Ana had never heard the penthouse so quiet.
Not even when she first arrived—trapped, isolated, dazed.
But now the silence wasn't just stillness. It was a strategy. A mind game. One she refused to keep losing.
She walked into the kitchen barefoot, Hayden's absence pressing on her like a weight. The coffee machine clicked on. Steam hissed. The sound was almost too loud in the hush of the glass-and-steel walls.
When the machine finally beeped, Ana poured the black liquid into a mug and stared out at the city.
Her reflection in the window startled her.
Not because she looked scared.
But because she didn't.
The bruises on her body were fading. The ache between her thighs had lessened. But something else had taken root in their place—a clarity that was colder than survival, stronger than defiance.
She didn't just love Hayden.
She understood him now.
And that was more dangerous than anything.
---
By mid-morning, she found him in his private office, surrounded by files and blueprints and a glowing screen showing live security feeds. His back was to her, jacket off, sleeves rolled up. The tension in his shoulders was a familiar sight by now—he carried rage like a second skin.
He didn't turn when she entered.
"I didn't expect you to come in here," he said without looking.
"I didn't expect you to leave me alone last night," she replied.
He paused, fingers curling slightly on the desk. "I figured you needed space."
She laughed softly, stepping closer. "Now you give me space?"
Finally, he turned. His face was drawn, tired. But his eyes—those eyes—were still sharp as broken glass.
"You asked me not to cage you," he said. "So I didn't."
Ana walked until she was in front of him. "Let's stop pretending. You and I aren't capable of normal love. You want to control me. And I want to understand you. We're both complicit."
Hayden blinked. That wasn't what he expected. Not from her.
She continued, voice calm. "You want me to be your queen? Then start treating me like one. In your world, that doesn't mean flowers and kisses. It means power."
He tilted his head. "You want power?"
"I want a choice," she said. "And I want to help you destroy the man who made me fatherless in spirit long before you ever touched him."
He stepped closer. Their breath mingled. "You're not afraid I'll use you again?"
"I'm already ruined," she said. "Now I want to burn something down, too."
A moment passed.
Then another.
And then—Hayden smiled.
Not his cold smirk. Not the mocking tilt of his mouth she'd come to hate and crave.
This smile was dark.
Proud.
Turned on.
"You're more dangerous than I thought," he said, sliding a hand around her waist.
"I learned from the best," she whispered, pressing her palm to his chest. "Now teach me the rest."
He pulled her in sharply, kissing her like it was an agreement signed in blood. Their mouths met with hunger, teeth clashing. She moaned against him as his hands gripped her thighs, lifting her effortlessly onto the desk.
Papers scattered.
Screens flickered.
She didn't care.
Neither did he.
"You're playing a dangerous game," he whispered against her neck.
"Only if you don't play it with me," she shot back, legs wrapping around his waist.
His fingers slid beneath her dress, dragging it up roughly until it bunched around her hips. She gasped when he entered her with no warning, raw and unapologetic.
She arched back, hand knocking over a glass. It shattered on the floor—but neither of them noticed.
"You wanted to be in control?" he growled, thrusting harder. "Then take it."
She met him stroke for stroke, fingers clawing down his back, their breaths mingling like smoke and gasoline. This wasn't tender. This was war. Their kind of war.
When she came, it was with a broken cry of his name. And when he followed, spilling into her with a guttural groan, she saw the tremble in his arms as he held her.
For once, he looked human.
They stayed like that for a moment—breathing each other in. Bound by lust. Hate. Loyalty.
Love.
---
Later, Ana stood beside Hayden at the massive conference table, reviewing files.
Photos. Names. Assets. Weak points.
Her father's empire. And how to dismantle it.
"He has properties in Naples under shell corporations," Hayden said. "We take those down, we squeeze his financing."
Ana nodded. "And he'll try to launder through his Dubai contacts."
Hayden raised an eyebrow. "You knew that?"
"I lived under his roof for sixteen years. I wasn't blind."
There was silence for a beat.
Then Hayden leaned in, voice low. "If we do this, Ana… there's no going back."
"I don't want to go back," she said.
He studied her for a long moment. Then reached into the desk and pulled out a black velvet box.
Ana's breath caught.
He opened it slowly.
Inside was a ring.
Not a traditional one. No diamond. No gold.
It was obsidian—carved, polished, brutal in its beauty. The symbol of a queen in the Moretti world.
"Not for show," he said. "For power. If you wear this, everyone in my world answers to you when I'm gone."
Ana stared at it. Her fingers trembled.
Then she took it.
And slid it on.
Hayden exhaled slowly. "Now they'll all know."
She looked up at him. "That I'm yours?"
"No," he said. "That I'm yours."