The city was quiet from above.
Rome glittered beneath them, a sea of lights and motion, but inside the penthouse, it was all shadows and silence.
Hayden poured two glasses of scotch with slow, practiced hands. The same hands that had broken men. The same hands that had held Ana close just hours ago, as the world they'd both known went up in metaphorical flames.
Ana stood near the floor-to-ceiling window, still dressed in black. She hadn't said much since they returned. Her hair was pinned loosely, a few curls falling down her back. Her posture was rigid, as though bracing herself for something.
He watched her in the reflection of the glass before stepping closer.
"Drink," he said, handing her the glass.
She took it, fingers brushing his, the contact sending something sharp and warm straight through him.
"To endings," she murmured.
Hayden raised his glass but didn't drink. "To beginnings."
She looked at him then, eyes wary. "You think that's what this is?"
He stepped toward her. One slow, measured pace.
"You exposed your father tonight. Publicly. You chose me over the only family you had left."
Ana turned to face him fully. "He wasn't family. He was a shadow I lived under my entire life."
Hayden's jaw tensed. He didn't want to admit it, but hearing her say those words—*He wasn't family*—made something in him relax. Like a lock finally turning.
Still, he wasn't good at comfort. He was good at control. Strategy. Revenge.
But Ana… Ana pulled things out of him he wasn't ready to face.
"You should hate me," she said suddenly.
Hayden blinked. "Why?"
"You used me. Lied to me. Threatened me into marrying you. And now we're standing here, as if none of that happened."
A pause.
Then, almost a whisper, "Why don't I hate you?"
He moved closer. Barely inches now.
"Because part of you wanted to be mine," he said, voice low, rough. "Even when you hated me."
Ana swallowed. Her chest rose and fell quickly. "That doesn't mean it was right."
"No," Hayden said. "But nothing about us is."
He reached out, fingers sliding along her jaw, down the side of her neck. She didn't pull away.
"Tell me to stop," he said.
Her lips parted, but no words came.
Hayden leaned in, brushing his mouth against hers, just a breath, just enough to burn.
"Tell me," he said again.
She didn't.
So he kissed her.
Hard.
There was no hesitation. No soft build-up. Just teeth and hunger and months of repressed tension unraveling all at once. She kissed him back like she wanted to hurt him, and maybe she did. Maybe they both wanted pain, because pain was the one language they understood better than love.
Hayden's hands found her hips, pulling her against him. She gasped into his mouth, but didn't break the kiss. Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him growl against her throat.
He walked her backward until she hit the wall.
He pressed his forehead to hers.
"I tried to stay away from you," he confessed, voice hoarse. "Even when I watched you from across oceans. I told myself it was for revenge. But it was always you. Even when I didn't want it to be."
Ana's fingers slid up under his shirt, dragging her nails lightly down his chest. He caught her wrists, pinning them above her head.
"And now?" she breathed.
"Now I don't care if it's wrong," he said. "I'm done pretending."
He kissed her again, slower this time, deeper. She arched into him, breath hitching, and he felt it—the way her body melted against his, like she'd been waiting for this just as long.
He carried her to the bed without breaking contact. Laid her down like something precious, but kissed her like something dangerous.
Clothes fell away. Moans filled the air.
And for once, there were no masks. No lies.
Just skin and heat and tangled sheets.
They didn't speak again until the city outside dimmed into dawn.
Ana lay against him, one hand resting on his chest. His arm was around her waist, protective in a way that felt foreign to both of them.
"Did you mean it?" she asked quietly.
He turned his head.
"Mean what?"
"When you said it was always me."
Hayden stared at the ceiling. Then back at her.
"Yes."
Silence.
Then her voice, softer than before. "I think I love you."
Hayden's throat tightened.
He could gut a man in under thirty seconds.
But these four words?
They terrified him.
Still, he answered her the only way he knew how.
By pulling her closer.
By kissing her again.
By letting her fall asleep in the arms of the man who once swore to destroy her.
Because love, like revenge, didn't need permission.
It only needed fire.