The morning sun bled through the wide, shatterproof windows of the safehouse, but it brought no warmth with it. Ariana woke to find the bed still empty beside her. The scent of Brandon lingered in the sheets—raw, masculine, dangerous—and for a moment she clung to it, letting herself breathe him in before the chaos returned.
She sat up slowly, pulling the covers around her. Her heart was still thudding from what she overheard last night.
"She wants the darkness now."
He wasn't wrong. The part of her that had once craved a quiet life, a soft love, a world that didn't burn—it was gone. It had vanished the moment Brandon shattered her walls with his brutal need and dangerous devotion. But what terrified her wasn't that he'd spoken the truth.
It was how much she wanted it to stay true.
She slipped out of bed, wrapped herself in one of his shirts, and walked barefoot through the quiet halls. The house felt different this morning. Tense. Guarded.
She found Brandon in the command room—what she called it now—speaking in a low, measured voice to a man in a tailored navy suit with scars on both hands. The room was sleek, filled with monitors, maps, and weapons displayed as art. A live feed showed various corners of the property: the gate, the trees, the driveway.
As soon as he saw her, Brandon ended the conversation with a quick nod. The scarred man left silently.
"Didn't mean to interrupt," she said, stepping inside.
"You didn't." He walked over to her, brushed a knuckle across her cheek. "You didn't sleep well."
"You weren't there."
His jaw flexed. "I had to take care of something."
She folded her arms. "Brandon... you said someone's feeding Luka information."
"I'm close," he said, voice flat. "Too close."
Her stomach twisted. "And when you find out who?"
"You already know the answer to that."
She studied him for a moment. "Do you trust everyone in your circle?"
He gave a cold smile. "I don't even trust myself sometimes."
She exhaled slowly. "Then who watches your back?"
His eyes softened. Just slightly. "You do."
He stepped forward and cupped her face with both hands. "I know this world is insane. You never asked for it. But you're not a bystander anymore. You're in this."
She nodded.
"And if anything ever happens to me—"
"No," she snapped. "Don't."
"If it does," he insisted, "you run. You don't try to fight. You get out. Promise me."
She looked up at him, the man who had turned her world inside out. "I don't run from you, Brandon. Not ever."
His lips crashed into hers, fierce and hot. She melted into the kiss, letting him devour every doubt, every fear. He lifted her, carried her to the long table in the middle of the room, and laid her down like she was the most sacred weapon in his arsenal.
His hands roamed her body—rough and greedy. Her moans filled the cold space. He took her right there, hard and deep, the tension between them erupting into fire. She cried out his name, over and over, her body unraveling beneath his control.
When it was over, he held her close, their breaths mixing as they lay on the table, tangled and undone.
"This is war," he whispered against her ear. "But you… you're the only thing I'd surrender for."
---
By midday, Brandon was gone. Left with two men and a file folder marked with blood-red ink. He didn't say where he was going. Just that he'd be back before dark.
Ariana wandered the estate, restless. The staff—silent, efficient, trained—treated her with the deference reserved for royalty or hostages. No one spoke to her unless necessary. No one smiled. The entire place was a fortress, and she was the secret treasure locked inside.
She found herself on the lower floor, where a second office lay tucked behind a steel door. She'd never been in there before. The door was unlocked now.
Curiosity won.
Inside was a different world.
Stacks of photos. Surveillance tapes. Laptops. Notes. Maps pinned to the wall with red threads connecting names and locations.
Her eyes landed on a photo taped above the others.
Nicole Simpson.
Her heart stopped. She hadn't thought about her in weeks. Her best friend—or the girl who once was—now just a bitter memory of betrayal and lies. But what was Nicole doing on Brandon's board?
She moved closer.
Beside Nicole's picture was another.
James.
Her ex.
A knot formed in her stomach.
Underneath their images, a file labeled: Luka's Assets: Manipulable
Ariana froze.
No. No way.
She opened the folder slowly. Inside were transcripts of calls, digital forensics, even a wiretap dated two months ago.
Nicole had contacted Luka. Sold Ariana's location—after she'd gone underground. After Brandon had taken her away. The conversation was short but damning.
Ariana dropped the folder. Her hands were shaking.
So it hadn't been just betrayal. Nicole had tried to get her killed.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
She spun, slamming the drawer shut.
A young man in a dark shirt appeared in the doorway. One of Brandon's guards.
"You're not supposed to be down here."
"I was looking for the library," she lied quickly.
He gave her a nod but didn't move. His eyes lingered too long. Something in his posture was off. Too casual. Too… calculated.
She stepped toward the door. "I'll head back."
As she passed him, he leaned in slightly. "Be careful where you look, Miss Park."
She froze.
He smiled, cool and condescending. "Some things are better left buried."
Then he walked away.
Ariana's spine chilled.
---
Brandon returned at sunset, blood on his knuckles and a new scar on his cheekbone. He didn't speak as he walked straight to the bar, poured a drink, and downed it in one gulp.
She watched him quietly from the doorway.
"You found the rat," she said.
He didn't answer.
She crossed the room, stopped when she saw the blood on his shirt.
"Brandon—"
"It was Marcus," he said finally, voice raw. "The man I grew up with. The only one who knew where we were hiding. He fed Luka everything."
Her stomach turned. "You…"
"I killed him," he said, looking her in the eyes. "I didn't hesitate."
Ariana swallowed hard. "What now?"
Brandon took a step closer. "Now Luka knows he's losing. That I'll burn my own house to kill the snakes inside it."
She reached for his hand. "And me? What happens to me in all this?"
He stared at her, eyes black with a storm. "You live. You survive. You stay with me, no matter what comes."
Then he kissed her. Not with hunger—but with desperation. Like he was trying to keep himself from falling apart.
That night, he made love to her slowly, reverently. No bruises, no aggression. Just skin on skin, breath on breath, his body worshiping hers like she was his redemption and his ruin.
She cried when she came, overwhelmed. He kissed the tears from her cheeks and didn't let her go.
---
In the stillness afterward, as they lay tangled beneath black silk sheets, she whispered: "I saw Nicole's file."
He tensed beneath her.
"She sold me out," she said.
Brandon nodded once. "She and James both."
Ariana sucked in a breath. "James?"
"He came to Luka weeks ago. Looking for a way to 'save' you. Luka offered him a deal. Find you—deliver you—and he gets you back."
She shook her head. "He was in on this?"
"He's coming for you," Brandon said. "Because he thinks he can."
She looked up at him. "But he can't, can he?"
Brandon's gaze burned. "Not while I'm breathing."
---