Alfreda didn't sleep.
She hadn't in days.
Her mind spun like a storm—Celeste's betrayal, Lucien's return, Nathaniel's hidden letter… and that damn ring still on his finger.
She should've walked away.
She should've disappeared again.
But here she was—back in the city that chewed her up and spat out her ashes.
She stood in front of Nathaniel's penthouse, the letter in her pocket, gun strapped to her thigh. The doorman didn't ask questions. Not when a woman like her walked in, eyes lined with fire, legs wrapped in leather, and lips curled with war.
The elevator opened straight into his suite.
And he was waiting.
Shirtless. Bandaged. Sitting on the edge of his grand piano like sin incarnate.
The moment their eyes locked, the air shifted.
"You kept it," she said, voice low.
His gaze dropped to the ring. "Always."
"You lied."
"I protected you."
"You let me burn."
"I buried the ones who lit the match."
Her breath caught.
He stood, slowly.
Every step toward her sounded like thunder. She didn't flinch. Didn't move. Not until he was inches away, staring at her like a man possessed.
"I thought you were dead," he whispered.
"I was dead. You let me stay that way."
"I would've torn the world apart to find you."
"Then why didn't you?"
A heartbeat of silence.
"I did," he said, "but someone buried you deeper."
She swallowed hard.
"You're still beautiful when you're angry."
She slapped him.
Hard.
His jaw twisted. But he didn't move. Didn't even blink.
Then he grabbed her wrist.
Pulled her into him.
Breath to breath.
"Don't pretend this doesn't burn you too," he growled.
And god help her—he was right.
She hated him.
And she still wanted to drown in him.
But she was fire now, and she wasn't done burning.
Downstairs, Dano waited in the car, watching every second pass with dread.
"Should we intervene?" one of the guards asked.
He lit a cigarette. "Not unless we want to die."
"But if she kills him—"
Dano exhaled. "Then he probably deserved it."
Back upstairs, Alfreda broke the tension the only way she knew how—by ripping off her own mask.
"The fire wasn't an accident," she said.
"I know."
Her eyes narrowed. "You knew?"
"I found out too late. The night they told me you were gone—I hunted the bastard responsible. But he vanished."
"Lucien."
Nathaniel's silence told her everything.
"You knew he was alive," she accused.
"I suspected. But Celeste covered his tracks well."
"And now?"
"Now I know he's back."
She stepped away. "He told Celeste it was your order. That you wanted me dead."
Nathaniel flinched. "I would never—"
"But I believed him," she whispered. "For years, I believed it."
"I'll kill him," Nathaniel said, voice cold steel. "This time, I won't miss."
But just as tension cracked between them, the penthouse alarms screamed.
A bomb.
Seconds.
Instinct kicked in.
Nathaniel tackled her to the floor just as the explosion shattered the west wing of the building. Glass. Smoke. Fire.
He covered her body with his own, shielding her as the heat licked at their skin.
Her hand gripped his back.
Tight.
Alive.
Still alive.
When the dust settled, she coughed. Rolled from beneath him.
"You okay?" he asked, blood at the edge of his lip.
She didn't answer.
She was already standing—gun out, eyes scanning the chaos.
"I'm tired of running," she growled.
"Then don't," he said, rising beside her. "Let's burn them first."
Their eyes met.
Enemies.
Lovers.
Monsters made from the same fire.