Morning bled slowly into the penthouse, soft light creeping across tangled sheets and discarded clothes. The city outside moved with its usual indifference, unaware of the storm that had passed between two people inside the glass tower last night.
Ana awoke with her cheek pressed to Hayden's bare chest, his heart beating steadily beneath her. His arm was draped possessively over her waist, fingers splayed across her hip as if to remind her she belonged to him—even in sleep.
But she didn't pull away.
Not this time.
His scent lingered on her skin—spice, smoke, and something uniquely him. Her thighs still ached from the night before. She shifted slightly, trying not to wake him, but his grip tightened instantly.
"You move like that again, and I'm going to take you right here," Hayden murmured, voice thick with sleep and warning. "And I won't be gentle."
Her breath hitched.
The threat wasn't empty. He'd proven that much.
"I thought you were asleep," she whispered.
"I never sleep deeply when you're next to me," he said, his voice low, rasping. "Too much temptation."
Ana swallowed, pulse fluttering in her neck. "You didn't always want to touch me like this."
"No," he admitted. "I used to want to break you."
"And now?"
Hayden shifted, pushing her onto her back with a slow, deliberate motion. His body hovered over hers, muscles tense, eyes sharp. He dragged his fingers down her stomach, stopping just before the apex of her thighs.
"Now," he said, lips brushing her jaw, "I still want to break you. Just not the way I thought."
She gasped as his hand slipped lower, teasing, cruel in its softness. "Hayden…"
"I want to ruin you for anyone else," he whispered. "I want to mark you in ways that never fade."
His fingers found her heat, slick and ready despite the hour. He drew slow, deliberate circles, watching her fall apart beneath him. Her back arched, and her nails dug into his biceps.
"I want to control this," he said, voice darker now, hungrier. "Your body. Your mind. Your pleasure."
"And what do I get?" she gasped, trembling under his touch.
He smirked. "You get *me*. All of me. The man no one else gets to see."
She hated how much she wanted that. Hated how her body responded to him with helpless loyalty. But hate and desire were starting to blur, to merge into something terrifyingly real.
When she came, it was with a strangled cry and his name on her lips like a confession. He kissed her then, deep and possessive, stealing the sound from her throat.
But he didn't stop.
He flipped her onto her stomach, dragging her to the edge of the bed. "You think last night was intimacy?" he murmured, positioning himself behind her. "Let me show you what it means to be mine."
She had no time to protest before he was inside her again, deeper than before, demanding everything she had left. Her body was hypersensitive, pleasure bordering on pain as he moved with relentless rhythm. His grip on her hips bruised, his mouth at her shoulder whispering obscenities that made her thighs shake.
"You like being used like this," he growled. "You like being my obsession."
She whimpered, nodding because it was true—even if she didn't want it to be.
When he finally spilled inside her, he buried his face in her hair, breath ragged. For a moment, neither of them moved. The only sound was the rush of the city and their shared, shattered breathing.
When she finally turned to face him again, her voice was hoarse. "This isn't love."
"I know," Hayden said coldly, even though his hand cupped her cheek with disarming tenderness. "But it's something worse."
She didn't ask what that meant.
Because she already knew.
---
**Later that afternoon**, Ana sat curled on the black leather sofa, wearing one of Hayden's silk robes. The bruises he'd left on her hips throbbed, and every step she took reminded her of what they'd done. Of what she'd let him do.
She stared out at the skyline, watching the clouds roll in again. Rome seemed to brood with them.
Hayden stepped into the room, dressed in his signature black suit, shirt unbuttoned at the throat. His phone was pressed to his ear, voice low and clipped.
"No, I don't care if the shipment's delayed. If I don't see it at the docks by midnight, I'll burn the whole damn port."
He ended the call and dropped onto the couch beside her. For a moment, he said nothing. Just stared at her, jaw tight.
"You're quiet," he said finally.
Ana shrugged. "You took everything I had to say."
He looked like he wanted to respond. But instead, he pulled a small, black envelope from the inside of his blazer and handed it to her.
She opened it carefully—and stilled.
Inside was a photo.
A recent one.
Of her father.
Tied to a chair. Bruised. Bloodied. Alive.
Ana's eyes darted to Hayden. "What is this?"
"The beginning," he said, emotionless. "You told me to take revenge. I intend to."
Her fingers trembled. "You said you wouldn't make me choose—"
"I'm not," he said. "But I *am* reminding you who I am."
She looked at the photo again. Her heart beat painfully in her chest, torn between the man who had raised her and the man who had broken and rebuilt her.
"I don't know who I am anymore," she whispered.
Hayden leaned in, brushing his lips over her cheek. "You're mine."
There was no softness in the way he said it.
No question.
Only truth.