Chapter 7 Currency Of Power

• "Is this the part where you tell me I'm not allowed to leave the penthouse, or do I get a hall pass for buying groceries?" Megan asked, her voice cutting cleanly through the sharp hiss of the espresso machine as Casian stepped into the kitchen.
• Casian didn't answer immediately. He stood at the edge of the marble island, adjusting his silver cufflinks with measured, agonizing slowness. In his dark navy tailored suit, he looked every bit the Wall Street sovereign—impenetrable, icy, and completely restored after the chaotic tension of the night before.
• "You have an unlimited corporate black card waiting on the counter," Casian said, his baritone voice flat and clinical as he poured himself a cup of black coffee. "Buy whatever you need to keep this place running and yourself looking like a Morello. Just don't embarrass me in public."
• Megan leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms over her simple linen shirt. She looked at the shiny piece of metal sitting beside the fruit bowl, then flicked her eyes up to meet his dark hazel glare.
• "I don't need your charity card, Casian," Megan said smoothly. "I have my own money from my savings. I just need to know if your security detail is going to follow two paces behind me like I'm a fugitive."
• "They are there to protect the seventy percent of the company sitting in your name," Casian countered, taking a slow sip of his coffee without breaking eye contact. "If something happens to you before Monday's press conference, the stock value plunges by ten percent before the opening bell. You are a high-value asset, Megan. Start acting like one."
• Megan let out a soft, mocking laugh, taking a step toward him until the narrow stretch of the marble counter was all that separated them. Her hyperosmia immediately picked up the subtle underlying scent beneath his expensive coffee and soap—a faint, lingering trace of restless exhaustion and tight, coiled tension.
• "An asset?" Megan murmured, tilting her head as her eyes sparkled with sharp defiance. "Is that why you stood outside my bedroom door for ten minutes last night, husband? Checking on your investment?"
• Casian’s hand froze mid-air, the porcelain cup hovering inches from his lips. A dangerous, pitch-black shadow crossed his features, his jaw clenching so hard the muscle twitched beneath his bronze skin.
• "You were awake," Casian whispered, his voice dropping to a low, lethal register that made the air in the kitchen instantly thin out.
• "I didn't need to be awake to know you were there," Megan taunted softly, leaning closer until her breath brushed the sharp angle of his jawline. "Your cologne practically seeped under the crack of the door. You stood there, holding the handle, fighting yourself."
• In a fraction of a second, Casian set the cup down with a sharp clack and reached across the island. His large, warm hand clamped firmly around the back of her neck, pulling her forward until her face was mere inches from his. The sudden, explosive surge of heat between them was staggering, threatening to melt the cold marble separating their bodies.
• "Don't flatter yourself, Megan," Casian growled, his thumb pressing against the racing pulse point at her throat, anchoring her firmly in place. "I was deciding whether letting you stay in this house was worth the headache you cause me every time you open your mouth."
• "Liar," Megan whispered, her eyes locking onto his with absolute confidence, despite the sharp, electric throb flaring deep in her core at his touch. "You wanted to break the lock. You wanted to prove that you could take what's yours whenever you felt like it."
• Casian’s breathing turned heavy, ragged, his gaze dropping hungrily to her parted lips before snapping back up to her burning eyes. "If I enter your room, Megan, it won't be to prove a point. It will be to completely strip away this arrogant pride of yours until you have nothing left to fight me with."
• "Then do it," Megan challenged softly, her hand coming up to rest lightly over his wrist, her fingers tracing the heavy pulse pounding in his arm. "Stop talking about what you can do, Mr. Morello, and actually do it."
• Casian’s grip on her neck tightened for one suffocating, electrifying moment. For a second, Megan thought he was going to vault right over the kitchen island and crush her against the floor. The raw, primal hunger radiating off him was palpable, thick enough to drown in.
• Instead, the sharp, rhythmic ring of his phone broke the spell, shattering the heavy tension like glass.
• Casian didn't look at the screen. He kept his hazel eyes locked on hers for three agonizing seconds, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin of her jawline one last time before he abruptly let her go. He pulled his phone from his inner jacket pocket, his corporate mask sliding back into place with scary efficiency.
• "Speak," Casian commanded into the receiver, turning his back to her as he walked toward the floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking Manhattan.
• "Mr. Morello," his executive assistant's panicked voice leaked through the speaker, loud enough for Megan’s sharp ears to catch every word. "We have a problem. The SEC just flagged an anonymous tip regarding Arthur's will. And Thomas Vance has just called an emergency board meeting for two p.m."
• Casian’s posture straightened, turning completely rigid like a soldier preparing for battle. "On what grounds?"
• "Fraud," the assistant replied nervously. "They're claiming Megan Vance coerced your grandfather while he was under heavy medication."
• Beside the island, Megan stood up straight, her eyes narrowing as a cold, dangerous thrill ran through her veins.
• Casian slowly turned around to look at her, his hazel eyes unreadable, but the subtle shift in his scent revealed a dark, soaring surge of adrenaline. He ended the call without another word, slipping the phone back into his pocket.
• "It seems your victory at the gala didn't scare Thomas off," Casian said, his voice deadly quiet as he walked back toward her.
• "He's desperate," Megan replied, stepping around the island to stand directly in his path, her chin lifted high. "He knows if we survive the press conference on Monday, he loses his leverage forever."
• Casian stopped right in front of her, towering over her frame. He looked down at her small, determined face, a slow, dark smirk curving the corner of his lips for the very first time.
• "Two p.m.," Casian murmured, extending his hand toward her. "You are coming with me to the boardroom. Let's see how well my new wife handles a room full of sharks."
• Megan didn't hesitate. She placed her hand in his large, warm palm, her fingers tightening around his with an unyielding grip.
• "Lead the way, husband," Megan said, her eyes flashing with a cold, unbreakable fire. "I've been wanting to fillet a few sharks all week."