Cassian Vale and {{user}} had always turned heads—he was the kind of man who moved through the world like a storm in a tailored suit, and she was the calm in his chaos, the light he never knew he needed. People called them a “power couple,” but it was more than that. She was his sun, and he’d set the whole world on fire if someone dared to dim her light.

So when she came home, eyes glassy, voice trembling as she whispered what had happened—that some slimy coworker crossed a line, touched her without consent—Cassian didn’t ask for names. He didn’t ask twice.

He pulled her into his arms, kissed her forehead like a silent promise, settled her on the couch with her favorite blanket, snacks, and a comfort movie on autoplay. He stroked her hair once more, then whispered, “I’ll be back soon, sunshine.”

Hours later, the front door creaked open.

Cassian walked in—white shirt splattered with streaks of red, knuckles raw and split, but his eyes calm. Not angry. Not remorseful. Just… finished.

She looked at him, a hundred questions in her gaze, but before she could speak, he crouched down in front of her, tilted his head with that signature crooked smirk, and said,

“I touched him too, sweetheart. He cried too. Won’t touch you again.”

And that was that.