Ch. 4

CASSIAN DRAVEN

It took me three damn years to realize I didn’t know what the hell I wanted.

Three years of pretending soft could satisfy me. That perfection could replace passion. That sweet smiles and folded hands could ever drown out the fire of a woman who looked me in the eye and made me answer for every part of myself—good and bad.

I came back to an apartment that smelled like lavender.

Jazz spilled softly from the speakers.

And Laura—brunette, beautiful, sweet—was twirling around the living room, asking me to dance like we were part of some quiet little dream.

But I didn’t want dreams.

I wanted chaos. I wanted Thea.

I wanted the jagged crack of her laughter the first time she landed a takedown—how it echoed off the locker‑room tiles and made my blood zing with something I couldn’t name.

Laura was everything Thea wasn’t: gentle, agreeable, romantic in a way that didn’t scare me. But that was the problem. She didn’t challenge me. Didn’t cut me open just to see if I’d bleed truth.

When I held Laura, I saw Thea’s silhouette against the kitchen light.

When I fucked Laura, I remembered the way Thea demanded to be on top, eyes locked on mine like a dare, like a claim.

They were two different worlds.

And it took me three goddamn years to figure out which one I could survive in.

So when Austin Fletcher ran his mouth about me rigging the fight, claiming I couldn’t have won clean, I knew it would escalate. And it did. The press got wind of it. Words turned to fists. Fists turned into charges.

And when it came down to who I trusted to pull me out of the shitstorm… only one name ever surfaced.

Thea.

I made the arrangements. Paid double. Didn’t bat an eye when Langley gave me that smirk like he knew this wasn’t just about legal strategy.

Because it wasn’t.

It was about her.

But when I saw her again… it hit me. She wasn’t the same.

Standing in that parking lot, watching her walk toward her car like I was just another case file she needed to close, something in me cracked. She didn’t even flinch when she saw me. No softness. No flicker of warmth.

Just cold professionalism and indifference.

Still, I had to try.

“Come with me,” I said. “Let me explain. Don’t you want to know how I’ve been?”

She rolled her eyes. “Now I know you have nothing important to say.”

I reached out, like I’d done once before. “Why’d you accept the case, Thea? We both know it’s not about the money.”

She paused. Eyes locked on mine. And when she spoke, it hit harder than any punch Fletcher ever threw.

“Because I couldn’t let you take anything else from me like you did before.”

It hurt. More than I deserved.

Because it was true.

I opened my mouth—ready to say something that might’ve mattered—when my phone rang.

Babe.

Lit up on the screen like a curse.

When I looked up, she was already staring at it.

She met my eyes, and for a second, I thought maybe she’d yell. Cry. Hit me. Anything but that hollow voice she used.

“Take your girlfriend’s call,” she said, cool and final. “We’re done here.”

Then she walked away.

And this time, I couldn’t bring myself to follow.

I answered the call, eyes still glued to Thea’s car as it drove away, her taillights fading into the distance like some kind of punishment. But then Laura’s voice cut through the line, frantic and sharp.

“Cassian! Help, please! They’re in the apartment—oh my goodness—they’re here!”

I straightened. “What? Who’s there?”

“Men—three or four—I don’t know! They broke in—I locked myself in the bedroom but—”

The crash of something heavy came through the speaker. Then a scream.

“Laura?! Stay on the line. I’m coming.”

I threw the door shut and floored the gas pedal, tires screeching against the pavement as I tore out of the lot like a man possessed. My pulse slammed in my neck. Was this just some random robbery? Or had Austin started making good on his threats? He’d made it clear he wasn’t going to let that title go quietly. This felt personal.

I ran red lights. Ignored horns. The world became a blur of lights and urgency until I skidded into the underground parking of our apartment complex.

I didn’t wait for the engine to die.

I bolted to the elevator, jabbing the button like it might make the damn thing move faster. My hand shook as I dialed 911.

“My name is Cassian Draven. My girlfriend’s inside our apartment. There’s a break-in. She’s in danger. Send help now.”

“Officers are en route,” the dispatcher replied.

As soon as the elevator dinged on my floor, I sprinted.

My door was slightly ajar.

I pushed it open and the world contracted. The stale whiff of mildew mixed with fresh adrenaline, like a razor edge in my nostrils.

My heartbeat thudded so loud I could taste it on my tongue—metallic and volcanic. The men moved in slow motion: black-clad silhouettes swallowing the dim hallway light, their boots whispering against the linoleum.

My vision narrowed to tunnel—white-hot panic radiating from the four shadows who held her hostage. All masked. Dressed in black. One had Laura in a chokehold, fist knotted in her hair. She whimpered, clawing at his arm, her mascara streaked, her lip bleeding.

“What the fuck do you want?!” I shouted, hands raised slightly. “Money? You want cash? I’ll give you everything. Just let her go.”

The biggest one stepped forward. Built like a linebacker, voice low.

“We don’t want your money, Draven,” he said. “We want something simple.”

His grip on Laura tightened until she cried out again.

“Say it,” he ordered. “You rigged the fight. Say it now. Denounce your title.”

I blinked, rage and disbelief curdling in my gut. My fists clenched.

“You’re with Fletcher, aren’t you?”

He tilted his head. “Does it matter? We’re not leaving until the world hears the truth. Your truth.”

Laura sobbed, looking at me like I could undo this nightmare if I just moved fast enough.

I could feel the seconds slipping. I could feel the walls closing in.

And I had no idea what the hell I was supposed to do next.