The invitation

Cassian hated suits.

Not because they didn’t look good on him he could turn heads in a garbage bag. He hated them because they symbolized everything his father loved: control, conformity, image. Tonight’s charity gala was just another attempt to show the world that Cassian, scandalous heir to a billion-dollar empire, could be “tamed.”

“Black velvet or silver silk?” he asked aloud, rifling through his wardrobe with mild disdain.

Behind him, Rowan stood like a shadow. “Something that says you’re not a walking disaster.”

Cassian smirked, pulling out the black velvet blazer. “So nothing I own. Got it.”

He stripped off his shirt, making no effort to hide the motion. Rowan didn’t react. At least not outwardly. Cassian liked testing him. There was something addictive about poking at the seams of Rowan’s restraint.

“You always this grumpy before a party?” Cassian teased, slipping the blazer over his bare chest. “You clean up nicely, though. Very Men in Black.”

Rowan, in his tailored black suit, barely flinched. “You’re thirty minutes late. Get dressed.”

“Why do you care? I thought I was your paycheck, not your problem.”

“You’re both tonight. Now button the shirt.”

Cassian grinned and did as told, but slowly every button a provocation. When he turned to face Rowan fully dressed, their eyes locked.

“You ready to play the role of glorified furniture?” Cassian asked, brushing lint off Rowan’s shoulder. “Or are you going to smile and scare the donors?”

“I’ll do whatever keeps you out of headlines tomorrow.”

Cassian tilted his head. “That almost sounds like concern.”

Rowan didn’t answer.

The gala was a glittering jungle of designer dresses, empty compliments, and performative philanthropy. Cassian walked the red carpet like it was his birthright. Flashbulbs lit his path, journalists shouted his name, and every smile he offered was sharper than the last.

Rowan trailed behind him, the quiet storm to Cassian’s lightning. Eyes alert. Shoulders tense. Every step calculated.

Inside, Cassian found refuge at the bar, downing a glass of champagne before Rowan even reached him.

“Pacing yourself isn’t an option tonight?” Rowan asked.

“I like bubbles,” Cassian said with a wink.

A blonde woman in a silk dress brushed against Cassian with a practiced laugh. He responded politely, disengaged. Rowan noticed. So did she.

“You don’t really like these events, do you?” she said.

“Not unless there’s fire involved,” Cassian replied, eyes on his glass.

She laughed again and disappeared into the crowd.

“You’re being good tonight,” Rowan murmured.

“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not always a disaster.”

Rowan gave him a look that said otherwise.

Cassian leaned in closer, voice lowering. “Why do you stick around, Rowan? You could be guarding diplomats, celebrities, anyone but me.”

“Because someone needs to keep you alive.”

“That sounds like a confession.”

“That sounds like the job.”

The hallway leading to the restrooms was quieter, dimly lit and away from the crowd. Cassian had excused himself, claiming he needed a moment of peace.

He hadn’t expected to be followed.

“You look lonely,” came a voice behind him. Male. Confident. Familiar.

Cassian turned slowly to find Julian Ward, son of a senator and a known flirt. He was leaning against the wall, drink in hand, lips curved into a smirk.

“I was enjoying the silence,” Cassian said.

Julian stepped closer. “And here I thought you liked attention.”

“Only when it’s wanted.”

Julian’s hand grazed his arm. “We used to have fun.”

“We used to be drunk. There’s a difference.”

Julian laughed. “Come on, one kiss won’t kill anyone. Let the tabloids have their fun.”

Cassian opened his mouth to respond, but Julian moved in faster, crowding him against the wall.

“Don’t,” Cassian warned, voice low.

Before Julian could press closer, Rowan appeared.

Fast. Silent. Lethal.

His hand clamped onto Julian’s shoulder and yanked him back. “Step away. Now.”

Julian looked ready to argue until he saw Rowan’s face cold, controlled, and utterly unshakable.

“He always need saving?” Julian sneered.

“He never needed you.”

Julian scoffed and retreated with a glare.

Cassian exhaled, slumping slightly against the wall.

“You okay?” Rowan asked, his voice softer now.

“Peachy,” Cassian muttered. “You always materialize like that?”

“Only when you’re cornered.”

Rowan stepped closer. Cassian could smell his cologne clean, crisp, quietly devastating. Their eyes locked, and the air changed.

Cassian didn’t move.

Rowan reached up slowly, gently brushing his thumb along Cassian’s jaw where Julian had gripped him.

“You didn’t deserve that.”

Cassian swallowed. “You keep doing that.”

“What?”

“Caring.”

Rowan’s hand lingered. “Someone has to.”

For a moment, neither moved.

Cassian leaned in just a breath closer. His lips parted.

But Rowan stepped back. “Not like this.”

The rejection stung more than it should have.

“Right,” Cassian said, straightening. “God forbid I ruin your record.”

Rowan’s face was unreadable. “This isn’t a game to me.”

“Then stop playing.”

Cassian brushed past him, storming back toward the crowd. Rowan watched him go, jaw tight.

The ride home was silent. Electric.

Cassian sat with his head against the window, watching the city blur by. His reflection stared back tired, flushed, bruised in ways no one could see.

“You didn’t have to step in,” he said finally.

Rowan didn’t look at him. “Yes, I did.”

“You think I’m weak?”

“I think you’re surrounded by people who mistake survival for self-destruction.”

Cassian turned, watching Rowan with unreadable eyes. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What do you mistake me for?”

Rowan hesitated. “Someone worth protecting.”

The words landed between them like an open wound.

Back at the penthouse, Cassian dropped his blazer onto the floor and made a beeline for the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water, though his hands shook slightly.

Rowan lingered in the doorway.

“You don’t need to follow me everywhere,” Cassian said without turning.

“You never know when someone might try to kiss you again.”

Cassian chuckled, but it was hollow. “So what happens now, Rowan? You keep following me around while I implode?”

“No,” Rowan said quietly. “I keep you from burning down with everything else.”

Cassian turned then, eyes raw. “And what if I already have?”

Rowan walked closer. He reached out, carefully this time, and touched Cassian’s shoulder.

Not to restrain. Not to scold.

Just to anchor.

Cassian didn’t pull away.

He leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut.

For a moment, they just stood there quiet, breathing, breaking in silence.

Then Rowan stepped back.

“Go to sleep, Cassian. Tomorrow… we try again.”

Cassian watched him leave the room, unsure if he wanted to scream or follow.

All he knew was this:

The fire inside him hadn’t gone out.

But somehow, Rowan Maddox had made it burn a little less alone.