Hayden didn't sleep.
He lay on his back, one arm behind his head, the other wrapped around Ana's waist as she slept soundly against his chest. Her breath was warm on his skin. Her bare leg was tangled with his.
And he couldn't stop thinking.
He had crossed a line.
He'd planned every step of this revenge for thirteen years. Calculated every move like a grandmaster in a violent game of chess. But what he hadn't planned—what he refused to admit even to himself—was *this*.
Her.
Ana Nicholas was supposed to be a tool, a means to an end. But now she was something else.
Something dangerous.
Because when she slept in his arms, he didn't feel victorious.
He felt *owned*.
His fingers drifted slowly down her back, memorizing the curve of her spine, the softness of her skin. She sighed in her sleep, nuzzling closer to him.
He wanted to freeze the moment.
Trap it. Bottle it.
But reality was already knocking.
He slipped out of bed carefully and walked across the room, grabbing his phone from the dresser. A dozen messages blinked at him. Most from his father's lieutenants. One from Enzo himself.
*Where the hell are you?*
Hayden ignored it.
He wasn't ready to face the world yet. Not while she was still in his bed. Not while his plan teetered on the edge of collapse because of a girl who painted fireflies and cried when watching old films.
He turned back toward the bed—and froze.
Ana was awake, sitting up, the sheet wrapped around her like a shield. Her eyes locked onto his.
"How long were you watching me?" she asked.
Hayden's voice was low. "Not long enough."
She didn't smile. "Do you regret it?"
He walked toward her slowly, like a predator stalking prey—except this time, the hunger wasn't for revenge. It was for something far more intimate.
He stopped at the edge of the bed. "No," he said. "But you should."
Ana tilted her head. "Why? Because I gave myself to the enemy?"
"Because you don't understand what that means." His voice was rough now. "You think last night was sex, Ana. It wasn't. It was me claiming what's mine."
Her breath caught, but she didn't flinch.
"You think I belong to you now?" she asked quietly.
Hayden reached down and gripped her chin. Not hard. Just enough to tilt her head and make her look into his eyes.
"No," he said. "I *know* you do."
She stared at him, stunned, until the silence became thick between them.
"You don't get to control me just because we—"
He kissed her. Hard. Fierce. Possessive.
And when he pulled back, his voice was lower than ever. "This isn't control. It's *truth*. You've always been mine. From the moment your father murdered my mother. From the second I saw you in that red bow, crying in the dark. I didn't choose this obsession. It chose me."
Ana's heart pounded in her chest.
She should've felt afraid. Should've screamed or slapped him or run. But instead, she whispered, "And now?"
"Now," he said, pulling the sheet from her with one slow tug, "I'll show you exactly what belonging to me means."
He dragged her under him again, and this time, there was no hesitation. No line between pain and pleasure. No space between vengeance and desire.
He kissed every inch of her like a promise and took her with the fury of a man who couldn't decide whether to ruin her or worship her.
And Ana?
Ana didn't want to be saved.
She wanted to burn with him.