The sun hadn't risen yet when Cassian woke alone.
The side of the bed where Riven should've been was cold. Too cold.
Panic licked at his spine as he sat up, heart pounding. Then he heard it—the dull thud of fists hitting something. Again and again. Muffled groans. Sharp exhales. Pain.
Cassian found him in the basement gym.
Riven stood at the punching bag, shirtless, hands wrapped in red-stained gauze, knuckles raw. His eyes were unfocused, wild. He didn't stop when Cassian entered. Didn't even look his way.
"Riven."
No response.
Cassian moved closer. "Riven—baby, stop. You're hurting yourself."
Another punch. Then another. And another.
Cassian stepped between him and the bag, catching his wrists. "Enough!"
Riven struggled for a moment—desperate, unhinged—then collapsed forward, pressing his forehead to Cassian's chest.
"I can't do this," he choked. "He sent me a video."
Cassian stiffened. "What kind of video?"
Riven pulled back, gaze haunted. "Me. Him. From before. He's threatening to release it. To ruin you. Your career. Your name."
Cassian's jaw clenched. "Let him. I don't care what he has."
"I do," Riven hissed. "Don't you get it? I gave him everything back then. And now he's using it to punish me. Punish us."
Cassian lifted his hand and gently cupped Riven's bruised knuckles. "He can't take anything from you unless you let him."
"I feel dirty, Cass."
"You're not."
"I let him touch me. I wanted him to, back then. I begged for it."
Cassian grabbed Riven's face, forcing him to look him in the eye. "We all have pasts. But you're mine now. And I'll fight for you. Even if you won't."
Riven sagged against him, breath trembling. "I don't want to be a weapon for him anymore."
"Then don't," Cassian said, voice low and firm. "Let me be the one who shields you. You don't have to fight alone."
They kissed there—sweat and blood and rawness between them. It wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle. It was bruising. Breaking. Healing.
Cassian stripped Riven down slowly, carefully. Kissed each scar. Each old wound. Each piece that had been weaponized against him.
And when he took him—deep, deliberate—it wasn't just about pleasure. It was reclamation.
Riven cried out, clinging to him like a lifeline, trembling under every thrust. His legs wrapped around Cassian's waist, his body open, desperate.
"Mine," Cassian whispered, lips ghosting over his throat. "Say it."
"Yours," Riven gasped, rocking against him. "Always."
And when they came—together, shattering—it was the sound of chains breaking.
Later, as they lay tangled on the gym floor, Cassian kissed his temple and whispered, "We'll bury him with his own secrets."
Riven didn't reply. But the fire in his eyes had returned.