The war came at midnight.
No sirens.
No warning.
Just silence—followed by the thunder of gunfire.
Rose awoke to the sound of glass shattering.
Men yelling. Boots pounding.
Arvi was already gone from the bed, shouting orders from the hallway.
She jumped up, heart racing.
"Stay down!" a guard yelled, pulling her to cover as bullets ripped through the walls.
"Where's Arvi?" she screamed.
"He's handling it—"
Another explosion shook the house.
Outside, chaos ruled.
Vasquez's men had come for revenge.
They didn't want money.
They wanted to break him.
But Arvi wasn't the man he used to be.
He wasn't calm.
He wasn't cold.
He was furious.
And he was fighting not for power—but for her.
By dawn, the bodies were cleared.
The fires had been put out.
And Rose stood barefoot in the blood-stained courtyard, trembling.
Her ears rang from the violence. Her heart felt hollow.
And then she saw him.
Arvi. Stumbling through smoke, wounded—but alive.
She ran to him. Screamed his name.
He collapsed into her arms.
"I told you," he whispered, blood on his lips. "I'd burn the world before I let them take you."
Tears streamed down her face as she pressed her hands to his chest.
"You idiot," she sobbed. "You stupid, stubborn idiot."
He smiled faintly. "Still not romantic?"
She laughed through her tears. "You're the worst."
"And you're everything," he said softly. "Everything I never believed I could have."
Two weeks later.
The city was quieter.
Vasquez was dead. The war was over.
Arvi survived—but barely. It took ten stitches and two surgeries.
And through it all, Rose never left his side.
He woke up one morning, looked at her beside him—her hand resting gently over his.
And he knew.
There was no more pretending.
No more fear.
Just her.
On the first clear day, he took her outside.
He knelt in the same garden where the blood once fell.
And with a simple silver ring, he asked her:
"Marry me."
Rose didn't hesitate.
She didn't cry.
She just smiled and whispered, "Yes. A thousand times, yes."
Epilogue: One Year Later
The villa in Rome overlooked the sea.
Ruma lived peacefully there now—finally smiling again.
And Arvi and Rose?
They lived between fire and healing.
He was still rough. Still guarded.
But every time he touched her stomach, where their first child now grew, his hands softened.
"I still have nightmares," she said one night.
He kissed her forehead. "So do I."
"But we made it," she whispered.
He held her close.
"We made it," he agreed.