Ana stared at the slip of paper in her hand long after the cellar door had closed.
The numbers were barely legible—scrawled coordinates, marked with a single word beneath them: ***Haven.***
She sat on the edge of the bed, her bare legs curled beneath the robe Hayden had wrapped around her earlier that morning. Her body still remembered his touch. His mouth. The dark, dizzying pleasure of surrender. But now… now she felt none of that warmth.
She felt hollow. Trembling. Awake.
There was blood on Hayden's hands. Again.
She hadn't asked. She didn't want to.
*But she already knew.*
Whatever happened in the cellar—whoever that man really was—it was over now. And Hayden had made his choice.
Now it was her turn.
She slipped the note into the lining of her sketchbook, then stood and opened the balcony doors. The sea crashed far below. The wind licked her skin. If she jumped, would it be escape or suicide?
She closed the doors again.
Running wasn't the answer. She had tried that once—and Hayden had dragged her back, chained her with silk sheets and threats and kisses that made her forget her name.
But this was different.
This wasn't about freedom.
This was about truth.
And control.
She would find the place from the coordinates. She would read her mother's journal. She would find out who the hell she really was—and then she'd decide if Hayden Moretti still had a place in her heart.
Or if she was finally ready to rip him out.
---
The villa was unusually quiet that night.
No footsteps in the hall. No soft humming from the kitchen. No guards lounging in corners pretending not to watch her every move.
She wore a simple black dress, no makeup, and Hayden's mother's necklace around her throat. She wasn't sure why. Maybe it gave her strength. Maybe it made her feel like someone else.
She slipped out of her room and moved quickly down the corridor.
To her surprise, the office door was open.
Hayden sat behind his desk, a glass of scotch in one hand, his tie half-loosened like he'd just come from a war. And maybe he had.
He didn't look at her. He just said, "You're awake."
"So are you," she replied softly.
"I thought you might come down."
"To stop you," she said. "But I didn't."
He finally looked at her. His eyes were dark, unreadable.
"You hate me now," he said.
"No," she said. "I just don't know who you are."
He took a slow sip of scotch. "You knew from the beginning."
"No. I knew the man who watched me for two years before kidnapping me. I knew the man who forced me to marry him. But that man down there? The one who begged to tell me about my mother?" She took a step forward. "You murdered him."
"I protected you."
"You silenced him."
He stood, his jaw tight. "He would have destroyed everything we've built."
"We haven't built anything, Hayden. You built a cage. And I… I decorated it with paintings and tried to pretend it was love."
He moved around the desk slowly, like a predator. "You think I don't love you?"
"I think you love the *idea* of me. The version you created in your head."
"I love the version that moans my name at night," he said lowly. "The one who claws at me, even when she's angry. The one who came back to me—even after I hurt her."
"Because you left me no choice."
There was a silence. Then he said, "You always have a choice, Ana."
"Do I?" she whispered.
His hand brushed her cheek, and she didn't pull away. His touch still set her on fire. She hated him. She wanted him. Both truths lived in her bones like poison and hunger.
"I'm going away tomorrow," she said suddenly.
His hand froze. "Where?"
"Somewhere I need to go."
He stepped back. "No."
"I wasn't asking."
His eyes narrowed. "I won't let you leave."
"You don't have a choice."
He reached into his coat, pulled out a phone, and tossed it on the desk. "Go ahead. Book your flight. But you won't make it to the airport."
"So I'm still your prisoner?"
"No. You're mine."
Ana stepped back, shaking her head. "That's not love, Hayden. That's obsession."
He smiled, slow and wicked. "Then let me obsess over you a little longer."
She turned without another word and walked out of the office, her spine rigid.
Back in her room, she locked the door. Took out the coordinates. Pulled up a map. Marked the spot.
**A village outside Palermo. An abandoned vineyard.**
That was where the truth waited.
And this time, Hayden wouldn't stop her.
Not even if she had to lie, steal, or seduce her way out.