The city shimmered under moonlight like a jewel with a crack down the center—beautiful, but on the verge of breaking. Cassian stood at the window of his penthouse, staring down at the streets he once controlled effortlessly. Tonight, those streets whispered rebellion.
Behind him, Riven leaned against the glass bar, a glass of dark red wine in hand, watching Cassian like a man studying the calm before a storm.
"You're bleeding power," Riven said softly, his voice carrying the subtle edge of worry. "Someone's carving into your empire, and it's not just coincidence."
Cassian's reflection met Riven's in the glass, sharp and unreadable. "You think I don't know that?"
Riven stepped closer, the distance between them heavy with unspoken heat. "Then why are you pretending this is still under control?"
Cassian turned to face him, eyes smoldering. "Because panic is a privilege I don't have. And because I need to know who's playing both sides."
Riven stilled. "You think I am?"
"I think everyone has secrets, Riven. Even you."
Before Riven could respond, a sudden chime cut through the tension. A secure alert. Cassian checked the encrypted tablet, his jaw tightening.
"The east docks were hit. One of our transports—gone. Three men missing. No survivors."
Riven put down the wine and crossed the room in two strides. "That's not a warning shot. That's war."
Cassian's voice dropped low. "Then let's stop playing nice."
---
Later That Night – Valen's Invitation
The hotel suite was lined with velvet and shadow. Riven arrived alone, summoned by Valen's message: Let's talk about power. And what you really want.
Valen stood at the center of the room, dressed in tailored black, his silver ring glinting like a blade. "Cassian is crumbling," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "But you, Riven… you're still sharp."
Riven stayed silent, stepping closer. Valen extended a glass of amber liquor, but it wasn't the drink that intoxicated—it was the promise.
"I can give you what he's never been willing to. A seat beside me. Power without the leash. And freedom to burn as hot as you want."
Riven's breath hitched faintly. "And the price?"
Valen moved in, invading Riven's space. "Cassian. His empire. His loyalty. His love—if it still matters."
The silence between them simmered. Riven's pulse roared. The line between temptation and treason blurred in the heat rising between them.
And then Valen leaned closer, whispering, "You don't have to break him. Just stop saving him."
Riven didn't answer. But he didn't walk away, either.
---
Back at the Penthouse
Cassian stood under the shower, steam curling around him like ghosts. He felt the fractures—financial, strategic, emotional. But the worst crack was the growing distance in Riven's eyes.
When Riven returned, soaked in rain and silence, Cassian met him with a look that stripped away every mask.
"Where were you?"
Riven hesitated. "Nowhere that matters."
Cassian stepped closer, pressing a hand to Riven's chest. "It matters if you lie."
The kiss that followed wasn't gentle. It was desperate, bruising, laced with need and fear. Riven responded with equal force, the collision of mouths and hands more like combat than affection. Heat bloomed, sharp and messy, desire tangled with suspicion.
But beneath it all, the love still burned. Fractured, fragile, but burning.
As they collapsed onto the bed, breathless and raw, neither dared to say what they feared most:
That this war wasn't just out there.
It had already begun between them.