CHAPTER FIVE

LENA

Dinner felt like sitting inside a pressure cooker.

Holiday candles flickered. Soft instrumental Christmas music played in the background. My mother smiled too hard. Senator Ward asked polite questions. And Bryce... Bryce stared at me like he expected me to magically forget everything and fall back into his arms.

But the worst part wasn't the tension.

It wasn't Bryce's swollen ego.

It wasn't my mother's whispers of "just hear him out, sweetheart."

It was Cassian.

Sitting directly across from me.

Silent.

Sharp.

Watching everything.

He didn't speak muchmaybe five sentences total but every time Bryce's hand twitched toward me, Cassian's jaw tightened. Every time Bryce tried to slip a comment in my direction, Cassian's eyes darkened another shade. And when Bryce "accidentally" brushed my arm reaching for the butter?

Cassian didn't move. Didn't make a sound.

But his stare was lethal.

"Lena," Bryce said suddenly, leaning in with a smile that used to make my stomach flutter. Now it just made me want to vomit. "I saved you some of the sweet potato casserole you love it, remember?"

I forced a polite smile. "Thanks."

Mom practically swooned. "Look how thoughtful he is."

Cassian's fork paused against his plate.

"So thoughtful," he murmured.

Not sincere.

Not even close.

Bryce rolled his eyes. "Ignore him. Cass has always been annoyingly protective."

Cassian didn't look up. "Just with people who deserve it."

Silence.

Sharp and immediate.

Bryce's face tightened. "Meaning what?"

Cassian finally lifted his head, eyes landing on Bryce with a coldness that made my breath catch.

"You know exactly what I mean."

Bryce opened his mouth ready to start something but Senator Ward cleared his throat loudly. "Enough, both of you."

Cassian didn't take his eyes off Bryce until he looked away.

After dinner, my mother insisted everyone help clean up.

Bryce immediately tried to follow me into the kitchen, but Cassian intercepted him with a smooth, casual step, cutting him off.

"You clean the dining room," Cassian said.

Bryce bristled. "You don't get to boss me around"

Cassian raised a brow.

Bryce backed down.

I nearly laughed.

Inside the kitchen, I started loading dishes into the sink. My hands were still trembling, my chest tight from the tension. When I reached for a heavy pot, I almost dropped it.

A hand caught it before it slipped.

A large, warm hand.

My breath hitched as Cassian stepped close behind me close enough that I felt his presence before I felt his touch.

"You're shaking," he murmured.

"I'm fine," I whispered.

"No," he said. "You're not."

My throat tightened. "It's just... a lot."

He didn't argue. Didn't tell me to toughen up. Didn't say Bryce wasn't worth the pain.

He simply took the pot from me, set it in the sink, and moved the dish towel aside.

"Let me," he said quietly.

And something inside me cracked.

Not a painful crack.

A soft one.

A safe one.

I stepped aside, grateful and embarrassed all at once.

Cassian washed the dishes with calm, methodical movements. I stood beside him drying plates, our shoulders brushing occasionally tiny sparks every time.

Halfway through, he spoke without looking at me.

"You don't have to pretend around him."

I froze. "Pretend what?"

"That you're okay."

The words hit too deep.

My voice barely came out. "If I don't pretend... I'll fall apart."

He turned to me then fully.

His eyes were darker than before.

Softer too.

"Then fall apart," he said. "Just not with him."

My breath caught.

And that was the problem.

Part of me wanted to fall apart with Cassian.

"Why are you helping me?" I whispered.

He didn't answer right away.

Then he leaned in not touching me, but close enough that my pulse jumped.

"Because you don't deserve what he did to you," he said quietly. "And because watching him talk to you like nothing happened makes me want to break something."

My lips parted. "Cassian..."

He stepped back suddenly, as if realizing how close we'd gotten.

But the air didn't lighten. If anything, it grew warmer, thicker, alive with something neither of us dared name.

