The silence afterward was louder than the moans that had echoed through the chamber moments before.
Ana sat on the edge of the table, shirt torn open, hair tangled, lips bruised. Her skin was flushed, her thighs still trembling from the storm he'd left inside her.
Hayden leaned against the wall across from her, chest bare, pants undone, his expression unreadable. He looked like a god carved from vengeance and sin.
And she hated him for it.
"I shouldn't have let that happen," she said, voice hoarse.
He tilted his head. "You didn't 'let' anything happen. You wanted it as much as I did."
She threw him a glare sharp enough to cut. "Wanting you doesn't mean I forgive you."
"Good," he said coldly. "I'm not asking for forgiveness."
That stung more than she expected.
Ana stood, adjusting her shirt as much as she could. "So what now? We keep fucking while you plan how to destroy my father?"
"I already destroyed your father," Hayden said calmly. "He just doesn't know it yet."
She froze.
"What do you mean?"
Hayden walked toward her, slowly. "You came here looking for the truth. You think you found it on that board, in those letters. But you're still playing catch-up."
"Then enlighten me."
He stopped inches from her. "I made your father bleed. Financially. Politically. Every one of his allies—gone. His businesses are under my control. His empire is ashes."
Ana swallowed. "You did all of that without laying a finger on him."
"That's what makes it art," he said. "But I'm not done. He needs to know *why* it's all burning."
"And you think I'll help you deliver that final blow?" she asked.
"You already did." Hayden reached into his jacket and pulled out a small device—a recording pen. He pressed a button, and Ana's voice echoed through the room:
> "Yes… but I want you more."
Ana's eyes widened. "You recorded us?"
"Not all of it. Just enough to send your father into a spiral when he hears it."
"You're a monster," she whispered.
Hayden's smile was cold. "And yet, you scream my name like a prayer."
She slapped him.
Hard.
The sound cracked through the air. Hayden didn't move. He just stared at her, the fire in his eyes burning hotter.
Ana's chest heaved. "You're sick. You say you love me, but everything you do is a fucking game."
"I never said I was healthy," he murmured. "Love is a sickness. And you infected me first."
She stepped back, shaking. "This was a mistake."
"No," he said. "It was inevitable."
Ana turned away, pacing. Her hands were trembling. Her entire world was unraveling—every truth layered with another lie.
"I should leave," she whispered.
"But you won't."
"Why not?"
"Because no one else knows you like I do," he said. "No one else sees what you're capable of becoming."
She turned to him, confused. "What are you talking about?"
"I've read the letters," he said. "All of them. Your mother didn't just hate my family. She wanted to *replace* us. Take everything my mother had—my father, our legacy. She didn't just destroy my family. She *wanted* to."
Ana's stomach twisted.
"She was more ruthless than you realize," Hayden continued. "And that same fire is in you."
"No," Ana whispered. "I'm not her."
"Aren't you?" He stepped closer, backing her against the wall. "You came back here alone. You faced a world you knew wanted you dead. You let a man you hate ruin you with his mouth, his hands, his name—and you're still standing."
His hand cupped her cheek.
"You were born for war, Ana."
She didn't know whether to slap him again or kiss him.
And that terrified her more than anything.
Hayden leaned in, brushing his lips against hers without kissing her. "Run, if you need to. But you'll come back. Because this... *we*... is all that's left."
He stepped back, buttoning his shirt, restoring that air of control like a mask.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"To finish what I started," he said. "And when I'm done... you'll have a choice to make."
"What choice?"
"To walk away," he said, heading for the door. "Or to become one of us."
The door slammed behind him.
Ana stood there in the echo of his words, heart racing, a fire building inside her chest.
Not fear.
Not grief.
Power.
For the first time, she didn't know if she wanted to stop him.
She wanted to *stand beside him*.