The silence in the penthouse was different now.
Not heavy.
Not hostile.
Just… waiting.
Hayden sat at the bar, fingers wrapped around a glass of untouched scotch. Across from him, Ana stood in front of the window, the city's lights painting her in silver and fire. She looked like something carved from vengeance and grace. A queen in mourning. A lover in control.
Neither of them had spoken since returning from the compound.
Enzo's words still hung in the air—slippery and venom-laced.
> "You're just like her, Hayden. Cold. Calculated. She loved you. And you let her burn."
But it was Ana's voice that shattered the silence first.
"We make our move tomorrow."
Hayden turned his head slowly. "You're sure?"
"Yes." Her tone left no room for debate. "We expose everything. The mistress. The payments. The lie that started it all."
He nodded, then rose and crossed the room. "And what happens to him after that?"
She didn't blink. "We bury him. Publicly. Politically. Then privately, however you see fit."
His eyes searched her face.
"You don't feel guilty anymore."
"No," she said softly. "I feel powerful."
Hayden stepped closer, placing a hand on her waist. "You terrify me."
She smiled faintly. "Good. That means I'm doing it right."
---
The next day, they arrived at the private press briefing dressed in black.
Not for mourning.
For war.
Cameras flashed. Reporters whispered. The heads of the Moretti organization stood behind them in crisp suits and blank expressions, but all eyes were on the couple at the front—Ana in a tailored coat, Hayden in a sharp black suit, his hand firmly around hers.
Together, they stepped to the mic.
Hayden went first.
"My name is Hayden Moretti. I was raised in the shadow of a lie."
He paused. No shaking. No nerves.
Just steel.
"My mother was killed when I was nine. I was told the Nicholas family was responsible. I believed it. I lived by it."
He looked to Ana.
"And I nearly destroyed the only person I've ever loved because of it."
Gasps rippled through the room.
Ana stepped forward.
"My name is Ana Nicholas," she said. "My father was framed for a crime committed by Enzo Moretti—Hayden's father. To protect his affairs. His empire. And his secrets."
She held up a folder. "Inside are financial records, photographs, and a signed affidavit from a former associate of Enzo's. Today, we make them public."
A thunderstorm of camera shutters exploded.
Reporters screamed for answers.
But Hayden silenced them with a single, calm sentence:
"The Wolf's reign is over. This is a new era."
They walked off together, hand in hand.
United.
Unforgiving.
Unstoppable.
---
Later that evening, Ana sat in the penthouse bedroom, legs curled beneath her on the massive bed. Her phone buzzed every few minutes—reporters, allies, enemies.
She ignored them all.
Hayden entered quietly, removed his jacket, and sat beside her.
"You were perfect today," he said.
"No," she said, resting her head on his shoulder. "I was necessary."
A beat of silence.
Then—
"Do you hate me?" he asked.
She turned to him, surprised.
"For what?"
"For pulling you into this."
"I chose this," she said. "You started it. But I finished it."
He looked down at their hands.
"You could leave, you know. After this. There's nothing binding you to me anymore."
She traced a finger down his jaw, then leaned in and kissed him—slow, deliberate, dominant.
When she pulled away, her voice was a whisper:
"You're wrong. I'm bound to you in a hundred ways. But not by force."
"Then by what?"
"By choice," she murmured. "And if you ever forget that again, I'll remind you. On my terms."
He exhaled shakily.
"Fuck, I love you."
She smiled darkly. "Then show me."
---
They didn't make love like before.
This wasn't desperation.
It wasn't hunger.
It was war paint.
Clothes hit the floor like confessions. His hands were reverent and rough, worshipping and claiming. She met him stroke for stroke, command for command. He buried his face in her neck like a man confessing sins, and she arched into him like a queen reclaiming her crown.
When they finished, breathless and sweat-slicked, Ana didn't move from beneath him.
"Promise me something," she whispered.
"Anything."
"If one day you turn on me—if power ever corrupts you like it did your father—I want you to remember this night."
"I will," he said. "Because it's the night I stopped needing revenge."
She kissed him again.
Soft. Final.
And knew the game had changed forever.
---
In a dark corner of the city, a phone rang.
A voice answered, female. Sharp.
"They've gone public."
A pause.
"Should we move forward?"
A rasp of breath on the other end. Male. Cruel.
"No," the man said. "Let them build their kingdom. Then we'll burn it down."