The penthouse was too quiet. Even the city below, always pulsing and alive, felt muted—as if it too were holding its breath, waiting for the storm to break. Cassian stood near the floor-to-ceiling window, a glass of untouched scotch in hand, watching the skyline flicker with neon and uncertainty.
Behind him, the echo of soft footsteps.
"You're late," he said, his voice low, controlled, and far too calm.
Riven stopped just inside the threshold of the living room. "I know."
Cassian didn't turn around.
The silence stretched. The air between them, once thick with hunger and devotion, now felt like a wire pulled taut—ready to snap.
"You saw him again, didn't you?" Cassian's voice cut like velvet sharpened with glass.
Riven's jaw tensed. "It wasn't like that."
"It never is." Cassian finally turned, eyes shadowed with something unreadable. He looked devastating in his tailored black shirt, sleeves rolled up, veins pulsing at his forearms from clenched fists.
Riven hated how much he still ached for him—how the very anger in Cassian's gaze made his pulse race.
Cassian stepped forward. "He made you an offer, didn't he?"
Riven didn't answer.
Cassian's mouth curled into a bitter smile. "And you didn't say no."
"It's not that simple."
"You mean you aren't that simple." Cassian closed the distance between them in three precise steps. He wasn't touching Riven, but he might as well have been—the heat between them was a living thing.
Riven's breath caught. The tension in the room smoldered like coals waiting for oxygen.
Cassian reached out slowly, fingers brushing Riven's jaw, his thumb dragging over the fading mark he'd left nights ago. "You let him get close."
Riven flinched—not from the touch, but from the truth.
"You think I don't see you unraveling?" Cassian whispered. "I feel every inch of it. Every time you flinch away, every time you come back smelling like regret."
Riven's hands clenched at his sides. "I didn't betray you."
Cassian's grip tightened just a fraction, forcing Riven's eyes to his. "Then what do you call this? Lying? Hiding? Sneaking off into his orbit when you promised you'd burn for me?"
And just like that, Riven snapped. He surged forward, kissing Cassian like punishment and confession, like it was the only language they both still understood. Their mouths collided, teeth and tongues and desperation. Cassian grabbed him hard, pulling him in until their bodies couldn't tell where one began and the other ended.
They didn't move toward the bedroom. Didn't strip carefully or whisper sweet things. This wasn't about tenderness. It was war—waged in tangled limbs, in the bruising grip of fingers that knew exactly where to hurt and exactly how to heal.
Cassian pushed him against the wall, hands sliding under Riven's shirt, ripping it open. Buttons scattered across the floor like broken promises.
"Tell me the truth," he growled against Riven's neck.
Riven gasped. "You already know it."
Cassian bit down—not enough to break skin, just enough to make Riven cry out, clutching at him, nails digging into his shoulders.
They moved together, every touch a demand, every gasp a plea. The world outside ceased to exist. There was only the fever between them. Heat and history. Pain and passion. Lust laced with fury.
When it was over, they stayed tangled, breathless, sweat-slicked and trembling.
Cassian didn't let go.
"I want to trust you," he said hoarsely.
Riven buried his face in his chest. "Then do."
Cassian's arms tightened. "Don't make me regret it."
Outside, thunder rolled over the skyline.
Inside, something cracked—and neither of them knew if it was the beginning of repair… or the start of ruin.