MORE THAN A FEELING

Chapter 9: The Glass Shatters

The rain began as a rhythmic tap against the windshield of Cassian’s car, but within minutes, it turned into a torrential downpour that blurred the neon lights of the city into smears of gold and red.

Cassian sat in the driveway of the Thorne estate, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were white. He had been staring at his phone for two hours, counting every second Aria was away with Marcus.

Then, the screen lit up.

He didn't wait for the second ring. "Aria?"

"Cass... please." Her voice was a broken whisper, competing with the muffled sound of upbeat violin music in the background. "I’m in the coat room. I can’t... I can’t breathe. There are so many people, and Marcus—he won't stop talking to the reporters about 'us.' I want to go home."

"I’m already moving," Cassian said, throwing the car into reverse. "Ten minutes, Aria. Just stay where you are."

He drove like a man possessed. He didn't care about the speed cameras or the slick roads. All he could see was the image of Aria—fragile, dressed in midnight blue, and suffocating under the weight of a world she wasn't ready to face yet.

When he pulled up to the grand entrance of the Metropolitan Gallery, the paparazzi were huddled under umbrellas, waiting for a scandal. Cassian didn't give them one. He didn't use the valet; he left his car idling right at the curb, ignored the shouting security guards, and stormed into the building.

He found her exactly where she said she’d be. She was tucked behind a rack of heavy fur coats, her knees pulled to her chest, her diamond earrings discarded on the floor. She looked like a fallen star.

"Aria," he breathed, dropping to his knees beside her.

She looked up, her eyes red and puffy, her "Ice Queen" mask completely shattered. Without a word, she lunged forward, burying her face in his neck. She was trembling so violently it felt like she was falling apart in his arms.

"Get me out of here," she sobbed into his collar. "Please, Cassian. Just take me away."

"I've got you," he whispered, wrapping his coat around her shoulders to hide her dress. "I've always got you."

He stood up, lifting her effortlessly as if she weighed nothing. He walked through the lobby with a look of such pure, cold fury that even the most aggressive photographers stepped back. Marcus appeared from the crowd, looking confused and slightly annoyed.

"Thorne? What the hell are you doing?" Marcus started, reaching for Aria’s arm. "We haven't done the final toast yet."

Cassian stopped. He didn't look at the cameras. He looked Marcus dead in the eyes, his voice vibrating with a dangerous, low frequency. "If you ever put a camera in her face when she’s crying again, Marcus, you won't have a career to worry about. Get out of my way."

The silence that followed was absolute. Cassian carried her out into the rain and tucked her into the passenger seat of his car.

As he drove away from the lights, the silence inside the car was heavy, broken only by the sound of the windshield wipers and Aria’s fading hiccups. He reached over, his hand finding hers on the center console.

"I'm sorry," she whispered after a long time. "I tried to be the girl they wanted. I tried to prove I could do it."

"You don't have to be anyone but Aria," Cassian said, his voice thick with the emotion he had been suppressing for years. "And to me, that's more than enough."

Aria turned her head, looking at him in the dim light of the dashboard. The "More Than a Feeling" spark was no longer a spark; it was a slow-burning fire. She reached out, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

"Why didn't you leave, Cassian?" she asked softly. "When I was gone for months... when I came back and acted like I didn't care... why are you still the one who comes when I call?"

Cassian pulled the car over to the side of the dark, rain-slicked road. He turned off the engine, and suddenly, the world was just the two of them in a small, metal sanctuary.

"Because," he said, his voice barely a whisper as he leaned in close, his heart beating against his ribs like a trapped bird. "I don’t know how to be anyone else. I’ve been yours since I was five years old, Aria. You’re not a project to me. You’re not a 'Rosemont.' You’re my entire world."

Aria’s breath hitched. She didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned forward until their foreheads touched. For the first time in a year, the ice didn't just c***k—it melted.