CHAPTER 3 — The Night He Unraveled

The private gala was the kind of event where every smile was rehearsed and every dress was a weapon. I had no business being there, surrounded by crystal chandeliers and people whose diamonds had their own security detail. Cassian stayed close—too close. His hand hovered near my back without ever touching, like he wanted to guide me but didn’t dare. We were almost through the evening when Mason Hale—Cassian’s charming, poisonous cousin—lifted his glass and smirked. “Well, well,” Mason drawled loud enough for the entire circle to hear, “Cassian finally brought a guest. And she looks so… lost.” He tilted his head at me, fake sympathy dripping like syrup. “Like a little white rabbit that wandered into the wrong forest.” A few people laughed. I tried to smile it off. Cassian didn’t. His glass hit the table with a sharp crack. Before anyone could react, he grabbed Mason by the front of his suit and slammed him against the wall. The room froze. Someone gasped. Music stuttered to silence. Cassian’s voice was a quiet, lethal whisper, inches from Mason’s face: “Say one more thing about her.” Mason’s smirk faltered. Color drained from his cheeks. Even I felt the air shift—violent, cold, like Cassian could end him right there with his bare hands. This wasn’t anger. This was something older, deeper, and starving. “Cassian—” I stepped forward without thinking. He didn’t look at me at first. He couldn’t. His chest heaved. His knuckles whitened around Mason’s collar. But the moment my fingers brushed his arm— He broke. His grip loosened instantly. Mason slid down the wall, coughing, furious but too scared to fight back. Cassian stepped away as if burned, and when he finally faced me, his eyes were wide—haunted. “Lila…” His voice shook. Actually shook. “I’m sorry. I’m—God, I’m so sorry. I would never hurt you. Do you hear me? I won’t—I won’t ever touch you like that.” He sounded terrified of himself. People stared. The whispers started. But all I could see was him. A man who looked like he’d just woken from a nightmare with blood on his hands. He didn’t go home after that. He barely said goodbye. Just disappeared onto a balcony like he was trying to outrun the oxygen in the room. I found him outside, knees drawn up, arms braced on them, head bowed. Not sitting—folded. Like every bone in him was trying to hold something broken together. Cold wind pulled at his shirt. City lights cast sharp glints along his jaw. He didn’t notice I was there until I sank down beside him. “Cassian?” His shoulders flinched. Then he forced a breath, dragged a hand over his face, and whispered: “I didn’t want you to see that.” “I’m not afraid of you.” “You should be.” The words were soft. Devastated. He stared straight ahead, like if he met my eyes, everything inside him would spill out and drown us both. “Everyone thinks I’m cold,” he murmured. “But I’m not. I’m just… trying to stay in one piece.” A tremor ran through his fingers. I’d never seen him like this—never imagined it. The man who moved through rooms like a winter storm… now sitting on the floor like a child who’d lost his way in it. “Cassian,” I said quietly, “what’s going on with you?” He exhaled, a sound so brittle it hurt. Then, so quietly I almost missed it: “If you ever knew what I’ve done…” He swallowed hard, throat tightening. “You wouldn’t look at me the way you do.” My heart stumbled. “What did you do?” His jaw clenched, pain flickering through his expression like lightning behind dark clouds. “I can’t tell you.” His voice cracked. “Not yet. Maybe not ever.” Silence settled, heavy and trembling. Then he turned his head—finally, slowly—and the anguish in his eyes nearly knocked the air out of me. “Lila,” he whispered, “if you knew the truth… would you still look at me?” The night pressed in around us. The city faded to nothing. All that existed was a man unraveling, and the terrifying, impossible thought that I might be the only person he let see him fall apart.