The Saintess Chose The Wrong Man

Chapter 9

Now, Cassian walked out of the hall, straight toward the car waiting outside.

He spotted the man’s PA and lifted a hand casually. “Longest time, man.”

They hugged like old friends.

“It’s been crazy,” the PA said. “But I’m surviving. You? And Mireya—man, I wish I could see her again. I still can’t thank her enough. My father would’ve been dead ten years ago if she hadn’t noticed he was sick and forced him to get checked. Even now, he still says he doesn't know what made her know he was sick. He was perfectly fine.”

Cassian smiled faintly. “My kid sister’s always been good at what she does.”

But the smile froze halfway.

He saw Lombard walking toward the same car.

Cassian’s eyes narrowed. “That man,” he asked quietly, “does your boss know him?”

The PA followed his gaze, then waved it off easily. “Nah. Don’t worry about it. Probably someone from the team I sent to get him water. He wants to be alone before the next round.”

Cassian scoffed.

Oh, Lombard.

The biggest disgrace a man could ever be reduced to. And here he was—probably tagged along with security or the catering team—acting all puffed up inside the hall like he mattered. Cassian smirked to himself.

Wait.

Maybe that was it.

Maybe Lombard had been sent to fetch water earlier. Maybe Abigail, in her kindness, had asked him to keep her company out of pity.

That had to be it.

Yeah. That made perfect sense.

Cassian basked in the little fantasy, already enjoying the quiet humiliation he believed Lombard was drowning in.

Meanwhile—

Lombard walked straight toward the important man’s car.

He didn’t even know this was the man everyone inside was whispering about. Important? Sure. But to Lombard, he was just another man he knew. Another name in a very long list.

“August?” the man called out in surprise the moment he saw him through the window.

The door opened immediately.

“I know you hate it when people come to you during breaks like this,” Lombard said calmly, stepping closer. “But I had to say hello.”

“You didn’t come to say hello, August,” the man replied, smiling gently. “You came because you needed something.”

“Oh, shit,” Lombard chuckled. “You caught me. I was just trying not to be an asshole and skip the pleasantries.”

The man laughed softly. “Your kid here?”

Lombard smiled—then paused.

That one hit closer than expected.

“No,” he said. “But he’s a friend’s son.”

“Oh,” the man nodded. “So you came with your wife?”

Lombard exhaled. “Can we… just not talk about my marital status?”

The man raised a brow, amused. “You have no idea how excited I was earlier when I saw your message. Asking me to postpone the school’s presentation until after the break.”

“He’s like a kid to me,” Lombard said simply. “I’m his godfather.”

The man studied him for a second, then smiled wider. “I really hope I get to meet the lucky woman you’ll marry someday.”

He paused, then added casually—

“My daughter is still very much available.”

“Your daughter?” Lombard asked, genuinely surprised. “I thought she got over me and started dating someone.”

The man laughed. “That was my first daughter—the one whose heart you broke.”

Ah.

“I'm talking about my third daughter,” he continued casually. “She’s twenty-five.”

Lombard smiled politely, but the comment scraped against a sore spot he’d been carefully avoiding all evening.

Everyone was getting married.

And his girlfriend of two years? Drum roll. Fucking drum roll!; she cheated on him.

“I wish I could continue this conversation,” the man said, glancing at his watch, “but the break is almost over. What’s the kid’s name?”

“Finn,” Lombard replied. Then paused—just enough.

The man smiled. He understood.

“If he has a truly good innovation, he’s in. If he’s as boring as the rest, he’s out. I’m fair like that.” His tone sharpened slightly.

“You already know the rules. Scrap the obvious ideas. You always did better than the rest—remember how you aced my quizzes when everyone else was pulling zeros? Just tell him… whatever tricks you used.”

Lombard chuckled. “Alright.”

“And I’ll be expecting your invitation letter,” the man added lightly. “I’ve got a long speech prepared for your wedding.”

The door opened.

Lombard stepped aside as men in suits immediately moved in to escort the man back into the hall.

Across the distance—

Cassian saw the important man.

Perfect.

Cassian straightened.

He wasn’t some cheap mess like Lombard. He didn’t chase people at their cars—people came to him. He waited, confident, as the man and his escorts approached.

Then he stepped directly into their path.

They didn’t stop him.

They wouldn’t.

Because this was Cassian Belmont.

And in his mind, the night was still his.