A Taste of His Own Medicine

Cassian sat cross-legged on the penthouse floor, the glow of his laptop illuminating his face in flickers. Every headline was a fresh wound.

“Wesley Heir in Scandalous Encounter at Gala”

“Cassian Wesley’s Hallway Hookup Goes Viral”

“Family Empire Threatened by Son’s Exploits”

He hated them. Not because they were inaccurate but because they weren’t. They were exactly who he had been. Until now.

Rowan hovered silently nearby, arms folded as he watched the screen with hawk-like focus. He’d been unusually quiet since the gala. Not cold just observant. And Cassian could feel it. The shift.

“Julian wanted this,” Rowan said, breaking the silence. “He didn’t just want you. He wanted the exposure. The leverage.”

Cassian leaned back against the couch, eyes glazed. “And he got it. My father’s furious. The board is baying for my head, and I’ve had three PR reps quit in twenty-four hours.”

Rowan’s jaw tensed. “Then we hit back.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “We?”

“You’re not in this alone. Not anymore.”

Cassian blinked at that. “Didn’t think I’d ever hear you say that.”

Rowan sat on the edge of the coffee table. “You want to do something about this or keep drowning in guilt?”

Cassian stared at the screen again, the images of Julian crowding him in the hallway. It made his skin crawl. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Let’s give him a taste of his own damn medicine.”

They started digging.

Rowan made calls to discreet contacts. Cassian logged into burner accounts, trawling dark corners of the web. Julian’s online life was sloppily curated a mixture of arrogance and oversharing.

Within hours, they found a video. Low-quality. Blurry. But unmistakably Julian drunk, aggressive, and with someone visibly intoxicated. It was recorded from a hidden camera, likely meant for blackmail but never used.

Cassian sat in stunned silence, watching the clip.

“Holy shit,” he murmured.

Rowan watched, face impassive but hands clenched.

“We use it,” Rowan said.

Cassian hesitated. “Are we really doing this?”

“You asked me once why I stayed,” Rowan said, voice steady. “This. Because people like him don’t stop unless someone stops them.”

Cassian stared at the video, pulse ticking in his throat. He wasn’t used to fighting back. Not like this.

“Let’s make him squirm,” he said at last.

The black envelope landed on Julian Ward’s penthouse doorstep like a curse.

Inside: a flash drive. No return address. No explanation.

He played the file. The moment his image flickered across the screen aggressive, hands on someone too intoxicated to stand his breath caught.

And then his phone rang. Ten missed calls from publicists. One from his senator father. Three from gossip columnists.

And worse? The video hit the internet within the hour.

Cassian stood at the window of the penthouse, arms folded as he watched the headlines shift in real time.

“Senator’s Son Exposed in Predatory Scandal”

“Julian Ward Caught in Explicit Video”

“Powerful Families in Damage Control Mode”

He didn’t smile. He didn’t gloat. He just… watched.

Rowan came to stand beside him. “Still want to disappear?”

Cassian gave a small laugh, tired and bitter. “I’m not sure if I feel vindicated or just hollow.”

“You did what you had to do,” Rowan said. “There’s power in that.”

Cassian turned to face him. “You remember the first week we met?”

Rowan nodded slowly.

“I told my dad I wanted you gone. That I didn’t need a babysitter. That you were suffocating me.”

Rowan smirked faintly. “Yeah. You were a real delight.”

“I hated you for staying.”

“But I stayed anyway,” Rowan said.

Cassian stepped closer, searching Rowan’s face. “Why?”

Rowan didn’t blink. “Because you needed someone to believe you weren’t broken beyond repair. I’ve seen worse men pretend to be better. You’re trying to be better even when it hurts. That’s the difference.”

Cassian didn’t know what to say to that.

Instead, he whispered, “You stood up to my father. For me.”

“I’d do it again,” Rowan said.

Cassian’s eyes softened. “You’re not like anyone else in my life.”

“You don’t have to keep testing me to see if I’ll leave.”

“I’m scared you will,” Cassian admitted.

Rowan didn’t move, but something in his gaze melted. “Then don’t give me a reason to.”

Cassian’s phone buzzed beside him. He squinted at the screen: Mom.

He hesitated. Then answered. “Hey.”

“Cassian,” Sloane’s voice came soft, but laced with tension. “I saw the headlines… and then the other headlines.”

He closed his eyes. “Yeah. Not my finest week.”

“I’m not calling to scold. I just wanted to hear your voice.” A pause. “You sound tired.”

“I am.”

She hesitated. “You’re not alone, are you?”

“No,” Cassian replied, glancing sideways at Rowan.

“Good,” she said quickly. Then softer: “Is he still with you?”

Cassian blinked. “Rowan?”

“Yes. I like him. He’s steady.”

“He’s more than that,” Cassian said before he could stop himself.

A silence stretched on the line, gentle but loaded.

“I just want you to be okay,” she said finally. “Not perfect. Just… safe. And happy, if possible.”

Cassian’s throat felt tight. “I’m trying, Mom.”

“I know.” A pause. “And I’m proud of you for fighting back. And for not letting this world harden you.”

He leaned his head back against the ledge. “Thanks. For not giving up on me.”

“I never will.” Then her tone shifted, a little more like herself. “Now stay out of strip clubs, or I’ll fly in and embarrass you personally.”

Cassian huffed a laugh. “Noted.”

When the call ended, he sat in the silence for a while longer.

Rowan didn’t ask what she said.

But Cassian glanced at him and murmured, “She said she’s proud of me.”

Rowan nodded. “She’s right.”

Meanwhile, Julian spiraled.

His phone was dead from overuse. The press was tearing him apart. His family released a cold, PR-crafted statement. Friends distanced themselves.

He sat in the darkness of his apartment, a glass of untouched whiskey sweating in his hand. His phone screen lit up with yet another article.

And then, he opened a drawer.

Pulled out an old photograph. Cassian, leaning on his red Lamborghini, laughing—unbothered, radiant.

Julian’s thumb ran over the image.

“You think this is over?” he whispered.

He struck a match.

The photo curled and burned, smoke coiling toward the ceiling.

“You thought you burned everything, Cassian. But you’ve never seen real fire.”

Later that night, Rowan and Cassian sat on the rooftop, backs to the edge, both quiet.

“I never thought revenge would feel so… anticlimactic,” Cassian said.

“It’s not about feeling good. It’s about making it stop.”

Cassian nodded slowly. “What now?”

Rowan glanced sideways at him. “Now we wait. Let the fire burn itself out. And then… we build something new.”

Cassian leaned his head back, the stars blurring above.

“I’m glad you stayed,” he said softly.

Rowan turned toward him. “Me too.”

And for once, the silence didn’t feel empty.

It felt safe.