The Roman air was cool against Ana's flushed skin as she stepped outside, the grand doors of Hayden's penthouse clicking shut behind her. The street was nearly empty. The luxury car that had brought her here was long gone.
She didn't care.
Barefoot in one of Hayden's button-down shirts and yesterday's skirt, she walked.
Anywhere. Nowhere. Fast, then slow. Her legs moved without her mind's permission, and every breath she took felt like borrowed time.
*What the hell was she doing?*
She had slept with the man who blackmailed her into marriage. The man who admitted she was nothing more than a piece in his revenge game. And yet…
Her body had melted under his touch.
Her soul had ignited when he kissed her.
Ana found herself in a quiet garden, tucked between ancient buildings and ivy-covered walls. She sank onto a stone bench, pulled her knees to her chest, and let the silence settle.
She hated the way she felt.
Because this wasn't some twisted fantasy anymore. This was real. And terrifying. And unbearably complicated.
"Mind if I sit?" a soft voice asked behind her.
She turned sharply—heart in her throat—but relaxed when she saw the woman approaching. A stranger. Late thirties, elegant, with kind eyes and a cigarette in one hand.
Ana shook her head. "Go ahead."
The woman sat beside her, lit her cigarette, and blew smoke into the fading light.
"You've got that look," she said after a moment. "Like someone just dropped a bomb on your life."
Ana almost laughed. "Something like that."
The woman smiled gently. "I used to have that look too. Years ago. Let me guess… it's about a man."
Ana's lips tightened.
"He's… complicated."
The woman snorted. "Aren't they all?"
Ana stared down at her hands. "He's dangerous. Powerful. And I hate him for what he's done. But I also… I don't know. I feel like I see something in him. Something broken."
The woman took a long drag. "Sometimes the broken ones cut the deepest."
Ana nodded, emotion tightening her throat.
"But sometimes," the woman added, "they're the only ones who understand your own cracks."
They sat in silence for a while. The cigarette burned low.
Eventually, the woman stood. "Whatever you decide… just make sure it's your choice. Not his."
Ana watched her walk away, the woman's heels clicking against cobblestone until they faded.
Her phone buzzed.
**20 missed calls** – Hayden.
**3 voicemails. 7 texts.**
> **Hayden:** Come back. Now.
> **Hayden:** Don't make me come find you.
> **Hayden:** You don't get to run from me.
> **Hayden:** You're mine.
> **Hayden:** Ana… please. Just come back.
Her fingers hovered over the screen.
Was it a threat?
A plea?
Or both?
*You're mine.*
The words haunted her, but not because of the fear they once sparked. No. It was something else now—something darker. Something that made her tremble in the best and worst ways.
Because when Hayden touched her, when he whispered those words against her skin, she *believed* them.
She *wanted* them.
And that terrified her more than anything.
---
Back at the penthouse, Hayden stood in front of the shattered glass table. His hand was bleeding, knuckles torn from where he'd punched it minutes ago.
She was gone.
And with every second she stayed away, something inside him cracked wider.
He hadn't meant to lose control last night. But when he touched her—when she looked at him like he wasn't a monster—everything inside him broke.
And when she walked away?
It proved that no matter how much he wanted to own her…
He couldn't control her soul.
That realization filled him with something new.
Not just rage.
But *fear*.
Because Hayden Moretti didn't fear bullets or betrayal.
He feared losing the only thing that ever made him feel *alive*.
And for the first time, he realized something he hadn't wanted to admit—not even to himself.
He wasn't just using Ana for revenge.
He needed her.
Not as a weapon.
Not as a pawn.
But as his.
*Completely.*
*Utterly.*
*Forever.*