The white rose lay where he'd left it—fresh, untouched, and perfect in its cruel simplicity.
Ana sat at the edge of the bed, the robe cinched tight around her waist. The cool marble beneath her feet offered little grounding. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as she stared at the flower like it was a riddle she couldn't solve.
She touched the petals gently. Soft. Delicate. Much like the way Hayden had held her the night before.
But that was the problem, wasn't it?
The man who had broken her was the same one who cradled her in the dark, whispered confessions into her skin, made love to her with a kind of desperation that should have scared her—but didn't.
Not anymore.
Ana picked up the rose, twirling it between her fingers. The stem had thorns. Of course it did.
She was about to set it back down when something caught her eye. A slip of black tucked beneath the pillow. Her fingers trembled as she pulled it free.
It was another photograph.
Her father. Tied. Gagged. Eyes burning with a kind of fear she'd never seen before. Not even as a child.
This time, the image wasn't from surveillance. It was posed. Lit. Taken close-up.
Intentional.
Ana's breath caught in her throat. The silence around her thickened until it became unbearable.
That wasn't just a message.
It was a reminder.
She dropped the photo and stormed from the room, rage rising in her like a wave she could no longer control.
---
She found Hayden in the lower training wing, shirtless and already mid-spar with his trainer. The room echoed with grunts and the sharp clash of fists against gloves. He was fast—unforgivingly fast. Focused.
Until he saw her.
He paused, sweat dripping from his jaw, eyes narrowing slightly as he waved off the trainer. "Out."
The man obeyed without question, leaving them alone in the dim-lit space.
Ana walked toward him slowly, holding the photo out like a weapon.
"You left this for me?" she asked, voice low.
"I did."
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
Hayden didn't flinch. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "You told me to take revenge. I'm doing it."
"I didn't ask you to taunt me with it."
He glanced down at the photo. "You said you wanted the truth. I'm not hiding it anymore."
She laughed—humorless and cracked. "So what now? Every time you torture someone, you're going to leave me a souvenir on my pillow like a psychopath with a crush?"
His jaw clenched. "Don't say that."
"Why not? It's true, isn't it?" She shoved the photo against his chest. "This isn't love. This is obsession."
"I told you before," he said coldly, "love and obsession aren't that different. At least, not for men like me."
Her hands dropped to her sides, tears brimming in her eyes. "And what about men like me? What am I supposed to do with this? With you?"
He moved faster than she expected, gripping her wrist and pulling her close until their chests nearly touched.
"You're supposed to stay," he growled. "You're supposed to understand. You're the only thing keeping me from becoming worse than I already am."
"Then maybe you're not ready for love, Hayden. Maybe you only know how to possess."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy and sharp.
He stared at her, lips parted like he was going to say something—but didn't.
Instead, he released her slowly.
"You're right," he murmured.
Ana blinked, stunned.
"I don't know how to love you the way you deserve," Hayden continued. "But I know I can't lose you. I'd rather keep you in a cage than let someone else touch you."
She shuddered. "You're not even trying to hide it anymore."
"No. I'm done pretending to be a man you can fix."
He turned away then, walking toward the far wall where a line of daggers was mounted like art. His shoulders were tight, controlled, but his hands shook slightly as he picked up a blade.
Ana watched in silence as he gripped the handle tightly, then drove the blade into the wooden sparring post with a sharp crack.
The impact echoed in her chest.
Something had shifted.
And it terrified her.
---
That night, Ana stood by the windows, looking down at the city that continued on as if nothing was breaking apart inside her.
Hayden hadn't joined her. He hadn't come to bed.
She didn't know whether to be relieved or scared.
Part of her wanted to run—pack whatever she could carry and disappear. But the thought of leaving made her stomach twist in knots.
Because despite everything…
She loved him.
The twisted, broken, ice-blooded man who had ruined her life and then rebuilt it into something she couldn't recognize—but craved anyway.
And maybe that said more about her than it did about him.