Location: Declan's Penthouse – 2:00 A.M.
Hartley didn't sleep. Not even close.
The message from Camilla had torn through her like glass—Leo's photo outside Blackwood Medical, the threat in the text, the feeling that her brother was no longer just under Declan's control, but in the line of fire.
And now, she was standing outside Declan's bedroom door, barefoot, heartbeat pounding.
She knocked. Once.
No answer.
Twice.
Then the door opened—and there he was.
Declan, shirtless, hair tousled, eyes sharp even at two in the morning. His bare chest was scarred, muscular, and entirely unfair to someone trying to stay mad at him.
"You're either here to murder me or seduce me," he said, voice husky.
"I need to talk to you. Now."
He stepped aside. "Seduction can wait, then."
She stormed in, tossing the phone on the table. The screen lit up—Camilla's message still displayed.
His jaw clenched. He read it once. Then again.
Then, softly: "That psychotic—"
"She's threatening Leo," Hartley snapped. "Do you understand what that means?"
"I understand perfectly."
"She has access. To your facility. To your world. She's inside."
Declan turned to her, voice low and deadly. "No one touches what's mine."
"Don't say that. He's not yours. He's my brother."
"You're my wife."
"Fake wife!"
"Fake or not," he snapped, "I made a promise. And I don't break those."
She froze.
There was something in his voice—something she hadn't heard before. Fear?
Declan picked up the phone and walked to the window, already dialing.
"Security," he barked. "Full lockdown at Blackwood Medical. Every hallway. Every camera. I want visual confirmation of Leo Sinclair within ten minutes."
He hung up and looked at her.
"You're not going back there alone. Not without me."
Hartley stared at him. "Why are you doing this?"
He didn't answer.
So she pressed again. "Declan—why are you really doing this? I'm not your responsibility."
He looked away. "Because I remember what it's like to lose someone. And it eats you alive."
Her breath caught.
"You lost someone?"
"My sister," he said flatly. "Camilla used her to blackmail me. Threatened her. Drove her to overdose. She was seventeen."
The room went still.
Hartley sat slowly on the edge of the couch. "I'm so sorry."
He said nothing.
Then Hartley did something she hadn't planned.
She reached for his hand.
At first, he didn't react. Then, slowly, his fingers curled around hers.
"I know how it feels," she whispered. "To carry the weight."
—---
One Hour Later – Blackwood Medical, Private Wing
The security team opened the glass doors like they were guarding royalty. Hartley rushed in, Declan at her heels.
Leo lay sleeping peacefully under soft lighting, machines humming. He looked better. Color in his cheeks. Chest rising and falling steadily.
She pressed a hand to her chest, relief crashing down like a wave.
"He's okay," she whispered.
Declan checked the monitors, his jaw tight. "I'll double the guards."
"No," Hartley said softly. "She'll just find another way. This isn't about hurting Leo. It's about controlling you."
His shoulders stiffened.
"She's targeting the one thing you didn't plan for," Hartley said. "Me."
Declan turned slowly. "You?"
"Yes. I humiliated her. I'm not playing weak anymore. And you—" she stepped closer "—you let me become a liability."
He stared at her for a long moment.
Then, without warning, he pulled her against him and kissed her.
Not cold. Not calculated.
Real.
His lips crushed against hers like he was drowning and she was air. It wasn't rehearsed. It wasn't clean.
It was desperate.
And she responded—arms wrapping around his neck, breath stolen, heart on fire.
When they finally broke apart, Hartley looked at him, wide-eyed.
"What the hell was that?"
Declan's voice was raw. "An ultimatum."
She blinked. "What kind?"
"The kind that ends in destruction or something worse."
"Worse than destruction?"
"Love."
—-----
Back at the Penthouse – 5:00 A.M.
Neither of them said a word on the ride back.
But in the elevator, something shifted. Declan's hand brushed hers—intentionally. And she didn't pull away.
As the doors opened to the penthouse, the lights flicked on.
And someone was sitting on the couch.
Camilla.
Wearing red. Holding a glass of champagne like she'd paid rent.
Hartley froze. Declan moved first.
"What the hell are you doing here, and who let you in?"
Camilla stood, smiling. "I had the door code. Old habits die hard, don't you think?"
"You have thirty seconds to leave."
"Oh, relax." She stepped closer. "I came to apologize."
Hartley raised an eyebrow. "You don't strike me as the apologizing type."
Camilla tilted her head. "True. But this isn't for you. It's for Declan."
She turned to him. "I miss you. This game? This girl? It's beneath you."
Declan's jaw tightened. "You're wasting oxygen."
"Let's stop pretending," Camilla said softly.
"You and I are the same. You don't fall in love. You don't have hearts and feelings. This isn't you, Declan."
He stepped forward, ice in his voice.
"You're right. I don't do love. But she's not like you. She never pretended to be someone else. She never used someone else's pain for power."
Camilla's smile shattered.
"You're choosing her?" she whispered.
"I already did," he said.
Silence.
Then came the wild laughter...
Camilla laughed bitterly, then turned to Hartley.
"Enjoy him while he lasts, sweetie. Because he always burns everything he touches."
Then she was gone.
The door slammed.
And for once, Declan looked like the one unraveling.
—------
Later – Declan's Study
He sat by the fireplace, staring into the flames.
Hartley walked in, barefoot, silent.
"She was wrong," Hartley said softly.
He didn't look at her.
"About what?"
"You don't burn everything. You just haven't figured out how to stop holding the match."
A long pause.
Then—his voice, barely audible:
"I want to stop."
She sat beside him. "Then let me help."