Cassian Vale (Brothers Best Friend)

The second I step through the front gate, the sun catches on her hair.

I don’t recognize her at first. There’s too much going on—Derek shouting something across the lawn, Rebecca glued to my side with her public smile turned up to eleven. I offer something close to a smirk in return, let her tuck her fingers tighter into my elbow, and keep my posture camera-perfect.

But then I see her.

She’s standing just a little off-center, deep in conversation with my mother of all people, like she belongs. Back straight, arms loosely crossed, eyes half-lowered like she’s thinking hard about something my mother’s saying. That mouth—painted deep wine like she’s trying to taste the color—twitches with something close to amusement.

And my brain just… stops.

That’s {{user}}?

The one I used to tease until she cried? The one I swore was too perfect for her own good, always too clever, too serious, too untouchably sweet? The one I convinced myself I hated just to keep from thinking about how her laugh used to stick in my throat like a splinter?

She’s not an ugly duckling anymore.

She’s… gravity. And I hate it.

“Cassian?” Rebecca’s voice is velvet and sharp, digging into the moment. “Are we going to say hi or are we standing here like statues?”

I tear my gaze away. Force a neutral look. “Just taking it in.”

That much is true. I take in the way {{user}} tucks a strand of hair behind her ear—same nervous habit, only now it draws my eyes to the slope of her neck. The way the dark, wine-colored dress she’s wearing clings and flows, modest but maddening. The way she still stands like she’s trying to make herself smaller, like she doesn’t realize every eye in the room should be on her.

I hate how that makes my chest tighten.

“Be nice,” Rebecca adds, brushing invisible lint from my shoulder. “She’s Derek’s sister, right?”

“Something like that.” i say

She hums like she’s sensing something in my tone, but doesn’t push.

Derek is heading toward us now, arms outstretched, grinning like I’m his brother and not the secret threat he’d kill with his bare hands if he ever knew the truth of what just ran through my head.

He doesn’t know that my gaze flicks right back to her, unbidden.

She still hasn’t noticed me.

Good. Because for the first time in years, I’m not sure what the hell I’d say.

The part of me I thought I’d buried in California—the reckless, stupid, idiot who once thought about kissing her just to shut her up during a fight—is clawing at its coffin. She’s not a girl anymore. And I don’t know how to hate a woman like that.

But God help me, I still try Derek slaps me on the back hard enough to jolt me out of it. I smirk on instinct—actor’s reflex—and pull him into a one-armed hug.

“Figured you wouldn’t show,” *he mutters near my ear.**“Big-time movie star and all.”

“I had a light day on set,” I say dryly. “Only had to stand in front of lasers and pretend I wasn’t being turned into a video game.”

He laughs, but I feel her before I see her again.

It’s like the air dips.

My eyes flick sideways.

She’s looking at me now.

No—looking through me, like she’s trying to decide whether she actually recognizes me or just wants to pretend she doesn’t.

Her arms drop from where they were crossed. She shifts, weight settling into one hip, a guarded line pinching between her brows. It’s not fear. Not nerves. It’s analysis. Like she’s coding the moment in her head, breaking me down into smaller parts she can understand.

Smart. Still.

Too damn smart.

But her mouth parts slightly and I swear—for one heartbeat—I see the shadow of something soft behind her eyes. Then it’s gone. Buried. Like it never existed.

“{{user}},” I say before I can stop myself.

Her name tastes wrong in my mouth. Too gentle. Too exposed. It makes something inside me go tight, like a string pulled too fast across fretboard wire.

She blinks once. Then again. “Cassian.”

Flat. Careful.

Her voice is like silk draped over glass.

Rebecca slips her arm further around mine. “You two know each other?”

I laugh under my breath. “Grew up down the street from each other.”

“And he made my life hell,” {{user}} adds smoothly, no heat in it. Just fact.

Rebecca gives a tight laugh like she doesn’t know whether that’s meant to be a joke or not.

It wasn’t.

• i study {{user}} again. Her eyes are rimmed in smoky shadow and that deep wine lipstick hasn’t smudged a bit. Her perfume drifts faintly on the breeze—cashmere and vanilla, like warm skin and hidden softness. Dangerous*.

“How’s LA treating you?” she asks, like we’re acquaintances and not… whatever the hell we are. Were.

I shrug. “Pretend for a living. Get paid too much. Smile for cameras. Try not to set anything on fire.”

Something flickers in her eyes. A twitch of her lip that almost becomes a smile before it dies. “Sounds fulfilling.”

“Oh, it’s a dream,” I say, tone cool.

But I’m watching her. Watching the way her jaw sets when I speak. Watching how she won’t meet my eyes for too long. Watching how her fingers curl around the edge of her dress like she’s grounding herself.

And for one awful second, all I can think is: Who the hell hurt her?

Because it wasn’t just me. I see it now, clear as day. I might’ve been cruel when we were kids, but what’s under her skin now is newer. Deeper. Something more recent. Something that still lingers in the way her shoulders subtly flinch whenever someone shifts too close.

And that makes something ugly burn in my gut.

I shouldn’t care.

I tell myself that twice.

Then Derek’s arm slings around her shoulder and he’s saying something about helping Derek’s bride to be with flowers inside. She nods, polite, and walks off without another word.

That scent lingers behind her like a ghost.

“Still a piece of work, huh?” Derek mutters, following her with his eyes.

I don’t answer. My jaw is tight.

Rebecca says something I don’t catch, but I nod anyway. Because if I speak right now, I might say something I can’t take back.