The night outside the windows was pitch-black, thick with the promise of violence. Inside the estate, a different kind of storm brewed—silent, suffocating.
Ariana stared at herself in the mirror of Brandon's room. Her reflection looked nothing like the girl she used to be. There was something sharper in her now, something darker. She no longer recognized the innocence in her eyes; it had been stripped away, burned in the fire of betrayal, obsession, and survival.
The door behind her creaked open. She didn't need to turn to know it was him.
Brandon's heavy footsteps crossed the room, and moments later his strong arms wrapped around her waist. His reflection appeared behind hers—tall, imposing, fiercely protective. His chin dipped to her shoulder, his nose brushing along her neck.
"You're quiet," he murmured, his voice low and rough from the endless wars he fought in the shadows.
"So are you," she whispered back.
He said nothing, only pulled her tighter against his chest. She could feel the tension thrumming in him like a taut wire ready to snap.
"I need you to trust me," he said against her skin. "No matter what happens next."
"I already do."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Then you need to understand something. James... he's not coming back for you because he loves you. He's coming back because he lost you. Men like him… they don't accept losing. It's about control."
She turned in his arms, looking up at him. "You're telling me this like you're any different."
His mouth curved into a wicked smile. "I'm not."
He backed her against the vanity table, trapping her between his body and the cold wood.
"The only difference is," he whispered against her lips, "I'd rather destroy the entire fucking world than let you go."
His mouth crashed into hers, desperate and brutal. Ariana moaned into him, her fingers clawing at his shirt, needing him just as much, needing the feral comfort only he could give her. His hands slid under the oversized shirt she wore—his shirt—and yanked it over her head, baring her to the cold air and his ravenous eyes.
He lifted her onto the vanity without breaking the kiss, parting her legs and stepping between them. She could feel the hard, demanding press of him even through his jeans, and her body responded instinctively, aching, needy.
"Say you're mine," he growled against her lips.
"I'm yours," she gasped.
And then he was inside her, no warning, no hesitation. She cried out, clutching his shoulders as he thrust into her with punishing force, each movement branding her, claiming her. Their bodies collided again and again, until the line between pain and pleasure blurred, until she couldn't tell where she ended and he began.
He bit down on her shoulder, just hard enough to leave a mark.
"I want every part of you," he snarled. "Even the parts you're afraid to give me."
"You already have them," she whimpered.
When they came, it was violent and messy, and perfect. He held her tightly against him, his breath ragged against her throat.
For a long time, they stayed like that, tangled together in the aftermath of their fury.
But reality, cruel and unrelenting, crept back in.
Brandon kissed her forehead gently. "Get dressed."
Her brow furrowed. "Where are we going?"
His eyes gleamed darkly. "We're taking this fight to Luka."
---
The drive into the city was silent but electric with tension. Brandon drove a sleek, blacked-out car that ate up the miles with quiet menace. Two other vehicles trailed them—loyal men ready to die if needed.
Ariana sat beside him, dressed in black jeans, boots, and a leather jacket Brandon had tossed at her. She clutched a slim pistol in her lap, more for comfort than utility. She didn't want to think about using it—but she knew better now.
Violence wasn't an if anymore. It was a when.
"Where exactly are we going?" she asked finally.
Brandon's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "A gala Luka's throwing. An underground auction disguised as a charity event. Weapons, intel… and people."
A chill ran through her.
"He sells people?"
Brandon nodded grimly. "Not anymore. Tonight, it ends."
"But why bring me?" she asked, her heart thudding.
His jaw clenched. "Because James will be there."
The blood drained from her face.
"He thinks he's coming to 'rescue' you," Brandon said, voice thick with disdain. "He thinks he can still manipulate you. I want him to see the truth."
"What truth?"
"That you're mine now."
The possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. Part fear. Part need.
"You're using me as bait," she said softly.
Brandon's hand shot out, grabbing hers and squeezing tightly.
"No," he said, fiercely. "I'm ending this for you. With you."
Their eyes locked, and for a moment, Ariana saw the truth behind all his brutality. It wasn't just obsession. It was devotion. A dark, dangerous kind of love she hadn't known existed.
She squeezed his hand back.
"I trust you."
The words were simple. But they lit something inside him. His mouth curved into a small, dangerous smile, and he pressed her hand to his lips.
"Then stay close to me tonight, little dove. Very close."
---
The gala was everything Ariana expected—and worse.
It was held in a restored Gothic mansion downtown, decked out in crimson velvet and gold. Crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings. Waiters in black masks floated through the crowd with silver trays.
And the people—
She recognized some from tabloids, others from the whispers in Brandon's world. Politicians. Celebrities. Businessmen. All of them dripping wealth and secrets.
And beneath the glamour, the rot was unmistakable.
Brandon's arm was firm around her waist as they entered, his body tense, his senses alert. They moved through the crowd like predators, eyes sharp, steps sure.
And then she saw him.
James.
He looked… different. Harder. Thinner. His once-boyish good looks were sharpened into something colder. But when his eyes landed on her, they lit up with a familiar greed.
He started toward them.
Brandon's hand tightened possessively on her hip.
"Stay calm," he murmured against her ear.
James reached them, his smile a sick parody of charm.
"Ariana," he said, voice syrupy. "God, you're even more beautiful than I remember."
Brandon's body radiated lethal threat beside her.
"James," Ariana said coolly. "Didn't expect to see you here."
He chuckled, stepping closer. "I've been looking everywhere for you, baby. You have no idea."
Brandon moved subtly between them, shielding her. "She's not your concern anymore."
James's eyes narrowed. "Who the fuck are you?"
Brandon's smile was slow and terrifying. "I'm the man who owns her heart. And the man who'll break your face if you don't back the fuck off."
The tension was electric. Guests nearby sensed it and edged away.
James's gaze flicked to Ariana, pleading. "Baby, come on. You don't belong in this world. You don't belong with him."
Ariana stepped forward, slipping her hand into Brandon's.
"I belong exactly where I want to be," she said, her voice strong.
James flinched like she'd struck him.
For a heartbeat, the three of them stood there, locked in silent war.
Then Luka appeared.
Tall, elegant, and oozing malice. His smile was sharp as a dagger.
"Well, well. What a beautiful reunion."
Brandon turned slightly, positioning himself between Ariana and both men.
"It's over, Luka," Brandon said, voice like a death knell.
Luka's smile widened. "Over? My dear boy, this is only the beginning."
Without warning, armed guards flooded the room.
Guests screamed. Gunfire cracked through the air.
Brandon shoved Ariana behind a column. "Stay down!" he barked.
Chaos erupted around them. Ariana clutched the pistol to her chest, heart hammering, as Brandon drew his own weapon and fired with ruthless precision.
This was it.
The night everything changed.