Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Cassian&Luna
Cassian
I'd dealt with all kinds of crises in my life.
Market crashes, contract blowups, rivals pulling shady shit in boardrooms—I handled them all. Stacked up, they'd crush this whole damn building.
But that scene just now—
My assistant Sloane slumped on the floor, her skirt ripped open, exposing way too much skin. She clutched her chest with one arm, makeup smeared halfway down her face, looking like a victim straight out of a horror flick.
Guests crowded in at the noise, eyes gleaming with barely hidden smirks, like they already saw tomorrow's tabloid headlines.
This was a real fucking crisis.
My temples throbbed. I forced my mind to stay sharp, brain firing on three tracks in that split second.
One: If anyone snapped pics of Sloane like this, tied to her role as my assistant, the narrative would spin into nightmare territory.
Two: Our deal talks with the Stephen family hit the final stretch next week. Any dirt tonight was digging our own grave.
Three, the one that pissed me off most: Luna's move.
Luna, my wife who usually stayed quiet as a painting, had just dumped a full glass of champagne on my assistant and torn her dress to shreds.
Fucking disaster.
In my mind, Luna was always graceful, polite, keeping that perfect distance from everyone. How the hell could she humiliate another woman like that in public? Unbelievable!
Was she still mad about yesterday? Did she get how this could wreck us? No, wreck the whole company! I had to handle Sloane first, get her out. News scandals weren't a joke.
"Sloane, move," I growled low, grabbing her arm and shrugging off my jacket to drape over her shoulders. I scanned quickly. Nobody close had their phones up yet. "With me."
Her eyes were red, tears pooling, but she tried to explain. "Mr. King, I didn't mean to ruin Mrs. King's dress. It's my fault, I'm so sorry..."
"Shut it," I cut her off, signaling security to clear the gawkers. Then I hustled her into a side lounge.
As for Luna, I didn't glance back.
Rage and frustration had me reeling. I just needed to fix this mess fast. If I went to her now, God knows what I'd spit out, and it'd only make shit worse.
She was a grown woman, a Crawford family daughter. She should have judgment and reflection. Tonight, she sure as hell didn't act like a CEO's wife.
As I left, I heard something thud to the floor. Maybe Luna. But I didn't turn. Compared to Sloane's humiliation and the potential media storm, it was nothing.
That was my logic. Always had been. Tackle the urgent variables first. Emotions later.
I told myself it was fine. Logically, yeah.
But as I shut the lounge door, Luna's eyes flashed in my head. Helpless, desperate, like they could swallow me whole.
I shook it off, booted the image.
Sloane sipped half a glass of water before speaking.
"It's my fault," she started, face a mask of fragile poise. "The afternoon dress had issues. Mrs. King picked her own. I tried to help fix it... I wanted to explain, but..."
I leaned against the window, rubbing my brow, plotting her exit route to dodge the crowd.
"She's not like that, Cassian," Sloane looked up. "She just... I think she's having a bad day. You know how these rich girls can be..."
"Sloane," I raised a hand, cutting her chatter. It grated.
She stopped.
"Head home," I said. "Dress and styling on the company tab. Don't mention tonight."
"Boss—"
"Go. With my driver. Stay out of sight. And from now on, it's Mr. King. Not Cassian. Know your place."
She bit her lip, stared for two seconds, then nodded. "Okay."
Her sticky fruit scent faded. I exhaled hard, fixed my tie, and stepped back into the party crowd.
Stephen still needed handling. I slapped on the fake smile, moved under the bright chandeliers.
Good thing the lockdown was quick. No big fallout.
The party dragged on to 3 a.m. I flashed a grin, said bye to Stephen, then bolted to the car. The black beast tore through the night to my house.
At the door, the house was dark. That dead silence hit me with unexplained panic, but I started analyzing.
Luna's outburst tonight—no excuse, whatever the reason. Total loss of control.
She'd wrecked everything in front of that crowd, at a crucial social event. All those business ties I'd built—nodes I hadn't cracked yet. She didn't get it. She never did.
Even if I was wrong too.
The living room was silent. Upstairs, faint sounds—like packing.
I pushed into the bedroom. Luna sat there, suitcase open by the bed.
Faint tear tracks on her face. That crumpled gown was trashed in the bin.
My eyes caught the red marks on her pale arm, the wrist bruise. Shit, she was hurt. Because of me?
It sliced my heart like broken glass. Cassian, what the fuck had I done!
"Luna, listen," I kept my voice low, steady. "About earlier—"
"No need, Cassian." She didn't even look, just stood and packed calmly. It bugged me.
