The rain whispered against the towering windows of the Crimson House as if the storm itself knew secrets were about to be torn from velvet shadows.
Cassian stood at the edge of the ballroom's overlook, a glass of blood-red wine untouched in his grip, eyes locked on the city lights below. His posture was a sculpture of control—until Riven entered, soaked from the rain, eyes blazing with something wild. Something that refused to be silenced anymore.
"You're late," Cassian said, voice low, not turning around.
"And you're bleeding trust like it doesn't matter," Riven shot back, stepping closer, his boots echoing against marble.
Cassian finally turned, and for a moment, the mask cracked. The exhaustion. The longing. The fury. All lived in those golden eyes.
"Did you come here to accuse me again," he asked, "or to remind me how good we used to be before everything burned?"
"I came," Riven said, voice rough, "because if I didn't, I'd lose my damn mind."
Their silence was magnetic. Laced with a thousand unsaid words.
Then Riven moved—slow at first, predatory. Cassian didn't step back. The air crackled between them as Riven closed the distance, grabbing the front of Cassian's jacket and pulling him close.
Their mouths collided—not soft, not sweet. It was punishment. It was pleading. It was pain.
Riven shoved him hard against the wall, and Cassian let him. The kiss turned raw, tongues clashing like weapons. Cassian's hands slid beneath Riven's shirt, fingers digging into warm skin. Riven groaned, biting Cassian's bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, and Cassian welcomed the sting.
"Tell me," Riven hissed against his mouth, "did you touch her like this too?"
Cassian's breath hitched. "You're jealous of a ghost."
"I'm jealous of anything that touches what's mine."
The claim should've infuriated Cassian. Instead, it lit a fire beneath his skin. He flipped Riven around, pinning him to the wall this time. His mouth moved to Riven's throat, teeth grazing that vulnerable spot beneath his jaw.
"You think you can punish me with your mouth," Cassian growled, "but we both know you only fall harder."
Their clothes came off in a frenzy, ripped and discarded. Flesh met flesh, hard and fast. Cassian's hand found Riven's wrist, pinning it above his head while his other hand traced lower—slower, crueler.
"You don't get to ask for loyalty," Cassian whispered into his ear, "then kiss me like a traitor."
Riven's eyes burned. "Then make me loyal."
And Cassian did.
The heat between them had cooled—but only into something more dangerous.
Cassian lay beside Riven on the velvet chaise, skin slick with sweat, bruises of passion painting his ribs and hips. He turned, brushing a damp strand from Riven's cheek. The storm outside had quieted. The one between them had not.
"Was that love," Riven whispered, voice raw, "or war?"
Cassian's fingers paused. "Sometimes I can't tell the difference with you."
Riven sat up slowly, muscles aching in that delicious way. But his eyes weren't softened anymore. They were distant. Thinking.
"I met with Valen," he said.
Cassian didn't react at first. He simply blinked once. Then once more. "Say that again."
"I met with Valen," Riven repeated. "Twice."
Silence stretched between them like a wire ready to snap.
"And what did he offer you?" Cassian asked quietly, danger curling under every syllable.
"Freedom," Riven answered. "And power. If I walk away from you."
Cassian rose, slow as a panther. "So that's what this was? One last f*** before you run into his arms?"
"No," Riven said, standing too. "This was a reminder. Of what I still feel when I'm near you. Of what I might still choose."
Cassian's laugh was cold. "You want me to beg?"
"No," Riven said. "I want you to stop hiding things from me. About Nyra. About your empire. About the deal you struck with the Crimson Syndicate."
Cassian's jaw clenched. "That deal was supposed to protect you."
"I don't need protection," Riven snarled. "I need the truth."
They stood there, bare, hearts laid open, rage and longing warring in the space between them.
Cassian's voice lowered to a whisper. "If I told you the truth, Riven... you'd hate me."
Riven stepped closer. "Then hate me back—but don't lie to me."
Cassian reached for him again—not in desire this time, but desperation. He pressed his lips to Riven's forehead.
"You deserve a lover who doesn't drown in power plays and secrets."
"I deserve you, Cassian. But only if you stop making me fight for scraps of your soul."
There it was—the knife beneath the kiss.
Cassian let him go. "Then choose, Riven. Valen. Or me."
And Riven, torn between the kiss and the knife, said nothing.
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