[Sophie’s POV]

The apartment isn’t dark the way it usually is when I come home late. The lamp by the couch is on, casting that warm, intentional light that means someone planned to be here. I don’t move right away. I stand there with my keys still in my hand, my bag heavy on my shoulder, my chest already tight like my body figured it out before my brain caught up.

“You can come in,” Adrian’s voice says from inside, low and steady. Not sharp. Not commanding. Careful.

I step forward slowly, closing the door behind me, and that’s when I see them.

Cassian is standing near the window, jacket off, sleeves rolled, arms crossed like he’s been holding himself in place for a while. Adrian is on the other side of the room, leaning against the kitchen counter, his posture deceptively relaxed in the way that means he’s already braced for impact. They’re not touching each other. They’re not competing for space. They’re aligned.

My throat closes.

“You’re both here,” I say, and my voice gives me away immediately.

Cassian turns first. His expression is soft, open, which somehow makes everything worse. “We didn’t want you walking into this alone.”

“This?” I repeat, dropping my bag by the door without remembering deciding to. “What is this?”

Adrian straightens, pushing off the counter. “A decision.”

That word lands hard. Decisions have been happening around me for weeks. Decisions about my credibility. My career. My reputation. My body. My story. I feel my spine go rigid on instinct.

“I didn’t ask you to decide anything for me,” I say, sharper than I mean to.

Cassian doesn’t flinch. “We know.”

Adrian nods. “This isn’t about control.”

“Then why does it feel like an intervention?” I ask, my laugh brittle and unconvincing. “Because if this is about Vaughn, or the board, or—”

“It’s about you,” Adrian interrupts, and there’s no edge in it. Just weight. “And about us.”

I look between them, really look this time. The tension isn’t sexual. It isn’t competitive. It’s heavy with something quieter and more dangerous.

Commitment.

I take a step further into the room, then another, until I’m standing between them without realizing I moved. My hands are shaking now. I press them together, trying to stop it.

“You don’t get to swoop in and fix this,” I say. “Not by confronting her. Not by lawyering up. Not by turning my career into your battlefield.”

“We’re not trying to fix you,” Cassian says calmly. “We’re trying to stand with you.”

“I didn’t ask for protection,” I snap, then immediately hate the way my voice cracks. “I asked you to trust me.”

“We do,” Adrian says. “That doesn’t mean we disappear when the world starts sharpening knives.”

I look at him then, really meet his eyes. “You wanted to confront her.”

“Yes,” he admits without hesitation. “Because watching someone dismantle you piece by piece makes my blood boil.”

“And you wanted to sue,” I say to Cassian.

“Yes,” Cassian replies just as plainly. “Because there are legal thresholds she’s already crossed.”

“And you didn’t,” I say slowly, “because I told you not to.”

They exchange a glance. It’s brief, but it’s loaded. It’s communication I wasn’t part of, and that realization hits me square in the chest.

“We talked,” Cassian says gently.

My stomach drops. “About me.”

“About us,” Adrian corrects. “About what this actually costs.”

I feel suddenly exhausted. Bone-deep tired in a way sleep doesn’t touch. I sink onto the edge of the couch, my elbows on my knees, my head bowed.

“I don’t know how much more I can lose,” I say quietly. “I feel like everything I worked for is being rewritten by people who don’t know me.”

Cassian moves first, but he doesn’t touch me. He crouches in front of me so we’re eye level. “Then let us be the people who do.”

Adrian’s jaw tightens. “That’s fair.”

Cassian nods. “Then hear this clearly. You’re our partner. Not our responsibility. Not our problem to solve.”

Something in my chest finally gives.

I press my palm over my mouth as the tears come fast and uninvited, hot and humiliating and unstoppable. Weeks of being composed, controlled, strategic, and silent break open all at once.

“I’m so tired,” I choke out. “I’ve been holding everything together by myself.”

Adrian closes the space then, wrapping his arms around me without squeezing, without trapping, just anchoring. Cassian joins a moment later, one hand warm and steady on my back, the other resting over my wrist like he’s grounding me.

I sob into Adrian’s shoulder, my body folding in on itself as the release finally comes. No fear. No arousal. Just relief and grief tangled together.

“We know,” Cassian murmurs. “We see it.”

“You don’t have to be unbreakable here,” Adrian says quietly. “You don’t have to earn our presence.”

I cling to them both, my fingers curling into fabric, my breath hitching as weeks of restraint drain out of me.

“I’m scared,” I admit through tears. “I don’t know how this ends.”

Adrian presses his forehead to mine. “Neither do we.”

Cassian’s voice is calm, resolute. “But we’ll be standing where you left us.”

I nod against Adrian’s chest, exhausted, raw, and finally not alone.

For the first time in weeks, I let myself be held.

And I cry.