His Only Obsession [On going revision]

A crooked smile formed on Cassian's face when a business associate began praising his performance.

Again.

The same praise. The same questions, with the same tone of voice.

Forty-eight years. Three decades of power, and nothing new.

"How do you manage to maintain your reputation in such a ruthless business world, Mr. de Montclair? I'm curious about how you operate behind the scenes."

The same smile was still plastered on his face. The scent of expensive whiskey filled the air. His hand skillfully swirled the golden-yellow liquid inside the crystal glass.

The business routine played out for the hundredth time. Predictable negotiations. The fawners who kept flocking to him like insects always brought on a suffocating boredom that had been weighing on him ever since he took control of the network and systems that had long been under his family’s control.

"In fact, it's quite easy. I always start by—"

"Sei un fottuto bastardo! Ti odio!"

(You fucking bastard! I hate you!)

The woman's voice was loud enough to ruin the rhythm of the music, followed by the sound of breaking objects that pierced through the door of the VIP room.

His hand paused for a moment. He glanced briefly at his business associate, then slowly Cassian set down his glass.

The music had stopped, replaced by a dominance of Italian curses and a loud slap followed by a man's groan and a woman's cry.

"Excuse me for a moment, Mr. Victor. I'll be back." Cassian gestured with one hand and stood up. He walked out, but stopped right at the top of the stairs and glanced down at the source of the chaos disrupting his routine.

There was a woman with long, wavy brown hair. Her hand gripped a man's suit collar while hurling curses.

A warm sensation crept up Cassian's chest. His jaw hardened. He descended the stairs with measured steps, then immediately caught the woman's arm just as she was about to drag the man out of the club.

Cheap drama and affairs were the two things Cassian hated most, especially when they happened in Montclair's club.

"Stop," Cassian's voice was low. His hand still held the woman's arm.

"Don't touch me! Bastard. Who are you? This is none of your business!" the woman hissed with a thick Italian accent, full of anger.

Cassian's eyes widened slightly. This woman had just roughly snapped his hand away.

The hand of a Cassian de Montclair had simply been swept aside — by a woman, inside his own exclusive club.

Unforgivable.

"Enough. I've warned you," Cassian growled. He grabbed her arm again, tightened his grip slightly, and pulled until she stumbled.

"I said let go!" she snapped, still struggling.

He held her in place. But when she struggled again, he saw it on her left shoulder.

A comma-shaped birthmark.

For a fraction of a second. A fraction of a second he hid from everyone.

The face of the woman in front of him transformed into an older face he should have buried long ago.

Elena.

Cassian released his hand faster than he intended.

Not because the birthmark reminded him of Elena. Quite the opposite. The birthmark reminded him that this woman wasn't Elena.

Elena never had a birthmark like that. Elena never had a comma-shaped birthmark on her left shoulder.

This woman was someone else. Someone else who, for some reason, was carrying Elena's face within her.

"Boss, should we—"

"No, let her go," he ordered. Cassian could feel the atmosphere in the room beginning to shift. The whispers of the patrons signaled the first stirrings of chaos in Montclair’s club, while the source of the trouble had already gone back to dragging her ex away without even glancing at Cassian.

The woman didn’t turn around at all. Cassian’s dark green eyes followed her movements, committing every detail of the woman to memory.

"Close the club and keep it empty for a week, then all of you go home. Remember, what happened here will not be revealed to anyone outside. Do you understand?"

There was no reply, only the sound of footsteps as each person left one by one.

Cassian returned to meet Victor in the VIP room. Curiosity was clearly evident on Victor’s face. His eyes glanced briefly outside the room; his hand trembled slightly, and a stiff smile still lingered on his face.

“I hope this doesn’t change your mind about working together, Mr. Victor? You can see with your own eyes how my methods work, can’t you?” Cassian slowly rolled up his shirt sleeves, his gaze fixed directly on Victor’s. Victor immediately stood up and extended his hand.

“Of course, of course, Mr. de Montclair. I’ve seen your work myself. Very efficient.” Cassian accepted the extended hand. The handshake was firm enough, accompanied by a slight pressure that made Victor’s face turn pale.

