Ch. 8
1350 Words
I should have left him there. Right in front of the damn station, with his bruised face and busted lip and that stupid lopsided smirk that always made me want to punch him or kiss him, depending on the decade.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
As we stepped out of the station, I felt the eyes on me. Cold. Judging. Like I’d just walked out hand in hand with a convicted criminal. A few officers even had the nerve to sneer. Estelle was the only familiar face, sipping coffee like this was a Saturday stroll
and not a PR nightmare. She caught my eye and I gave her the subtlest nod before continuing on, heels clicking as I headed straight to my car.
Cassian followed like a shadow, silent until we reached the parking lot.
He cleared his throat. I stopped, hand on the car door. “What?”
He shrugged, looking pointedly at my vehicle. “You’re really gonna leave me here? No cash. No phone.”
“Go back inside and get your phone,” I said dryly, pulling the door open.
He tilted his head. “Might’ve lost it when those jackasses broke into my apartment.”
I turned slowly, giving him a long, flat stare. “So what? You want me to help you? What part of ‘I’m your attorney, not your Uber’ did you miss?”
But of course, Cassian Draven never needed permission. He reached for the passenger door, pulled it open, and slid in like he had every right to be there.
I just stood there, slightly gaping. He had actual nerve.
He leaned over, poking his head through the window. “You gonna stand there all day, or…? I’m starving.”
My jaw clenched. I got in, slamming the door a little harder than necessary.
“You should call your girlfriend to pick you up,” I said, tightening my grip on the steering wheel. “Wouldn’t want her to see you all cozy with your ex.”
Cassian didn’t answer immediately. His face shifted, his jaw tightening like the word ex left a sour taste in his mouth. His eyes dropped to his lap. “How’d you even find out I was in there? Did Laura come to you?”
I didn’t answer.
“Never mind,” he muttered before I could. “She’d have been here if she did.”
“She did,” I said, starting the engine.
His head snapped toward me, and for a moment, his face lit up.
It shouldn’t have hurt. But it did.
Of course he cared. Of course it mattered to him whether she cared enough to help.
“She said nothing while you were locked up,” I added, my voice clipped. “Not a word. Just sat in my office like a statue.”
Cassian’s brows drew together. “Why?”
“Hell if I know.” I pulled out of the lot and into traffic.
He went quiet, the silence between us sticky and charged. I shouldn’t have cared. Should’ve just dropped him at the nearest bus stop and gone back to saving what was left of my reputation. But no, I had to ask.
“What do you want to eat?”
He turned to me slowly, like he hadn’t expected me to ask. Like I’d just offered him something he didn’t think he deserved.
“GigaBurger.” he said.
I swallowed hard. “Fine.”
He didn’t look away. Just… stared. As if he was reading something off my face. Like he was waiting for me to fall apart and say what I was really thinking.
I didn’t.
I drove.
And I ignored the hurt tightening in my throat like a noose.
_
GigaBurger smelled like memories I never wanted. Grease, salt, sugar, sweat. Every part of it felt sticky, like it clung to your skin and your dignity. I wrinkled my nose the second we walked in.
Cassian didn’t seem to care.
He stood next to me at the counter, scanning the overhead menu like this wasn’t the most off-brand thing he’d ever done. This man, the same one who once scoffed at a five-star restaurant for “smelling like reheated oil” was now ordering a double cheeseburger and fries.
Had he changed that much over the last three years?
Or was he just trying to be considerate of my wallet?
As we moved to sit, I caught the not-so-subtle stares of a table of girls near the window. One of them—blonde, maybe twenty-one, with a crop top cut so high it might as well be a suggestion—slid her hand slowly down her chest while whispering something to her friend. I followed her gaze. She was eyeing Cassian like he was dessert.
I bit down the snort rising in my throat.
He really was that guy. The kind women tripped over their own pride to get close to. A walking, brooding, emotionally unavailable red flag.
We sat down, awkward silence settling between us like smoke. I tapped my fingers on the table while Cassian opened his mouth, probably to make small talk.
But the girls weren’t done.
The same ones who’d been eyeing him strolled over, their sneakers hitting the floor dramatically. The blonde stopped at our table, all confidence and cleavage, and offered a smile so sweet I almost checked for fangs.
“It’s such an honor to meet you,” she gushed, her voice high and grating. “We’re, like, your biggest fans.”
Cassian glanced at me, and I caught the faintest twitch of a smile on his lips. Then he stood, polite, ever the charming prince.
“Thanks. That’s… flattering.”
“Would you sign something for us?” her friend asked, already pulling a marker from her bag. “Please?”
He took the marker, brows slightly raised. “Sure. Where?”
Blondie twisted her hair into a bun, exposing her neck, and then leaned forward so far I saw more than I ever wanted to. “Right here,” she said, pointing at the top of her low-cut shirt. “I want to keep it forever.”
Cassian gave me a sideways look as he awkwardly scribbled his name, trying very hard not to touch anything. Then he signed the other girl’s back, returned the marker, and waved them off like a gentleman.
Once they were gone, he sat down with a long sigh.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“For what?”
“I don’t even know.”
I was about to make a sarcastic remark when a phone rang.
Cassian’s phone.
I froze.
“You said—” I began, but he’d already answered, his voice brightening as he said, “Harry?”
Harry. Not Laura. His manager.
I crossed my arms, watching his face shift through emotions like a time-lapse. Relief turned to concern. Concern to disbelief. And then anger.
“Come on, Harry. There has to be something we can do to stop it.” His tone dropped, desperate.
Apparently not.
The call ended. His shoulders slumped slightly. I shouldn’t have cared. I shouldn’t have said anything.
But I did.
“What’s going on?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Just scrolled through his phone, eyes deadened, and then slid it across the table to me.
I picked it up.
The headline screamed across the screen like a bullet to the chest:
MMA’S GOLDEN BOY TURNS VIOLENT
I looked at him.
His jaw was clenched, eyes distant. “Sponsors are pulling out,” he said quietly. “Endorsements, appearances… everything. I’m toxic now.”
“And you think it’s Austin?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
His smile was humorless. “Who else? No one’s better at ruining lives in silence.”
I slid the phone back across the table and leaned back in the booth.
So this was it. The beginning of Cassian Draven’s fall from grace.
And, against all reason, I realized something that made my stomach churn.
I didn’t want to see him fall.
- Writer
