The storm lingered through the night, drenching the earth with its fury, but inside the cabin, silence reigned. The kind of silence that comes not from peace—but the weight of things unspoken.
Ariana lay tangled in the sheets, the remnants of Brandon's heat still clinging to her skin. His scent was everywhere—on her pillow, in her hair, on her thighs. But he wasn't beside her.
She sat up slowly, wrapping a throw around her naked frame. Her bare feet padded softly across the floor. She found him in the den, standing shirtless in front of a map pinned with red dots and black Xs. A bottle of bourbon hung loosely from his fingers, his eyes glassy but sharp.
He didn't look at her when he spoke. "You're awake."
"I couldn't sleep," she replied softly.
He took a slow sip. "Neither could I."
"Are those... targets?" she asked, nodding toward the map.
"Some," he said. "Others are graves."
She stepped beside him. Her fingers brushed the edge of the map. "And me? Where am I on this?"
He finally looked at her. "You're the reason the map exists."
She swallowed the lump in her throat. "You built a war for me."
"No," he said. "I built a war to keep you."
She turned her face away before he could see the effect his words had on her. There was fear, yes—but not of him. Of herself. Of how far she'd already fallen.
"Is Luka still after me?" she asked.
Brandon's voice was ice. "Luka never stopped."
Ariana closed her eyes. "And James?"
He was quiet for a beat too long. "He's trying to ally with Luka."
Her heart sank. "How do you know?"
"I have eyes everywhere," Brandon said simply. "He contacted one of Luka's top enforcers two nights ago. Offered him intel. Promised him access to you. Said he knew your routines. Your weaknesses."
She felt nausea rise in her throat. "He's selling me?"
Brandon looked at her. "He thinks you're a prize. That if he gets you back, he can redeem himself."
"I'd rather die."
"You won't," Brandon said firmly. "Not on my watch."
Her voice shook. "But if he's working with Luka, that means—"
"That we don't have time," Brandon cut in. "Which is why I need you to trust me completely now. No more secrets. No more running."
Ariana looked into his eyes and saw everything—his obsession, his need, his pain. And underneath it, the terrifying truth: he would burn the world to protect her.
Even if she didn't want to be saved.
---
They left the cabin by dawn.
Brandon's convoy consisted of two matte black SUVs, a motorcycle, and a sniper car trailing in the distance. She sat in the front passenger seat, Brandon beside her, gun resting on his thigh. His men—ghost-like, all sharp eyes and sharper blades—moved in sync, communicating in coded hand signals and short encrypted pings through the comms.
They were heading back to the city.
Back to the heart of it all.
Ariana hadn't realized how much she'd forgotten the noise—the chaos of traffic, the weight of buildings pressing inward, the faces too tired to care. Everything in the city looked the same, but nothing felt safe anymore.
Brandon's penthouse was a fortress. Reinforced steel doors. Retina scanners. Panic rooms. A private elevator that only responded to his biometric signature.
As the elevator climbed, Ariana stared at her reflection in the mirrored wall. The girl staring back was no longer the naïve art student who fell for the wrong guy. She was something else now—sharper, bolder, haunted.
"I had the place swept," Brandon said as the elevator doors opened. "No bugs. No leaks. You'll be safe here."
"Until Luka finds a way in," she muttered.
He paused. "If he does, he dies."
She turned to him, suddenly aching to understand. "Brandon... what did Luka do to you?"
He didn't answer at first. Instead, he walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out over the city like it was a battlefield waiting for his command.
"When I was fifteen," he began slowly, "he killed my mother. Right in front of me. Said my father owed him. Said blood was the only currency worth anything."
Ariana froze.
"I made a promise that day," Brandon continued. "That I'd rise higher than him. That I'd dismantle everything he built. And I did. Piece by piece."
"And me?" she whispered. "Where do I fit in?"
He turned to her, eyes dark with something deeper than lust. "You're the only thing I didn't plan for."
She walked to him. "Then what now?"
He touched her face like she might vanish. "Now we fight."
---
That night, Ariana stood on the rooftop balcony, wind tangling her hair. Below, the city pulsed like a living thing. She wrapped her arms around herself.
"You shouldn't be out here alone," Brandon said, appearing behind her.
She smiled faintly. "I thought I was safe here."
"You are," he said. "But I'm not."
She turned. "What does that mean?"
"It means every time I look at you, I forget the rules. I forget the war. I just want you. Naked. Begging. Mine."
She felt heat flare between her thighs. "Then take me."
He stepped into her space. "Here?"
"Yes."
He didn't hesitate. He tore the robe from her shoulders, baring her to the night air. She gasped, both from the cold and the thrill. His mouth was on her in seconds—hungry, possessive, leaving bruises in his wake.
She dropped to her knees, pulling at his belt, taking him into her mouth like a sinner begging forgiveness.
He groaned, threading his fingers into her hair, guiding her rhythm.
"You drive me fucking mad," he hissed.
When he pulled her up, he spun her to face the balcony rail. She braced herself, breathless, as he entered her from behind with a force that stole her voice.
The city watched.
The stars burned.
And she gave herself to him completely.
---
Later, they lay in bed, tangled and sticky, her head on his chest.
"Whatever happens," she said softly, "promise me you won't die."
He stroked her hair. "Not without taking them all with me."
She smiled.
But deep down, she knew—something was coming.
And not all of them would survive it.