Chapter 116 Massa family
Cassie
The family jet was a luxury I'd grown up taking for granted, but today it felt like a cage carrying me toward an unknown fate. I'd packed my documents the night before with mechanical precision contracts, financial reports, anything my father might need to discuss. The urgent nature of his message suggested this wasn't about routine business.
The flight to Cape Town was smooth, but I couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled in my bones since receiving his message. My father was many things;kind, supportive, fiercely protective of family,but he was never dramatic with me. The fact that he'd used the word "immediately" and mentioned needing to talk face-to-face only intensified my anxiety.
When the jet touched down at Cape Town International, a car was already waiting. The drive through the city was familiar yet somehow different today,the majestic Table Mountain looming in the distance, the Atlantic Ocean glittering in the afternoon sun. I pressed my face to the window, watching the familiar landscapes pass like memories tinged with foreboding.
My father's building rose thirty-two stories into the clear Cape Town sky, all steel and glass and modern African architecture. I'd been here countless times, but today it felt different. More imposing. More like a fortress than the warm second home it had always been.
The elevator whisked me to the thirtieth floor, where my father's assistant, was a warm woman named Sarah who'd been with him for over a decade,greeted me with genuine concern.
"Cassie, darling," Sarah said, rising from her desk with a worried expression. "Your father is in his office, but he's asked me to speak with you first." She gestured toward the small conference room with its view of Lion's Head. "He's... concerned about something. Please, have a seat."
I followed, my unease deepening. Sarah had always been more like family than staff. "Sarah, what's going on? Dad's message was so urgent."
The older woman closed the door behind us and turned with an expression that was pure maternal worry. "Your father has arranged a dinner tonight. The Massa family,they're visiting from Johannesburg. Very influential people, old money with international reach."
The name meant nothing to me, but Sarah's tone suggested it should.
"Okay. And this concerns me how?"
"They've specifically requested to meet you." Sarah's voice was gentle but troubled. "Your father initially thought it was about potential business partnerships, expanding into Gauteng markets, but now he's not so sure. The Massas are... traditional. Family-oriented. , there's something about their interest in you specifically that has your father worried."
Warning bells were ringing in my head. "This isn't just a business dinner, is it?"
Sarah's expression grew more troubled. "That's what has your father concerned. Initially, yes, it seemed like business,but their questions, their research into your background... he thinks there might be another agenda. He didn't want to alarm you, but he also didn't want you walking in blind."
This was so typical of my father protective without being controlling, concerned without being patronizing. Even when he was worried, he respected my ability to handle myself. "What kind of agenda?"
"He's not sure. He wants you to know that if anything feels wrong tonight, anything at all, you leave immediately. No politeness, no business concerns. Just leave." Sarah reached across and squeezed my hand. "The dinner is at seven, at the Table Bay Hotel's rooftop restaurant. Your father will be there, but he wanted me to make sure you understood—your safety is more important than any business deal."
I felt a mixture of gratitude and apprehension. My father's protectiveness was one of the things I loved most about him, but it also meant something was seriously wrong. "And if I decide I don't want to go?"
"Then you don't go," Sarah said immediately. "Your father was very clear about that. This is your choice, Cassie. But if you do decide to attend, he's arranged for you to stay at the Mount Nelson tonight. Everything you need has been taken care of, and security will be discrete but present."
My father's thoroughness was both comforting and alarming. He clearly suspected this was more than a simple business dinner. "I'll go," I decided. "But I want to understand what we're walking into."
"Your father will explain everything when you see him. For now, he just wants you prepared and safe." Sarah stood, her maternal concern evident. "The hotel is expecting you. Your father chose the pink suite—he remembered how much you loved staying there as a child."
Despite my anxiety, I smiled at that. My father's attention to emotional details, his way of wrapping protection in love and familiar comfort, never failed to touch me. Even in the middle of what was clearly a concerning situation, he was thinking about what would make me feel safe and cherished.
The Mount Nelson was as elegant and welcoming as I remembered, its colonial architecture and lush gardens a stark contrast to my churning emotions. The pink suite was exactly as I'd remembered from childhood visits,all soft fabrics and warm colors, with a view of Table Mountain that should have been soothing but somehow felt ominous today.
On the bed lay a garment bag and a small jewelry box—my father's thoughtful preparation for whatever performance lay ahead. The dress was beautiful and perfectly suited to my taste: midnight blue silk that complemented my complexion, with a neckline that was sophisticated without being suggestive. The jewelry was my grandmother's—the diamond pendant and earrings that my father had saved from our family collection.
As I got ready, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was preparing for something far more significant than dinner. My phone sat silent on the nightstand, no new messages from Greyson since that voicemail earlier. Part of me was grateful for the silence; I couldn't handle another emotional conversation when I was already feeling manipulated by forces I didn't understand.
By six-thirty, I was dressed and ready, looking every inch the successful, sophisticated daughter of a respected businessman. The woman in the mirror looked confident, polished, protected by my father's love and concern. If only I felt half as composed as I appeared.
The Table Bay Hotel's rooftop restaurant was sophisticated elegance with a distinctly South African flair, offering panoramic views of the harbor and Robben Island in the distance. I arrived precisely on time, as my father had always taught me, and was escorted to a private elevator that rose smoothly to the rooftop level.
I didn't notice the three men who stepped into the elevator with me at first, too focused on my own nervousness and wondering where my father was. The tallest of the three was on his phone, speaking in low, warm tones to what sounded like his wife.
"Yes, bella, I'll be home by ten," he was saying, his voice carrying a slight Italian accent and the kind of easy affection that made my chest tighten with longing. "Kiss little Avab for me."
The other two were engaged in what seemed like a family conversation—something about favoritism and understanding.
"Just because you're not his favorite doesn't mean he doesn't care," one of them was saying, his voice carrying the kind of easy confidence that came from old money and older power. "From what I understand, Miss Hunter is supposed to be quite charming.
A real sweetheart, according to the reports."
My breath caught. They were talking about me. These men,these strangers—had "reports" about me. The elevator suddenly felt smaller, more confining, and I was acutely aware of being trapped with three men who knew more about me than I knew about them.
The elevator chimed softly as it reached the rooftop, and the doors slid open to reveal a stunning view of Cape Town's harbor, the lights of the city beginning to twinkle in the early evening. The restaurant was intimate, with perhaps a dozen tables scattered across the space, most of them empty. This was clearly a private event, carefully controlled and orchestrated.
As we stepped out of the elevator, my phone rang, the sound sharp and intrusive in the hushed atmosphere. I glanced at the screen and my heart lurched—Greyson's name glowing accusingly at me from the display.
The three men moved away toward what was obviously their table, and I found myself alone by the elevator, staring at my phone as it continued to ring. Everything in me wanted to answer it, to hear his voice, to have some connection to the life I'd left behind in Johannesburg. I was here now, committed to whatever situation my father was trying to navigate, and Greyson was part of the chaos I was trying to understand.
I answered the call anyway.