Cassian awoke first.
The fire had burned low. Shadows curled around the edges of the penthouse like secrets, and Riven lay beside him, back exposed, skin still flushed from what had happened just hours ago.
It should've felt like peace.
But something in Cassian's chest pulled taut instead—like silk about to tear.
He reached for his shirt without a word.
Riven stirred. "Running?"
Cassian's voice was cold. "Just breathing."
Riven sat up slowly, watching Cassian with eyes that once held only fire—but now shimmered with questions.
"We were both drowning last night," he said, quiet. "But you looked at me like I was the reason you couldn't breathe."
Cassian turned, the lines in his face harsher under morning light. "Maybe you are."
Riven flinched. "I told you the truth."
"You told me your truth," Cassian snapped. "After you let Valen inside your head—inside our war."
"And you don't think you've kept secrets too?" Riven rose, tension slicing the air. "I've seen the ledgers. The off-the-record transfers. You've been preparing for something—without me."
They stared at each other like two storms about to collide.
And then—again—contact.
It wasn't tender. It wasn't sweet. But it was everything they couldn't say. Hands yanked buttons. Mouths met with bruising urgency. Cassian spun Riven, pressed him against the wall, his breath hot at Riven's ear.
"You want this even when you don't trust me?" Cassian whispered.
"I want this because I still do," Riven hissed back, hips grinding against him. "I still feel you. Every time. Even when it hurts."
Cassian's grip tightened. He kissed him like a threat, like a promise, like the end of the world.
And Riven let him—because it was the only place that still felt real.
Clothes fell like declarations. Skin met skin, heated and frantic. Pleasure wasn't a reprieve—it was a battlefield. A war fought on bruised ribs and moaned confessions. Fingers tangled. Backs arched. Eyes locked.
It wasn't about love. Not here.
It was about possession. Punishment. Claiming each other in the only way they still knew how—through sweat, sound, and surrender.
Later, when silence settled again, Riven traced the scars on Cassian's back.
"You're afraid of losing control," he said softly.
Cassian didn't answer. His silence was louder than words.
But deep down, both of them knew:
The cracks were growing.
And something was coming that no amount of fire between them could burn away.
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