Rain soaks through my jacket as I fumble with my keys, my hands shaking so badly I can barely grip the metal.
Tears mix with droplets on my cheeks until I can't tell what's rain and what's heartbreak anymore. The hallway feels endless, each step echoing my humiliation back to me in cold, unforgiving waves.
I've tried calling Cleo three times, but she's not answering—probably wrapped up somewhere warm and safe with Ayden while I fall apart in this freezing corridor.
The phone slips from my wet fingers, clattering to the floor, and I let out a sob that sounds broken even to my own ears.
Adrian's face keeps flashing behind my eyelids—that look of absolute horror when I told him about the baby, like I'd confessed to carrying some monstrous thing instead of his child.
The way he'd physically recoiled from me, backing away like my very presence was contaminating his pristine life.
"Sophie?"
I look up through my tears to find Cassian appearing in his doorway, dressed in soft gray sweats and a worn t-shirt that makes him look younger, more approachable.
His hair is slightly mussed, like he's been reading in bed, and concern floods his face immediately when he sees my state. Concern floods his face immediately when he sees my state.
"What happened?" he asks, already moving toward me with that gentle urgency that's become so familiar.
"I told him," I manage through chattering teeth, my voice barely recognizable. "About the baby."
Cassian doesn't ask for details, doesn't hesitate or demand explanations. He simply pulls me into his apartment, his hands gentle but sure as he guides me to his couch.
The warmth hits me like a physical embrace, and I realize how cold I'd become standing in that hallway, drowning in my own grief.
Within moments, I'm wrapped in a thick blanket that smells like fabric softener and safety, while he disappears into the kitchen.
I can hear him moving around—the soft whistle of a kettle, the gentle clink of mugs, sounds of domesticity and care that feel like balm against the harsh rejection I've just endured.
"Here," he says softly, pressing a warm mug into my hands. The tea is chamomile and honey, exactly what I need but didn't know to ask for.
The contrast is staggering. Where Adrian had reacted with revulsion, Cassian responds with immediate care. Where Adrian had fled from responsibility, Cassian draws me close and offers comfort without expecting anything in return.
"He just... shut down," I say, accepting the warmth gratefully. "Like I'd told him he had terminal cancer instead of that we were having a baby. He couldn't get away from me fast enough."
Cassian settles beside me on the couch, close enough that I can feel his warmth but careful not to crowd me. His brown eyes are full of sympathy, but there's something else there too—anger, barely contained, at the man who hurt me.
Cassian settles beside me on the couch, close enough that I can feel his warmth but not crowding me. "I'm sorry," he says softly. "But I have to admit, I'm not surprised."
Something in his tone makes me look up, and I see him pulling out his phone with obvious reluctance.
"There's something you should hear…" he says, hesitating like he's not sure this is the right choice. "I confronted him earlier, about you. About us."
My stomach clenches. "What did you do?"
"I told him to stay away from you," Cassian says, his jaw tightening. "That you deserved better than being his latest psychological experiment. It was before you told him about the pregnancy."
He holds up his phone, finger hovering over the play button. "I recorded part of it. I thought... I thought you should know what he really thinks."
The audio quality is slightly muffled, but Adrian's voice comes through clearly, that familiar controlled tone that used to make me feel chosen and now just sounds cold.
"Because you're safe," Adrian's voice says dismissively. "Boring. Easy. You don't challenge her, don't push her boundaries, don't make her confront the parts of herself she's afraid to explore. You're filling but ultimately unsatisfying."
Then Cassian's voice, challenging: "Are you willing to give her away so easily then?"
The pause that follows feels eternal, but Adrian's response is devastating in its flatness: "Sophie makes her own choices. If she wants safe and boring, that's her decision to make."
Each word lands like a physical blow. Safe. Boring. He'd given me away without a fight, dismissed what we had like it meant nothing more than a mildly interesting diversion.
After everything, the vulnerability tonight, the tender moments, the way he'd thrown away his cigarette for my comfort, it had all been meaningless to him.
"He doesn't love you, Sophie," Cassian says gently, taking the phone away as I stare at it in shock. "He can't. Men like him don't know how."
I can't speak, can't process the casual cruelty in Adrian's voice. The man who'd kissed me so tenderly just hours ago had reduced our entire relationship to "safe and boring" when challenged by another man.
Had dismissed my choices, my agency, my worth without a second thought.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that," Cassian continues, his voice soft with genuine regret. "But you deserved to know the truth about who he really is."
The tears come harder now, but they feel different—not just grief, but something that might be relief. At least now I know.
At least now I don't have to wonder what I did wrong, or how I could have said it differently, or whether there was some magical combination of words that would have made Adrian want our child.
"My offer still stands," Cassian whispers, moving closer until his thigh touches mine. "I'll love this baby. I'll love you both. I already do."
His arms come around me, and I let myself sink into his embrace. He's solid and warm and present, everything Adrian isn't.
When he tilts my chin up to look at him, his brown eyes are full of something I haven't seen in so long I'd almost forgotten what it looked like—unconditional acceptance.
"You don't have to be alone in this," he murmurs, his thumb brushing away my tears with infinite gentleness. "You never have to be alone again."
When he kisses me, it's with the kind of tenderness that makes my chest ache—not possessive or demanding, but healing. His lips are soft and patient, asking rather than taking, offering comfort instead of claiming ownership.
I kiss him back with desperate gratitude, pouring all my hurt and fear and desperate need to be wanted into the connection between us. His hands frame my face, holding me like I'm precious, like I'm chosen rather than settled for.
"Are you sure?" he asks against my lips when the kiss deepens, becomes something more urgent and necessary. "You're hurting, and I don't want you to do anything you'll regret."
But I think of Adrian's horrified face, of his dismissive words on the recording, of the way he'd retreated from me like I was carrying plague instead of hope. Then I look at Cassian, really look at him, and see only acceptance and love.
"Yes," I breathe against his mouth. "I'm sure."
Adrian had made his choice. Maybe it was time I made mine.
"Okay," I whisper against Cassian's chest as he holds me close, my decision crystallizing into something that feels like peace. "Okay."