The deeper they moved through the estate, the quieter it became.
Ana's boots barely made a sound against the marble, her pulse thundering louder than her steps. Hayden walked ahead, a shadow with a gun in his hand and vengeance in his veins.
The hallway before them was lined with old oil paintings—portraits of cold men and colder women. One face caught Ana's eye. A woman with silver hair and cruel eyes. Her nameplate read *Isabella Moretti*. Hayden's grandmother.
"She looks like she ate children for sport," Ana muttered.
Hayden didn't smile. "She probably did."
They reached a steel door near the end of the corridor. It wasn't listed on the blueprints Hayden had memorized. No guards. No keypad. Just a single brass handle and a blood-red symbol etched into the wood above it—a wolf wrapped in thorns.
Ana stepped back. "What the hell is this?"
Hayden stared at it for a long time, his face unreadable. Then he said, "This wasn't here before."
He turned the handle.
It creaked open.
The room was pitch dark, thick with dust and the scent of old paper and rust. Hayden flicked on his flashlight, casting a narrow beam across the space.
It wasn't a room.
It was a vault.
Floor-to-ceiling shelves held files, recordings, photographs. Some marked with codes, others with names Ana recognized—politicians, cartel leaders, CEOs.
And then she saw *herself*.
A folder. Labeled **ANA NICHOLAS – OPERATION VEIL**.
Her stomach dropped.
She snatched it and opened it with shaking hands. Inside were surveillance photos of her in London. Walking to work. Sitting in cafés. Sketching in the park. There were typed notes. Dates. Times. Psychological assessments.
"You tracked me this closely?" she whispered.
Hayden didn't move.
"It wasn't just me," he said. "It was them."
Ana looked at him. "You knew about this?"
"No. I… I tracked you *separately*. I thought I was the only one watching you. But this… this was orchestrated."
She felt cold all over.
"This wasn't just about revenge, was it?" she said quietly. "They were using me."
Hayden's jaw clenched. "They still are."
Ana backed away, the folder clutched to her chest. "All of this—my life—was a setup."
He took a step toward her. "Not the way I touched you. Not the way I kissed you."
"Don't," she said sharply. "Don't blur the lines right now. I can't think when you're near me."
His voice was a low growl. "Then stop thinking."
He closed the distance in two strides and crushed his mouth to hers.
Ana resisted—for a heartbeat. Two.
And then she shattered.
Their mouths met in fury, not tenderness. Her nails dug into his jacket. His hands grabbed her waist and lifted her onto the nearest table, knocking papers and boxes to the floor. She gasped into his mouth as he pushed her legs apart and stepped between them.
"I hate you," she whispered against his lips.
"I know," he growled.
He bit her lower lip, not gently. She moaned.
The kiss turned violent. She yanked at his collar. He shoved her harder against the wood, sending files scattering. His hand slid up her thigh, finding bare skin.
She was fire.
He was gasoline.
And the room, the mission, the past—none of it mattered right now.
"I should kill you," she gasped.
"You'd miss me."
Their foreheads pressed together, breath ragged, hands frantic. She grabbed his belt, and he hissed through his teeth.
"You want this," he said, voice low and raw.
"Shut up."
He kissed her again. She bit him back. And in that fevered moment—surrounded by secrets and sins—nothing else existed but need.
But then—
A sound.
The faint *click* of a door.
They froze.
Hayden pulled back, gun drawn. Ana slid off the table, breathless, shaking, trying to fix her shirt.
Footsteps echoed from the corridor.
Voices.
"…security sweep was cleared. That hallway's supposed to be locked."
Hayden grabbed Ana's hand.
"Go. Now."
They ran—back through the shelves, out the door, around the corner. Down another flight of stairs. Ducking behind statues and curtains until they reached the old wine cellar.
There, they stopped. Breathing hard. Hearts racing.
Ana leaned against the stone wall. "That was too close."
Hayden tucked the gun back into his waistband. "We got what we needed."
She lifted the folder. "We got *too* much."
Their eyes locked.
Tension burned again—but quieter now. Different. Not lust. Not fury.
Something dangerously close to *understanding*.
Ana looked away. "Let's finish this."
Hayden nodded.
"Next stop," he said. "The dining hall. That's where the real betrayal's happening."