The silence in the car on the way back from the orphanage was thick, heavier than ever. Ana sat with her arms folded, looking out the window, her expression unreadable. Hayden didn't push her to talk. He just drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually against his thigh.
But he could feel her. The heat of her presence beside him. The storm building inside her.
He wasn't sure what bothered him more—the fact that she was starting to understand him, or the fact that part of him wanted her to.
When they arrived back at the penthouse, Ana walked in first, wordless. She didn't run. She didn't scream. But there was something new in her. A simmering, fragile calm. Like a wire pulled too tight, ready to snap.
She turned to face him once the door shut behind them. "Why did you really take me to that place?"
He didn't answer right away.
"Was it part of the plan?" she pushed. "Another psychological move to make me *feel* something for you?"
"No." His voice was firm. "If I wanted to manipulate you, Ana, I wouldn't need an orphanage to do it."
Her jaw tensed, eyes narrowed. "Then why?"
"Because you needed to know I'm not just what your father made me."
She laughed bitterly. "Right. You're also a kidnapper, a liar, and a control freak. But sure—show me your charity work."
He took a step forward. "You think I don't know what I am?"
She didn't back down. "Do you?"
"I know *exactly* what I am," he growled. "But you don't get to judge me while you still refuse to see the blood on your family's hands."
Her breath caught. "You want me to hate them like you do?"
"No," he said, moving closer. "I want you to open your eyes."
She backed into the wall without realizing it, his body towering over her, caging her in without even touching her. His voice dropped to a dark whisper. "You want the truth, Ana? I didn't take you to hurt you. I took you to *own* you. But something's shifting, and I hate it. Because now I can't decide if I want to punish you… or worship you."
Her breath came faster, her hands clenched at her sides.
"Do you hate me?" he asked, eyes locked on hers.
"I want to," she whispered.
"But you don't."
She didn't answer. And that silence spoke louder than anything.
His hand rose, fingers brushing her cheek with surprising tenderness. She should have turned her head. She should have slapped him. But her body betrayed her—leaning into the touch, drawn by the heat of his palm and the storm in his eyes.
He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Tell me to stop."
Her breath hitched. "You won't."
"Say it, Ana."
She looked up at him, lips trembling. "Stop."
He didn't move. Didn't kiss her. But his hand slipped down her side, trailing the fabric of her shirt with maddening slowness.
"You're lying," he murmured.
His lips hovered just above hers, not touching—taunting. "Do you want me to stop?"
Ana stared at him, torn between fire and fury. And then she did the one thing neither of them expected.
She kissed him.
Hard. Desperate. Angry.
He caught her hips and pinned her against the wall, his mouth devouring hers with a groan that shook her. Everything about the kiss was war—punishment and surrender all at once.
Their bodies pressed together, heat flaring between them as hands roamed and buttons loosened. Her shirt slipped off her shoulder. His teeth grazed her neck.
But just before it could go further, she shoved him back with a gasp.
"No," she said, voice shaking. "Not like this."
Hayden stood still, chest heaving. He didn't speak. He didn't grab her again.
Ana's lips were swollen, her breath unsteady. "You don't get to break me and then act like you care."
"I'm not pretending to care," he said, jaw clenched. "That's the problem."
The silence stretched between them, raw and dangerous.
She turned away, hands trembling. "I need space."
He nodded once. "Fine."
And without another word, he walked out—leaving her alone in the penthouse, heartbeat pounding in her ears, and the ghost of his touch still burning on her skin.