. He didn’t look up. But he sat an inch taller.

The second course arrived, a poached sea bass that looked like a sculpture. The formality of the table loosened as the Governor and my father began a sidebar about urban development.

Preston chose that moment.

My brother has always had a gift for finding the exact second my attention is divided. He took a sip of his wine, looked across the table, and let a warm, inclusive smile settle on his face.

"Noah," Preston said. His voice was loud enough to draw the attention of the immediate cluster, Nick, George, and Seraphina.

Noah went still.

"I hope you don’t mind—but I’ve heard a great deal about you from my brother," Preston continued. He gave a small, agreeable laugh.

"It’s quite remarkable, actually. Cassian’s standards for his immediate staff are... well, everyone in the company knows they’re impossible. He’s the type to never keep an assistant for more than a quarter."

The table’s focus shifted. George Bennett’s eyes narrowed. Nick’s gaze flickered between Preston and Noah.

"And yet here you are," Preston mused, his voice dripping with faux-admiration.

"Directly under him. In what, a matter of weeks? It’s unprecedented for someone with your... background."

The phrasing was a barbed hook. Directly under him. It landed with a dull thud of implication.

"I have to ask, and I mean this genuinely," Preston said, leaning in as if sharing a secret. "What was it that made him notice you so quickly? Cassian doesn’t notice people, Noah. Not like that. You must have made quite an impression."

It was an accusation in evening wear. It was Preston telling the table, telling Noah’s father and his "hero" brother, that Noah hadn’t earned his seat.

That he was a plaything. A fluke. A transaction of a different kind.

Tell us what kind of impression you made, Noah. Say it in front of the Governor. Say it in front of the father who threw you away.

Noah looked up. He was caught in the glare of Preston’s smile, the silence of the table stretching out like a desert.

Nick was watching with an unreadable expression. George was looking away, his face flushed with a mixture of shame and suspicion.

I felt the air in my lungs turn to ice. I started to lean forward, my mouth opening to cut Preston’s throat with a single sentence, to redirect the conversation before Noah had to swallow the poison.

But my father’s hand moved.

Charles didn’t touch my arm. He just placed his hand on the table near mine, a subtle barrier. He caught my eye for a fraction of a second.

Not yet, the look said.

The subtext was a warning: If you defend him now, Cassian, you prove Preston right. You show them he’s a weakness. You show them you’re compromised. Let him stand on his own.

I stopped. The restraint cost me more than I was willing to admit. I looked at Noah, sitting in the silence Preston had built for him. He was alone in it. He was expected to fill it with a lie or a confession, and every eye at the table was waiting for him to bleed.