The Syndicate Head Left a Bleeding Bartender in the Sleet, but the Woman He Discarded Became the Only One Who Could Save Him

"Cassian," Elara breathed as he pulled her out of the chair, his hands resting on her waist.

"I have spent the last six months trying to be professional," Cassian said, his voice a low, gravelly whisper against her cheek. "I wanted to give you time. I wanted to prove that you were safe with me."

"I have always felt safe with you," Elara admitted, her hands sliding up the lapels of his tailored suit. "Even when I shouldn't have."

Cassian’s eyes darkened with raw desire. He didn't hesitate anymore. He closed the distance, pressing his lips to hers. The kiss was explosive, a collision of passion, relief, and months of suppressed longing. Elara kissed him back with equal ferocity, her fingers tangling in his dark hair.

He lifted her effortlessly, backing her against the edge of the glass desk. The empire they had built, the enemies they had defeated, all faded away, leaving only the undeniable, consuming fire between them.