“Good, now go. I’ll contact you soon," Cassian said. He didn’t turn around at all as Victor hurried out of the room.

After Victor left, Cassian sat back down in the VIP room and sipped his whiskey. The woman came to his mind again.

The glow in those green eyes, with the intensity of fire within them.

Her hourglass figure, like a model on the cover of a summer fashion magazine.

A faint chuckle escaped Cassian’s lips.

"I've seen many bodies like that before, even better ones. But why this woman..."

Cassian's sentence died on his lips, replaced by a growl he masked by taking a sip of his whiskey.

"She looks familiar, but that birthmark is unsettling," he whispered softly. He stood up, then began pacing back and forth.

The warm feeling in his chest was still there, but now it burned like embers fanned by the wind.

"Damn! She’s just a rude woman who ruined my day."

His whiskey glass slammed against the wall.

Cassian would never forgive this incident. No one defied him not even business associates. But that woman?

She dared.

She dared to light a fire that Cassian thought had long been buried and would never flare up again.

"Damn woman! She awakened something that shouldn’t exist!"

Cassian picked up his phone and called Laurent. His right-hand man.

“Laurent, find me information about the woman who caused trouble at the club tonight. The CCTV footage will be sent shortly. Make sure that file is in my hands by exactly seven in the morning. Do you understand?” Cassian didn’t wait for Laurent to answer. He immediately ended the call and went home to his residence.

The trip home was filled with images of the woman. She was only as tall as his chin, yet her courage and fire seemed like a nightmare to him.

“Nightmare” was even too simple a word to describe what Cassian de Montclair was feeling.

He had only one nightmare and now something related to it was haunting him again in exactly the same way.

Cassian closed his eyes for a moment. Behind his eyelids, he saw the woman’s face a face with the same sharp features, but not the face of the woman he’d seen at the club earlier.

This face should have faded from his memory long ago.

Elena.

“Elena,” he whispered softly, without realizing it. Then he opened his eyes, and that face vanished, replaced by the cityscape that never looked the same again.

Time for Cassian always moved fast. As fast as the information Laurent sent him. Exactly the next day at seven in the morning.

Laurent had sent the file. Cassian himself was already dressed neatly, sitting casually opening the file inside his luxury car, driven by Laurent toward the main office.

"Let's see what kind of person made me unable to sleep all night," Cassian said briefly, while opening the sent file. The torture last night was enough; he had slept with a burning chest and he refused to remember the reason.

His eyes scanned the file. The information was clear. Too clear, to the point of leaving him stunned when he read the name written there.

Cassandra Bellini. 27 years old. First child. Principal architect of Bellini Architettura, a renowned Italian architecture firm that had just opened a branch in Cité Montclair. Newly arrived in this city.

Cassian's finger stopped, his heart stopped beating once before beating again slightly faster.

Bellini.

Cassandra.

Bellini.

The last name he had heard twenty-six years ago. A name tied to a woman he should have forgotten long ago.

Now, that name was back, attached to someone who stood in his club like a ghost he had deliberately summoned by himself.

A loud laugh escaped Cassian's mouth, making Laurent glance briefly.

"Boss? Are you alright?" Laurent's suspicious tone only made Cassian laugh harder.

"I understand now why my reaction was like a wild bull last night," Cassian replied, then made a call.

"Céline, do we have any ongoing collaboration with Bellini Architettura?"

Cassian checked his watch. A thin smile as sharp as a razor was carved on his lips.

"Good. Speed up the process. Set a meeting for today at two in the afternoon. And make sure Cassandra Bellini is the one presenting it."

Cassian ended the call and ignored Lauren's suspicious stare.

During work at the office, Cassian showed no significant change. Only occasionally glancing at his watch and signing files.

Exactly at 1:58 in the afternoon, Cassian walked to the meeting room and waited patiently.

Cassian’s eyes immediately locked onto Cassandra when she entered the meeting room. Several investors followed behind her. She looked refreshed, professional, and completely unfazed.

