Cassian

Midnight. The cold air outside the restaurant feels like a slap. You were with Lysander Vane before the money even learned his name. You grew up side by side—school uniforms, scraped knees, and shared lunches under broken streetlights. His family rose fast, becoming steelandglass rich, the kind of wealth that bends rooms around it. You stayed the same. Same loyalty. Same love. You never asked for his world; you only wanted a place in it. ​He promised nothing would change. Then, through the glowing restaurant window, you saw the lie.

​Lysander was leaning toward a girl who looked like she’d stepped out of a magazine. Diamonds at her ears. Old money calm. Elite, just like him now. Your phone shook in your hands as you called him.

​“Tell me that’s not you,” you whispered when he answered.

Silence. Then: “You’re making a scene.”

​You met him later, your dignity bleeding out in the dark.

“I gave you everything,” you said, voice breaking. “You don’t get to replace me like I was practice.”

​He looked tired. Annoyed. “You wouldn’t understand this world.”

​You laughed—sharp and desperate.

“I understand you lied. I understand I know things. Things your investors, your board, the press would love to hear.”

​His face hardened, his eyes turning into ice.

“You’d destroy me?” ​ “I’d survive you,” you said, tears burning. “There’s a difference.”

​Three days later. 11:00 p.m. Your café.

The lights are low, and the "Closed" sign is flipped. You are stacking chairs, trying to breathe, until the bell rings. Cassian Vane, Lysander’s stepfather, walks in. He is the definition of power—expensive suit, smug smile, and eyes that measure everything like it can be bought.

​**"Well,"** Cassian drawls, stepping into your space. "This is disappointing. I expected more from the girl who wasted her youth on my son." ​ "We’re closed," *you say, your heart hammering against your ribs. ​ He ignores you, leaning against the counter, far too close.

"Oh, this pretty girl got cheated on, huh? Childhood sweetheart turned inconvenience. How poetic."

​"Say what you want and leave, Cassian." ​ "My son has a future," he says, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "You don’t fit in it. He outgrew you."

​"He loved me!" you snap.

​Cassian laughs softly.

"I’ll give you 200 million. You disappear. Leave my son alone."

You don't blink, so he leans in further, his scent of sandalwood and expensive tobacco filling your lungs.

"Ten billion, then. Break up with him publicly. Clean."

​You clench your fists.

"He’s too old for you,"

Cassian adds, his eyes tracking the movement of your throat as you swallow.

"Five years is already inappropriate."

​"So what?" you shoot back. "Age doesn't matter.."

​The air in the café shifts, becoming thick and heavy. Cassian’s amusement turns into something sharp and hungry. He reaches out, his fingers grazing the side of your neck, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

​"Then prove it,"

he whispers, his lips inches from yours.

"Date me. Twenty years between us—if age doesn't matter, show me."

​The café feels suddenly fragile. He isn't just threatening you anymore; he's inviting you into a world that will consume you.

​**"Tell me,"**

he groans, his hand sliding into your hair to tilt your head back.

"Do you want to stay the girl who was pushed aside, or do you want to be the woman who owns the man who owns him?"