"Your hand..."
"I said no."
"Still sulking?" I tossed my keys, yanked my tie, and strode over. "Luna, look what you did today. Yanking like a maniac in front of everyone. You think that's fun?"
"Yeah, sorry about tonight. I didn't check on you first."
"Cassian." She tried to interrupt.
"But," I ignored her, had to finish. "Your stunt at the party was out of line. Sloane messing your dress was her screw-up, but in that setting—"
She turned.
I saw her red eyes, wanted to stop, but my mouth ran ahead. "Important people there. You doing that didn't just embarrass Sloane. You made me look bad, too."
Silence hit, air thick. I sighed. "Luna, I know you're upset. But as my wife, you need poise. Know what to do when. Tonight..."
"I'm not cut out for it?" She cut in sharply, stunning me. "Not good enough as your CEO wife, not to stand by you, not even for you to believe me once?"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to." She wiped tears, breathed deep, suddenly calm. It creeped me out. "Cassian, let's divorce."
Those words exploded like thunder, shattering my cool.
I lunged forward, snatched her suitcase, and hurled it at the stair corner. The crash echoed through the empty hall.
I couldn't take the fire inside anymore. I grabbed her chin, forced her eyes to mine. "Divorce? You don't get to say that. You're mine. You don't get to leave whenever you want!"
"Cassian! That's mine—" She twisted free.
"Yours?" I closed in. She backed up, and I followed, until the wall trapped her. "Luna, from our wedding day, you're mine. All of you. Divorce? Dream on!"
"I've decided," she lifted her chin, eyes red, voice trembling despite the front. "Cassian, you don't trust me, don't care what I say. You only care about your company, your face, your deals."
"It's not that I don't care!" I frowned, touched her cheek, but she cut in.
"Then what?!"
Her voice cracked, spilling grievance and exhaustion like a dam burst. Tears fell, but she didn't wipe them, just stared.
"You never believe me. From day one of marriage, no real trust. Every word I say, you filter for issues. Every action, you check against your logic, like a cold machine. So—"
"I don't believe you anymore! Cassian." She cried, tears sliding into my palm, scorching my heart. "No matter what, your actions say you don't care."
Her tears stung something deep. I didn't know why.
But right then, I hated explaining. Hated the weakness.
Explain why I sent Sloane? Why I put dignity first? Pointless to her now.
She was stuck in her loop, blind to her own faults. Her tears just amped my irritation. No way to match it.
So I crushed my mouth to hers—rough, not gentle, biting with anger and regret. She struggled and pounded me. I held tighter, kissed deeper, and dragged her to the floor-to-ceiling window. Outside, rain hammered the glass, mirroring her shattered eyes.
I wanted actions to show: She was mine. I was hers only.
I pinned Luna against the cool glass of the window, my hands rough as I seized her wrists and yanked them above her head. She gasped, twisting, but I didn't let go. My body pressed hard into hers, the heat of my anger mixing with something darker, hotter.
"You think you can just walk away?" I growled against her ear, my free hand sliding down her side, fingers digging into the fabric of her dress.
I tore at it, not caring about the rip, exposing the soft curve of her hip.
My palm cupped her ass, squeezing hard, pulling her flush against me so she could feel every inch of my hardening cock straining through my pants.
She whimpered, a mix of protest and something else—defiance flickering in her eyes. But I was done talking. My mouth claimed hers again, tongue invading, tasting the salt of her tears. I broke the kiss just to nip at her neck, teeth grazing skin, marking her.
"Fucking mine," I muttered, my hand slipping under her dress, fingers tracing the edge of her panties.
She was wet already—damn, that fired me up more.
I rubbed her through the thin fabric, slow circles that had her hips bucking involuntarily.
"Feel that? That's what you do to me. Even when you're pissing me off. "
Luna arched, trying to pull her wrists free, but I held them firm with one hand, the other delving deeper. I pushed her panties aside, two fingers sliding into her slick heat. She moaned, head falling back against the glass, rain streaking outside like it mirrored the storm between us.
"Cassian..." she breathed, half-plea, half-curse.
I pumped my fingers, curling them just right, thumb pressing her clit. Her body clenched around me, and I watched her face—eyes fluttering from resistance to haze.
"You like that?" I demanded, voice rough, thrusting harder. "Tell me it feels good, Luna. Admit you're soaked for me."
She bit her lip, shaking her head at first, but her thighs parted wider. I added a third finger, stretching her, my pace relentless. The anger in my gut twisted into raw need, my cock throbbing painfully against her thigh.