Cassian turned away, wiping his hands on a towel, jaw tight. "Let's finish this before your mother comes in and starts assigning more tasks."

I nodded, heart racing.

Later, when everything was cleaned and reset, I escaped upstairs before Bryce could catch me. I climbed the steps two at a time, desperate for my room. Desperate for quiet. Desperate to breathe.

But Cassian caught me first.

His hand wrapped gently around my wrist not tight, not forceful, but enough to stop me.

"Lena."

A whisper.

Sharp but careful.

I turned slowly.

Cassian stood there, his expression unreadable, his chest rising and falling like he was fighting whatever words were inside him.

He stepped closer. "Don't be alone with him tomorrow."

"I won't," I said softly.

He held my gaze. "I mean it."

His intensity made my breath tremble. "Cassian... I can handle Bryce."

"No," he said, voice low and certain. "You survived him. There's a difference."

I swallowed hard.

He let go of my wrist slowly, fingers trailing like he didn't want to break contact too quickly.

"Goodnight, Lena."

My heart fluttered.

"Goodnight, Cassian."

He turned to leave...

But paused.

Looked back at me.

Studied me with that quiet, dangerous patience.

Then he said, barely above a whisper:

"You shouldn't hide your hurt. I see it anyway."

And then he walked away, disappearing into his dim bedroom, leaving me standing on the staircase with my pulse pounding like a warning or a beginning.

Maybe both.

Because something was shifting.

Something dangerous.

Something magnetic.

Something that had nothing to do with Bryce...

And everything to do with Cassian Ward.

CHAPTER SIX:

LENA Pov;

I told myself to keep my head down today.

To stay out of Bryce's path, out of Cassian's orbit, out of anything that might set the fragile holiday peace on fire.

I failed within ten minutes.

I woke early again, the house still dark and quiet. Snow was falling outside heavy flakes drifting like slow-motion ash. I wrapped myself in a sweater and went downstairs hoping, praying, that I could make coffee alone before the chaos began.

Instead, I walked into the kitchen and found Cassian leaning against the counter, phone to his ear, expression carved from something sharp and unreadable.

"Yes," he murmured. "I understand."

His voice was deeper in the morning, rough around the edges. His hair was slightly damp, like he'd showered but didn't care to dry it completely.

He glanced at me then, just a flick of his eyes, but it hit harder than a full stare.

"I'll take care of it," he said into the phone before hanging up.

He didn't explain. He didn't move. He just watched me cross the kitchen like he was trying to determine whether I'd shatter today or not.

"Good morning," I whispered.

"Morning."

The kettle clicked on automatically when I set it on the stove. I kept my eyes on it safer that way.

Cassian didn't offer small talk. He never did. He simply existed near me, quiet and immovable, like a storm cloud that refused to leave the sky.

"You okay?" he finally asked.

I laughed weakly. "That's becoming your favorite question."

"Only because you keep lying."

I hadn't expected that answer. My breath hitched.

"I'm just... thinking," I said.

"About him."

Not a question. A statement.

I nodded once.

Cassian pushed off the counter, stepping closer not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the heat from his body.

"He shouldn't be here," he said.

"I know."

"No," he repeated, firmer this time. "He shouldn't be here. Not after what he did to you."

"He's family," I said, choosing the most neutral answer.

"So?" Cassian snapped.

The sharpness startled me. He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling hard.

"That doesn't excuse anything."

He was angry. Not for himself. For me.

Why did that do something to me?

Why did my chest warm at the thought?

Before I could respond, heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway.

Bryce.

Of course.

He walked in wearing a smug smile like he owned the entire holiday.

"Morning, Lena," he said, completely ignoring Cassian.

I stiffened. Cassian didn't.

"Morning," I muttered.

Bryce stepped too close and reached for a mug above my head, brushing my shoulder intentionally. "Do you sleep well?"

Cassian moved like a shadow fast, smooth, quiet until he stood directly between us.

