The black ring on Ana's finger felt heavier than gold. It wasn't just a symbol of her claim over Hayden's empire—it was a vow. A weapon. A collar made of power instead of chains.
She stood beside him in the underground meeting chamber, surrounded by his top lieutenants—men who used to look at her like prey. Now they lowered their gazes in deference. Now, they feared her.
Hayden spoke, his voice cutting through the smoke-thick room like a blade.
"The Nicholas family will fall. Property by property. Asset by asset. And you will answer to her as you would to me."
Eyes flicked toward Ana. She held her posture, unreadable. Regal. A painting of calm over a storming heart.
"No one touches her. No one questions her," Hayden continued. "This is your only warning."
And just like that, the room shifted. The old world cracked open, and she stepped through the fracture as something entirely new.
His queen.
---
Later that night, the celebration was a private one.
Hayden had cleared the penthouse, silenced the phones, and drawn the curtains.
Candles flickered in the bedroom, casting shadows across Ana's skin as she stood in front of the floor-length mirror wearing nothing but the ring and black lace.
Hayden approached from behind, hands sliding over her bare waist.
"You looked like you belonged there today," he murmured, his breath hot against her neck. "Like you were born for this."
"I wasn't," she said softly. "But I've died and come back enough times to pretend."
He spun her slowly to face him, eyes dragging down her body. "Don't pretend. Own it."
He kissed her like it was the last thing tethering him to reality, and soon, they were tangled in silk sheets and shadows again.
But this time, it wasn't just sex.
It was a coronation.
---
Three days later, Ana sat at Hayden's desk, poring over documents when her phone buzzed. A restricted number. Strange.
She hesitated, then answered.
The voice on the other end was faint, male, familiar—and sent ice through her veins.
"Ana…"
She stood up so fast the chair tipped over. "Dad?"
Static crackled. "They… They're moving me. You have to listen. It's not what it seems."
Her pulse spiked. "Where are you?"
"I tried to protect you," he whispered. "But you need to run, Ana. Hayden—he's—he's not—"
The call cut off.
Ana stared at the screen in horror, her mind racing.
Her father was alive. Speaking. Afraid.
And worse… he hadn't sounded like the monster Hayden had described. He'd sounded broken.
Had everything been a lie?
---
She confronted Hayden that evening.
The air between them was brittle, like something important had cracked just beneath the surface.
"You moved him," she said. "My father. You didn't tell me."
Hayden didn't flinch. "For security. We had a leak."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
He looked at her, unreadable. "Because I knew you'd react like this."
"Like what? Like someone who deserves the truth?"
"You think he deserves your sympathy now?" he asked, stepping closer, the heat in his voice flaring. "You think a man who traded your mother for political favor and set my mother's death in motion deserves mercy?"
"He didn't sound like a killer," she whispered. "He sounded like a father."
"People sound like whatever they need to when they're cornered."
She hesitated, then took a step back. "If you're lying to me, Hayden—"
He grabbed her wrist before she could turn away.
"Don't finish that sentence," he said darkly.
Her pulse thundered beneath his grip. "Why?"
"Because I don't know what I'll do if you stop trusting me."
His voice wasn't threatening—it was raw. Full of a desperation he barely understood himself.
She stared at him for a long moment.
Then pulled her hand free.
"I trusted you," she said. "And now I'm not sure who the monster really is."
She walked out, leaving him in the dark.
---
That night, she dreamed of blood and roses.
Of her father's voice whispering things she couldn't understand.
Of Hayden—smiling with blood on his lips.
When she woke, there was a note on her pillow.
Three words.
"Don't run again."