The vineyard was silent by the time Hayden arrived.
His black Maserati kicked up gravel as it tore down the winding Sicilian road, tires screeching to a halt outside the rusted gates. He got out, coat whipping in the wind, jaw clenched so tight he could taste the steel behind his teeth.
She had come here.
Of course she had.
He pushed the gate open and stormed up the overgrown path. The house loomed ahead, that familiar name carved into the stone: *Haven*. But there was nothing peaceful about it. The walls held memories, and Hayden could feel them clawing at his skin like ghosts.
The door was unlocked. He moved through the house without hesitation, boots heavy on the warped wooden floor. The rooms were empty. Dust. Silence.
But upstairs, he found the signs—an open drawer, footprints in the dust, a faint trail of perfume.
Ana.
He descended into the hidden chamber behind the library and paused at the bottom of the stairs.
She was there.
Back turned, shoulders tense, hunched over the board filled with strings and secrets. She looked smaller than he remembered. Fragile. But the air around her still crackled with defiance.
He spoke before she could.
"You ran."
Ana didn't turn. "You lied."
"I protected you."
"You *used* me," she snapped, whirling around. Her face was pale, eyes wide and furious. "From the moment you found me, every word, every kiss, every *touch* was a weapon."
He stepped forward. "And you think I didn't bleed every time I touched you?"
Ana's lips parted in shock.
Hayden's voice dropped. "You think I didn't hate myself for every time I kissed you knowing what your family took from mine? Knowing what my mother looked like when they pulled her from the fire?"
Tears burned in her eyes. "And yet you still made me fall for you."
"No," he said quietly. "*You made me fall for you*."
The silence between them stretched, thick and electric.
"I know about your father," she said. "I know about the affair. About my mother. About everything."
Hayden stared at her. "Then you know it was never just about revenge. It was about survival. About taking back something that was stolen."
"I was never yours to take," she said, voice trembling.
"Then why are you still here?"
The question hit her like a slap.
Ana's hands curled at her sides. "Because I wanted to understand. Because despite everything, I still—" She stopped herself.
Still *what*?
Still *loved* him?
Still wanted him?
He moved closer. "Say it."
She looked up at him. He was a storm wrapped in silk, fire behind his eyes. The room seemed smaller, darker.
"No."
He reached her in two steps, grabbing her wrist and pulling her close. "Say it."
"Let me go," she hissed.
"You don't want me to."
She struggled, but he pinned her wrist to the wall behind her. His body pressed into hers, heat radiating between them like lightning and gasoline.
"You came here looking for the truth," he whispered against her skin. "Here it is."
Their mouths collided.
It wasn't a kiss—it was a war. Teeth. Tongue. Pain and desperation. Her nails dug into his shirt, and his hands tangled in her hair, yanking her head back as he bit her lower lip.
"You hate me?" he growled.
"Yes," she gasped, arching into him. "But I want you more."
Their bodies moved like magnets, fury and lust indistinguishable. He shoved aside the papers on the table, lifting her onto it in a single, aggressive motion.
Clothes tore. Buttons scattered. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and for a moment, nothing else mattered.
No blood.
No war.
No lies.
Just skin on skin, gasps in the dark, a dance of desire that burned away everything except the truth that had always lived between them.
They needed each other.
Hated each other.
Craved each other.
And it would destroy them both.