Bryce blinked. "Seriously? Again?"

Cassian didn't bother looking at him. "You're standing too close."

"We're talking."

"No," Cassian said, voice low, "you're cornering her."

I swallowed.

Bryce scoffed. "She's my girlfriend."

"Ex," I corrected.

He glanced at me, expression tightening. "We don't have to make it final yet."

"We do," I said softly.

Cassian's jaw ticked.

Bryce sighed dramatically. "Can we talk somewhere private?"

"No," Cassian and I said at the same time.

His eyes flicked to me surprised, impressed and something electric passed between us.

Bryce noticed. His smile faded. "What's going on with you two?"

"Nothing," I snapped quickly.

Cassian didn't answer. Didn't blink.

Bryce's brows furrowed. "You barely know her, Cass."

Cassian finally looked at him, gazing coldly. "I know enough."

Bryce's eyes narrowed. "Whatever. I'm not giving up."

And just like that, he walked out.

Like I had no agency.

Like Cassian was just a nuisance.

Like this was a competition he could win.

When he was gone, I rubbed my forehead. "I hate this."

Cassian's voice softened immediately. "I know."

"I didn't want drama. I wanted a quiet holiday. I wanted to forget..."

"Forget him?"

"Yes."

Cassian stepped closer carefully, intentionally like approaching a wounded animal.

"Then forget him," he murmured. "Let him chase ghosts. Let him chase the version of you he thinks he still owns."

"I don't want him to chase me at all," I whispered.

"You won't be alone with him," Cassian said. "I'll make sure of it."

I shook my head. "Cassian, you don't have to "

"I do."

Firm. Final.

Like he'd already decided.

Something tightened low in my stomach.

Then Cassian stepped back suddenly as if realizing how close we'd drifted.

He cleared his throat. "We should join your parents. They'll wonder where we are."

We headed toward the living room, walking side by side but not touching.

Still, the space between us buzzed with something heavy and warm.

My mother insisted we start wrapping gifts in the living room.

Cassian sat on the couch behind us, watching silently, one elbow on his knee, fingers pressed to his mouth.

He wasn't wrapping anything.

He was monitoring.

Guarding.

At one point, Bryce brushed a piece of lint from my sleeve.

I flinched.

Cassian's entire body reacted straightening, shoulders tensing, eyes narrowing.

He looked like he wanted to break Bryce's hand.

"Relax," Bryce mocked. "I'm just helping her."

"You don't help her," Cassian said quietly. "You hurt her."

Bryce's jaw tightened. "Back off."

Cassian didn't. "I'm right here."

My mother finally intervened. "Boys, please. Stop looking at each other like you're about to duel."

Cassian leaned back but didn't look away from Bryce once.

That night, I slipped upstairs early, desperate for quiet. For air.

Halfway down the hallway, I heard

"Lena."

I stopped.

Cassian stepped out of his room, shirt slightly wrinkled, hair falling into his eyes. He looked... disarmed. Unsteady. Like he'd been pacing.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"No," I admitted.

He exhaled slowly, like he'd been waiting for me to say it.

"I won't let him push you," he said.

"You don't have to protect me."

His gaze locked with mine. His voice dropped.

"I want to."

The confession landed between us like a spark.

Dangerous.

Wrong.

Perfect.

My pulse was hammered.

"Cassian," I whispered.

He stepped closer just one step but enough that I felt heat ripple through me.

"He doesn't get to hurt you again," he said. "Not while I'm here."

I swallowed hard. "This isn't your responsibility."

"No," he said softly. "It's not."

His eyes dipped to my lips.

"But I want it anyway."

My breath caught. Everything inside me twisted fear, want, confusion, longing.

Before either of us could step into something we couldn't take back, my mother's voice echoed from downstairs:

"Lena! Cassian! Dessert!"

Cassian closed his eyes once, slowly, controlled, then stepped back.

"Goodnight," he said.

It shouldn't have sounded like a promise.

But it did.