The note on her pillow haunted her more than Hayden's touch ever had.
"Don't run again."
It wasn't signed.
It didn't need to be.
It smelled like him—leather, clove, and the faint sting of smoke. But it wasn't the scent that made her chest tighten. It was the message.
He knew.
Knew she was considering escape.
That the call from her father had cracked something inside her wide open.
And that crack… it was growing.
---
Ana spent most of the day in the gallery downstairs, pretending to study the paintings. They were beautiful—pieces she'd curated before her life had become blood and lies. Before Hayden. Before revenge.
Now, they just looked like ghosts of a woman she no longer recognized.
She didn't hear the footsteps behind her.
Didn't sense the presence until a whisper brushed her ear:
"I can help you."
Ana spun around.
A man stood there. Late forties. Elegant suit. Greying hair. Calm, calculated eyes.
She didn't know him.
But she recognized something in him immediately—danger. The kind that didn't show its teeth unless it had to.
"Who are you?" she asked sharply.
"A friend," he said. "Of your father. And maybe… of yours, if you let me."
She backed away slowly, reaching into her coat for the phone Hayden insisted she carry at all times.
"Don't," the man said. "If you call him, you'll never hear from your father again."
Ana froze.
He slid a small envelope into her hand, his fingers brushing hers with deliberate softness. "You want the truth? This is the beginning."
Before she could say another word, he was gone—disappeared into the hallway like smoke into shadows.
Ana looked down at the envelope.
It was unmarked.
---
Upstairs in her room, she locked the door and tore the envelope open with shaking hands.
Inside: a single USB drive.
She plugged it into her laptop.
A video file.
She pressed play.
The screen flickered. A dark room. Concrete walls. A chair. Her father—bound, bruised, blinking against a single hanging lightbulb.
He was speaking, but there was no audio. Only subtitles.
> "If you're watching this, it means I got through. It means I bought enough time to speak freely."
"I didn't kill her, Ana. Hayden's mother. I didn't order it. I was at the meeting that night, yes. But it wasn't my call."
"It was his father. Enzo Moretti. Hayden's own father."
Ana's breath caught.
No.
> "Enzo wanted war. He needed a reason. So he staged it. Blamed it on me. And let Hayden believe I was the monster. Because Hayden with a vendetta is far more useful than Hayden with grief."
> "And now… now he's using you, too."
> "My sweet girl, if you still love him… I understand. But don't lose yourself in his fire. You won't survive it."
The screen went black.
Ana sat frozen.
The silence in the room was deafening.
She wanted to scream. Cry. Tear the room apart.
But all she could do was whisper the same word over and over:
"No. No. No…"
---
Hayden found her an hour later.
She didn't hear him come in. Didn't react until he sat on the edge of the bed beside her.
His eyes found the laptop first.
Then the USB.
And then her face.
"What did you watch?" he asked, voice low. Controlled. Dangerous.
She didn't look at him. "Something that broke me."
He sighed, rubbing his hand down his face. "Ana…"
"Is it true?" Her voice was barely audible. "Was it your father who ordered her death? Not mine?"
Silence.
A silence that screamed.
Hayden didn't move.
Didn't lie.
Didn't confess.
And that was worse.
"You let me believe it was my father," she said, finally meeting his eyes. "You let me hate him. Let me turn into you. All while you knew the truth."
"I didn't know," he said, voice strained. "Not until later."
"But you still used me," she snapped. "You still manipulated me. You promised honesty."
Hayden stood suddenly, pacing. "I was going to tell you. I didn't know how. I thought I could protect you from the fallout."
"Don't you dare talk to me about protection," she hissed. "You locked me in this world, branded me as yours, made me watch you destroy people… all for a lie."
"It wasn't a lie when I started," he said, turning toward her. "I believed it. Every fucking second of it. I hated your father. I wanted him to suffer."
"But now?" she asked.
His jaw clenched.
"I still want revenge," he said. "But not for my mother anymore."
"Then for what?"
"For what they turned me into."
Ana stood now, facing him, trembling. "So what happens now? What are we, Hayden? A delusion? A casualty?"
He stepped forward.
"You're mine."
She slapped him.
Hard.
His head snapped to the side—but he didn't react. Didn't strike back. Didn't leave.
He just looked at her, eyes burning.
"I deserve that," he said quietly.
"No, Hayden," she whispered. "You deserve to lose something."
---
That night, Ana left the penthouse.
Not forever.
But enough to remind him that she could.
That her love wasn't a cage.
It was a choice.
And he had broken it.