A storm rolled in that evening.
Kyler drove us to his private estate—deep in the woods, where the city lights couldn't reach. It was quiet there. Almost peaceful. A world away from threats, from debts, from pain.
But not from the truth.
Because no matter how far we ran… the truth followed.
He let me stay in a guest room upstairs, but I didn't sleep.
The storm outside shook the windows. Every crack of thunder reminded me of how fragile everything was. My home was gone. My boyfriend was now a stranger. My heart was caught between love… and something much darker.
I left the room around midnight and found Kyler downstairs.
He was in the living room, sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace. No guards. No suit. Just him—barefoot, wearing a plain black t-shirt, holding a photo.
I had never seen him like that before.
He looked up when I entered. But didn't speak.
I sat beside him.
"Who's in the picture?" I asked gently.
"My mom," he said after a moment. "She died when I was ten. I still see her in my dreams sometimes. Smiling."
I swallowed hard. "What happened to her?"
His fingers tightened around the photo.
"My father killed her. Said she made him weak."
I stared at him, horror blooming in my chest.
"Kyler…"
"He made me watch."
My hand reached for his before I could think. He didn't stop me.
"And then he made me like him," he said. "Taught me to kill. To take. To never love."
I squeezed his hand. "But you do love, Kyler. You just don't know what it feels like yet."
He turned to me. Slowly. "And what does it feel like?"
My voice shook.
"Like right now. Sitting beside someone who scares the world… but not you. Listening to silence and knowing it's safe. Wanting to fix every broken part in them—not because you have to… but because you want to."
He was staring at me like I was the only thing in the world that made sense.
And then…
He kissed me.
It wasn't rough. It wasn't forced.
It was soft. Careful. Like he didn't want to break me.
And when he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.
"I don't know how to be good for you, Ash," he whispered.
"You don't have to be good," I said. "You just have to be real."
That night, I slept beside him on the floor in front of the fire.
No touches. No lies. Just two broken people, breathing the same air, trusting the silence between them.
But deep in my heart, I knew something was changing.
Not just inside me.
But in him, too.