For a split second, Cassandra paused in her steps when she saw him already seated at the end of the table.

Cassian met her gaze with a faint smirk.

“Welcome. Please have a seat.”

Cassandra chose the third chair on the right side of the table, across from Cassian. Her back was straight, and her hands deftly organized her files.

Cassian rarely attended routine project meetings in person. He guessed Cassandra didn’t know that. That surprise was briefly visible on Cassandra’s face before she sat down.

But what unsettled Cassian was how Cassandra’s professional demeanor stood out among the men in the room.

Cassian watched Cassandra for much longer, and her face once again brought the same image to his mind.

Elena.

But only for a fraction of a second. Because he remembered that birthmark. The birthmark that distinguished Cassandra from Elena. The birthmark that successfully pulled Cassian back to himself.

Cassian opened the meeting as usual. Investors showed their interest in each other by trying too hard to please him. Until it was Cassandra's turn.

"Next session, Cassandra Bellini, principal architect for the Riverside District project."

Cassian leaned forward slightly, propping his chin on his interlocked fingers.

Cassandra focused on presenting her work. Her tone was firm, her gaze sharp and directed at the monitor, occasionally shifting to Cassian.

Cassian adjusted the edge of his collar, a small movement that failed to dispel the warm feeling creeping up, filling his chest.

Again.

Cassian chose to keep watching Cassandra until it was time for him to cut her off.

"What is the estimated total cost of the foundation for a mixed-use high-rise building if the land is marshy?"

Cassandra was taken aback for a moment. She felt the pressure from the stares of Cassian’s superiors. Meanwhile, Cassian leaned back, watching her reaction.

The question he posed was an expert-level one; a wrong answer could ruin her presentation.

Cassandra’s jaw tightened slightly before she answered quickly enough to handle the trick question.

“The initial estimate is 5.2 million dollars, if using steel piles—”

“So you didn’t calculate the annual soil shift?” Cassian tapped his fingers on the mahogany table, savoring the tension in the room that he himself had created.

“I calculated it, Sir,” Cassandra answered calmly. “The shift is two to three centimeters—”

“Three was last year’s average. This year the number has changed. Do you know the exact number?”

“One point eight centimeters, Sir.”

Cassian picked up his pen and tapped it on the mahogany table.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Cassian almost smiled. Cassandra wasn’t at all as defeated as he had expected. Instead, she stared at him fiercely, no longer as polite as before. That gaze sparked that warm feeling in his chest again—a warm feeling that burned twice as strong as it had last night.

“So why does your design still use a conventional column structure? Why not a hybrid support system?”

“I prioritized cost efficiency. Hybrid supports add up to thirty percent to the cost. But I have a second alternative design—”

“Why didn’t you present it from the start?” His voice dropped. “Is this project too big for you, Miss Bellini?”

Cassian felt as though this room belonged only to him and Cassandra.

She stared at him hard and intently, as if she were stripping him bare. Cassian tilted his head slightly. He couldn’t just let this challenge pass him by. The stakes were high enough to force Cassian to choose between embracing or rejecting this dangerous challenge.

“No, sir. I presented the most efficient option first. Because I’ve already calculated the possible risks. Perhaps you should read the entire report first before...” Her tone softened. “Questioning something that is already clear.”

Silence filled the room. That thick, heavy silence didn’t bother Cassian at all. He sat up straight and closed the file.

"Fine. Send your alternative design to my office today."

"Yes, Sir."

"Sit back down."

The meeting continued as if nothing had happened. But Cassian's gaze never left Cassandra. He noticed every movement of Cassandra, every tone of her voice, down to her raised chin.

When everyone finally packed up their things and left, Cassian remained silent in his place.

A thin smile appeared on his lips.

"Interesting," he murmured softly to the empty room.

"Very interesting."

His eyes darkened with the flash of a predator awakening.

"Bellini," he whispered, testing the name on his tongue. It tasted like ash. Like fire. Like something long lost but returned again.

"Alright, let's see how long you can survive in my city, Cassandra Bellini."