Ana couldn't sleep.
The events of the day kept circling in her mind—the blood on Hayden's shirt, the casual cruelty in his eyes, and the way he had whispered that he'd do it all again. For her.
She stared at the ceiling of the master bedroom, the shadows stretching long and sharp. This place didn't feel like safety. It felt like a cage made of velvet and diamonds.
The door creaked open.
Hayden stepped in, shirtless now, hair damp from a shower, his movements slow and predatory. "You're still awake."
Ana sat up, pulling the blanket to her chest. "How could I not be?"
He watched her, expression unreadable, then crossed the room. "You're scared of me again."
"I never stopped being scared of you," she said quietly.
He knelt beside the bed, resting his elbows on the mattress, his eyes level with hers. "But you stayed."
"I'm not sure if I'm brave or just stupid."
Hayden's hand found hers under the covers. "You're mine. That's what you are."
Her breath caught in her throat. "That's not love, Hayden. That's possession."
He didn't argue. He didn't need to. The look in his eyes said it all. Hayden Moretti didn't understand love without ownership. Without control. Without danger.
She turned away. "What if I wanted to leave?"
Silence.
Then:
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do," he said softly. "Because if you were going to leave, you wouldn't have let me touch you the way I did. You wouldn't have looked at me like I was the only thing keeping you from falling apart."
Ana's chest ached. She hated how much truth there was in his words.
Hayden brushed her hair back gently, his fingers trailing her jaw. "You want freedom, Ana? Then take it. But know this—once you walk away, there's no coming back."
She looked at him, tears gathering in her eyes.
"I don't want to go back," she said. "But I don't know how to live like this either. Caught between who I was… and who I'm becoming."
He leaned in, mouth barely grazing hers.
"Then let me finish breaking you. So I can rebuild you."
The kiss that followed wasn't sweet.
It was fierce, consuming, filled with the fire of two people who didn't know how to love gently. His hands dragged down her sides, pulling the blanket away, exposing her to the cold air and to him.
He didn't ask.
He never did.
And she didn't stop him.
Because this—this twisted, intoxicating thing between them—was the only truth either of them had left.
---
Hours later, Ana sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a robe, sipping black coffee.
Hayden was on the phone across the room, voice calm but commanding as he gave orders she didn't want to understand. Names. Numbers. Warnings.
Then he hung up and turned to her.
"You're going to the villa in Sicily."
"What?"
He crossed to her, crouching slightly so their eyes met. "There's someone I need to meet in Istanbul. Three days. It's business. Dangerous."
"I can stay here—"
"No," he snapped. Then, softer, "You won't be safe."
She stared at him. "You mean *you* won't feel safe."
He didn't deny it.
"You'll go to the villa. With Rocco and two others. You'll stay inside the grounds. No phones. No contact."
Ana's heart pounded. "That sounds a lot like exile."
He touched her chin, tilting her face up. "It's protection. From what's coming. From *me*."
Her eyes narrowed. "You think I can't handle the monster you become?"
Hayden smiled—but it didn't reach his eyes.
"No," he said. "I think you *will* handle it. And that's what scares me most."