The Fighter's Obsession

Ch. 7

The automatic doors of the firm slid open as I stepped into the warm afternoon sun, phone pressed to my ear, calling Cassian again. No answer, just like the last six attempts.

I was halfway across the parking lot, mind focused entirely on my next move, when a voice broke through the noise.

“Thea!”

I turned and nearly stumbled.

Estelle.

Her sharp brown curls bounced as she jogged over in a crumpled uniform, hand waving like a traffic signal. The sight of her instantly dragged me back to late-night study sessions and vodka-soaked pep talks in our dorm room.

“You look like you're about to commit arson,” she said, breathless.

I opened my mouth to respond, but Estelle beat me to it.

“I would love to catch up, really, but I’ve got to go,” I said quickly, checking my watch. “A client’s in trouble.”

“Oh, you mean Cassian?” Estelle’s voice was casual, like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb.

I froze mid-step.

She tilted her head, arms crossed. “Because that—him being arrested without a warrant—is way more interesting than whatever other client you’re rushing to save.”

I turned to face her, blood thudding in my ears. “He’s being detained illegally?”

“Yup,” Estelle said, popping the p. “Supposed assault. But no warrant, no lawyer, nothing. Just good ol’ ‘we’ll figure it out later’ law enforcement.” Her eyes scanned my face with knowing curiosity. “Which is why I came to tell you. I figured you’d want to rescue your ex.”

I blinked, then started walking again.

“Estelle,” I said, “that client I mentioned? Yeah. It’s Cassian.”

Estelle stumbled. “Wait, you’re his lawyer?”

“Yes.”

“You?”

“Don’t make me repeat it.”

She caught up to me, blinking like she’d just seen a ghost. “I thought he ghosted you after everything. Why would you say yes?”

I stopped beside my car and dug out the keys. “Because I’m not emotionally twenty four anymore. And because Mr. Langley asked me.”

Her jaw dropped. “Mr. Langley?”

I shot her a look as I unlocked the car. “Don’t act surprised. Didn’t you just run across the damn city to come tell me to rescue him?”

Estelle smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of her neck like a guilty kid. “Okay, yeah, fine. I did. But that was different. I didn’t think you’d actually go all-in lawyer mode for him.”

I opened the driver’s side and she climbed into the passenger seat like she’d already made herself at home.

“He’s being held at the station I work at,” she said as I started the car. “Third floor. They’re keeping him in holding, but he’s pissed. Like... punching-wall pissed.”

I didn’t respond, just pulled onto the road, hands tight on the wheel.

“Hey,” Estelle said softly, “you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said too quickly.

But even I didn’t believe that.

Because somewhere deep down, beneath the anger, the betrayal, the scar Cassian left behind, I could already feel the chaos coming.

And somehow, some damn how, I was driving right into it.

_

Ten minutes passed as I waited outside the station like Estelle had asked. She had vanished into the station, disappearing with a casual “Don’t look too lawyer-y just yet,” as if that were something I could turn on and off.

I stayed behind, engine off, heart racing. I’d seen shady arrests before. Hell, I’d gone toe to toe with entire legal teams trying to bury evidence. But this? This was personal.

Cassian Draven didn’t just land in trouble. He invited it. And someone had answered.

I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, wondering if Austin had stopped barking and started biting. I’d heard whispers about the man. He wasn’t just some entitled meathead. He had connections—backroom deals, old money, men in suits who could make things disappear… or appear, like a charge that didn’t exist.

After what felt like an eternity, I stepped out of the car, locked it, and walked into the station like I belonged there—which I did. Every inch of my spine was straightened with purpose.

The front desk was manned by a young officer who looked like he was still fresh out of academy training. Perfect.

“Good afternoon,” I said crisply. “I’m Attorney Thea Lysander. I’m here to see my client, Cassian Draven, who is currently being detained without warrant or cause.”

He blinked at me. “Uh… we don’t have anyone by that name.”

My lips twitched. Cute.

“You do. Third floor, holding cell three. Detained yesterday afternoon. Six-foot-two, bruised knuckles, temper to match.” I leaned in slightly. “Now, you can either let me speak to him, or I can call the press and have them ask why a man is being held without charges and without access to his legal counsel. I wonder how fast that’ll climb up your department’s food chain.”

He hesitated. “Even if we did have him, I’d need clearance to—”

“You’re lying,” I said sharply. “And poorly.”

Another officer approached. Older. Bulkier. Arrogant in that way men tend to be when they think uniforms make them untouchable.

“Is there a problem here, ma’am?”

I turned to him. “The only problem is that your precinct is violating federal rights and I’m giving you thirty seconds to walk me into that room or I’ll personally file a misconduct suit for obstruction and unlawful detainment.”

He didn’t budge. “You’re not on the visitor’s list.”

“Because I’m not a visitor. I’m his attorney. And unless you want to lose your badge over what looks dangerously close to a hit job, I suggest you escort me now.”

The pause that followed was thick and brittle.

The young officer cleared his throat, mumbled something to the older one, and disappeared into the hallway. The older one gave me a dirty look but said nothing more. I stood my ground, arms crossed, chin high, daring them to push me.

Ten minutes passed before the younger officer returned. “You can see him,” he muttered. “But just five minutes. In interrogation.”

Then finally, grudgingly, the arrogant one gestured for me to follow.

I kept my expression neutral as he led me through a maze of concrete and fluorescent light, past desks, officers, and the smell of cheap coffee and burnt ego. My heels clicked with confidence.

We stopped in front of a grey door. He opened it with a buzz, and I walked in alone.

Cassian sat at the table, hands cuffed, eyes lowered. His knuckles were red, a bruise bloomed purple under his cheekbone and dried blood crusted at the corner of his lip, but he looked… infuriatingly calm. Unbothered.

Until he saw me.

His eyes locked onto mine like a trigger had been pulled, and for a second—just one breathless beat, I saw something flash behind them.

Admiration.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to.

I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me calmly. “Well,” I said, placing my bag on the table and sitting down across from him, “You’ve really outdone yourself this time, haven’t you?”

His lips twitched. Almost a smile. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

“I didn’t come for you,” I lied. “I came for my career. This scandal? It’ll blow back on me.”

He smirked, reaching for his busted lip. “Still sound like a goddamn goddess when you’re angry.”

I didn’t flinch. I wouldn’t let him see what that did to me.

“I’m getting you out,” I said instead, opening my folder. “And then I want names. Every single one of them.”

He nodded, eyes still on me.

But that look? It hadn’t gone away.

“Any idea who ordered this?”

Cassian leaned forward, chains on his cuffs rattling lightly against the metal. “Would you believe me if I said I don’t know?”

“No.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, then met my eyes again. That same look. That same maddening flicker of something unspoken.

“Well, then,” he said, “I guess we’ve got work to do, Counselor.”