Morning came too soon.
I woke up in Kyler's arms, the fireplace still glowing faintly. His chest rose and fell beneath my cheek, and for a second, it felt like none of the chaos outside existed.
No debts. No blood. No Zane.
Just… us.
But peace is a short-lived dream in a world like his.
Kyler's phone rang.
He didn't move at first. Then his arm tightened protectively around me before he sat up and answered.
"This better be important."
His voice dropped as he listened.
Then he stood. Cold. Focused.
"What is it?" I asked, heart already pounding.
He looked at me. His face was carved from stone again.
"Your boyfriend. Zane. He tried to shoot one of my men last night."
I stood, shaking. "Is he okay?"
"He'll live. But Zane's not playing games anymore."
I grabbed Kyler's hand. "Then let's go to the police—"
"I don't go to the police, Ash," he snapped. Then, softer, "You know that."
"But I'm not like you," I whispered. "I still believe in justice."
He looked away.
"That's the problem."
Later that day, I sat alone in the guest room, staring at the rain again.
And then the front door crashed open downstairs.
Gunshots. Screams.
"KYLER!"
I ran.
Everything happened so fast. One of the guards lay bleeding in the hallway. Smoke filled the house. I heard fists slamming, wood breaking, curses shouted in anger.
And then I saw him.
Zane.
Face twisted. Shirt soaked in blood that wasn't his. Gun in hand.
He saw me—and smiled.
"There she is," he hissed. "My little traitor."
I backed away. "Don't do this."
"You made me look like a fool," he snarled. "You kissed him, didn't you? You slept beside him while I waited for you like a dog!"
I stumbled.
He raised the gun.
But before he could pull the trigger—
BANG.
Zane dropped.
Kyler stood behind him, holding his own gun, arm steady.
For a moment, everything was still.
Zane groaned. Alive—but barely.
"Don't kill him," I whispered, heart racing. "Please."
Kyler didn't move.
"He tried to hurt you," he said, voice shaking. "I want to erase him."
"You already saved me," I whispered. "That's enough."
They took Zane away—alive, bound, silent.
The house was filled with smoke and sirens from a distance. For once, Kyler did call someone for help. One of his clean-up teams. No police. Just control.
He stood in the hallway, hand shaking, blood on his knuckles.
I walked up to him.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"No," he said honestly. "But you're safe. That's all I care about."
Then he looked at me—really looked.
"I should have let you go. From the first day. You didn't deserve this."
I reached for him.
"But I chose to stay."
That night, neither of us slept.
He held me like a man who had finally realized what he could lose.
And I let him.
Because love, in the end, is not always soft.
Sometimes it comes with blood on its hands—and still, it protects.