The CEO's Substitute: Love In London

Cason extended a hand toward Kamden. The fingers were long, the nails manicured. "Cason Vincent. A pleasure to finally meet the... legend."

Kamden stared at the hand. He didn't take it. Up close, the resemblance was terrifying. The curve of the ear. The shape of the eyebrows. It was biological. It was undeniable.

"I don't shake hands with men who use women as projectiles," Kamden said.

Cason retracted his hand smoothly, unfazed. He turned his gaze to Helena.

The air shifted. Cason's eyes darkened. The amusement vanished, replaced by an intensity that bordered on obsession. He looked at her not as a stranger, but as a possession he had misplaced.

"And Mrs. Emerson," Cason said softly. "London misses you."

The word London hit Kamden like a physical blow to the gut. His head snapped toward Helena.

London. The gap in her resume. The year she vanished. The year she told him she'd had a minor car accident, the one that had supposedly ended her concert career. The one he never questioned.

Helena met Cason's gaze. She didn't flinch. "New York is home now, Mr. Vincent." Her tone was ice, brittle and sharp.

Cason stepped closer, invading her personal zone. He leaned in, just an inch too close. "Is it? Some pasts are hard to outrun, Helena. No matter how fast the car is."

Kamden stepped between them, breaking the eye contact. He was taller than Cason by maybe half an inch, and he used it. "State your business, or leave."

Cason smirked. He glanced at Morgana, who had recovered enough to look haughty again. "Just expanding my portfolio, Kamden. Morgana here is my... guide to the city."

"Business associate," Morgana corrected sharply, clinging to Cason's arm again.

Cason tapped his wrist. He was wearing a watch.

It wasn't a modern Rolex. It was a vintage pocket watch converted into a wristwatch. Gold. Ornate.

Kamden's eyes narrowed. It looked disturbingly familiar, almost identical to the ornate piece his grandfather, Silas Emerson, cherished-a family heirloom he hadn't laid eyes on in years.

Helena saw it too. Her stomach twisted, not with recognition of the object, but with a cold dread as she watched the color drain from Kamden's face. She didn't know the watch, but she knew that look. It was the look of a man seeing a ghost from a past even she wasn't privy to.

Cason saw Kamden looking. He leaned in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "She has a type, doesn't she? Men with... potential."

The implication hung in the air like smoke. I was the original. You are the copy.

Kamden's fists clenched at his sides. The veins in his neck stood out. He wanted to hit him. He wanted to rearrange that familiar face until it looked like a stranger's.

Jasper stepped in, clapping his hands loudly. "Wonderful! Introductions made. Now, if you'll excuse us, Mr. Emerson has a speech to prepare for."

Cason bowed mockingly. "We'll catch up later, brother."

He didn't say brother like a sibling. He said it like a slur.

Cason turned and led Morgana away into the crowd.

Kamden stood rooted to the spot. He turned to Helena. His eyes were searching, desperate. "London?" he asked. "Did you know him in London?"

Helena looked at his bowtie. She reached up and adjusted it, her fingers cold against his neck. She couldn't meet his eyes. If she looked at him, she would crumble.

"Everyone knows everyone in London, Kam," she said vaguely. "He's just trying to get under your skin."

"He succeeded," Kamden rasped.