Brandon's entrance felt like a loaded gun aimed at fate. His entire body was coiled with danger, blood painting his knuckles and shirt, his jaw set like stone. The gun in his hand was trained directly on James—no warning, no hesitation.
"Move," he growled, voice like thunder.
James didn't flinch. He stepped in front of Ariana.
"She's not yours to own, Brandon," he said, chest rising with defiance.
Brandon cocked the gun. "That's where you're wrong."
Ariana stepped between them, arms outstretched. "Stop it! Both of you."
Brandon's eyes were wild. "You let him in?"
"I didn't invite him! He just—he was here when I came back."
Brandon's eyes never left James. "Then I'll fix that."
"Brandon, please!" she shouted, pressing her hand to his chest. "Don't do this. Not like this."
His heartbeat thundered beneath her palm. His arm trembled. But slowly—painfully—he lowered the gun.
"I should kill him," he muttered.
James gave a tight smile. "Not in front of her. You wouldn't dare."
Brandon moved so fast, Ariana barely saw him. One second James was standing, the next he was slammed against the wall, Brandon's hand around his throat, gun shoved against his ribs.
"I don't need a bullet to break you," Brandon whispered.
"Then break me," James rasped, choking. "She'll still hate you."
Ariana pulled at Brandon's arm. "Stop! You're not like this."
His eyes flicked to hers, blazing with jealousy and rage. "He touched you."
"Not anymore."
Brandon hesitated.
"Please," she whispered. "Let him go."
For her—only for her—he did.
James coughed as he dropped to the floor. Ariana helped him to his feet.
"Leave," Brandon ordered.
James wiped blood from his lip. "I'm not leaving until I know she's safe."
Ariana stepped between them again. "I don't need saving."
James looked at her—really looked at her. "Then you've changed more than I thought."
"I had to," she said quietly. "Because of what you did."
James swallowed hard. Then, without another word, he walked to the door. "This isn't over," he said before slipping into the night.
When the door shut, silence bloomed like smoke.
Brandon turned away, breathing heavily.
Ariana's voice was soft. "You can't kill him."
"I want to."
"I know."
Brandon ran a hand through his hair, blood staining the strands. "I've spent years controlling every move. Calculating every step. But you? You destroy every wall I've built."
"Good," she said, stepping toward him. "Maybe it's time they fell."
He grabbed her waist, yanking her against him. "You shouldn't love me."
"But I do."
He kissed her like a curse. Hard. Brutal. Possessive. And she kissed him back with everything she had.
They stumbled toward the bedroom, tearing at clothes like they were at war.
He laid her down like a conqueror claiming land he'd fought a thousand battles for.
His mouth roamed her skin, leaving trails of fire down her collarbone, across her ribs, to the inside of her thighs. Her moans were pleas, her gasps confessions. He moved inside her like he was trying to bury every fear, every doubt, every part of her that remembered another man's name.
Ariana clung to him, nails digging into his back.
"Say it," he growled into her neck.
"I'm yours," she moaned.
"Louder."
"I'm yours, Brandon."
That was all he needed. He broke apart inside her, cursing her name like it hurt to love her.
When they collapsed together, breathless and drenched in sweat, the tension between them had shifted. It wasn't gone—but now it pulsed with something darker.
Devotion.
Obsession.
Whatever they had, it was no longer controllable.
---
A week passed in relative silence. James didn't return. Luka vanished from the radar. But peace was a fragile thing in Brandon's world.
Ariana found herself watching Brandon more than ever now—studying him. The way he cleaned his guns. The way he never slept deeply. The way he never let her out of his sight for long.
One night, she asked him, "What did Luka mean? About James?"
Brandon's expression darkened. "James didn't just cheat. He made a deal."
"With Luka?"
Brandon nodded. "Ari... James sold information. About me. About the people I protect."
Ariana's blood turned cold. "Why?"
Brandon looked at her. "Because Luka promised him you."
She stumbled back a step. "What?"
"He offered to kill me. Erase me. So James could be the hero who rescued you."
"That's insane."
"No," Brandon said quietly. "It's strategic."
Ariana felt sick. "So this whole thing..."
"Was never about just you."
She sat down hard on the couch. "I don't know who to trust anymore."
He knelt in front of her. "Then trust me."
"I don't know how."
He took her hand, placed it over his heart. "Then let me show you."
---
That night, a storm rolled in. Thunder cracked above the trees, lightning painting the sky in white and blue.
Brandon stood on the porch, watching the rain fall. Ariana joined him, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders.
"Tell me the truth," she said. "If I asked you to let me go... would you?"
His eyes didn't move from the storm. "No."
She nodded, unsurprised.
"And if I asked you to kill for me?" she asked.
He turned slowly, rain streaking down his face. "I already have."
She stepped closer. "Then I guess there's no going back."
He smiled faintly. "Not for us."
Then he kissed her again—and this time, it wasn't rough or desperate. It was reverent. Like he was memorizing her taste, her warmth, her soul.
When they made love again, it was slow. Intimate. Her fingers traced the scars on his chest, his hands worshipped every inch of her body. They didn't speak—but they didn't need to.
Because for now, the storm outside wasn't as dangerous as the one they carried inside.
And both of them knew—
The real war was still coming.