The storm that had been threatening the skyline finally broke as dawn crept over the city. Glass panes shuddered with each gust of wind, the penthouse cloaked in cold grey light and fractured silence. Aria sat on the edge of the sectional sofa, legs tucked beneath her, eyes fixed on the lightning-scarred horizon. Her sleeplessness wasn't from caffeine or fear—it was betrayal, thick and bitter like acid in her throat.
She hadn't cried. That would have been too easy. Instead, she unraveled the truth silently, layer by cruel layer. Every moment she'd shared with Killian replayed in her mind—each glance that lingered too long, every gesture that seemed too perfect, every time he'd pulled her into his orbit only to leave her guessing.
Behind her, the elevator hummed low before sliding open. She didn't turn. She didn't need to.
Killian.
She felt him before he even stepped out. The sound of polished shoes on Italian marble. The quiet pause as he assessed the room. Her.
"Couldn't sleep either?" His voice was low, rough. Unshaven and rumpled, he looked nothing like the sharply dressed man she had come to both loathe and…long for.
"Didn't try," she said, her voice cold. "I've had enough dreams."
He stepped further in. No wine glass, no mask. Just the man—the predator—with something uncannily close to remorse in his eyes.
"I watched the footage," he said softly. "You haven't moved from that spot since midnight."
Her laugh was brittle. "Congratulations. More surveillance. I suppose you watched my expressions too—trying to decode how deep your lie cut."
"Aria—"
"No," she stood, fierce and electric. "You don't get to say my name like that. Like you still have the right."
He flinched. "You think I wanted you to find out this way?"
She moved around the coffee table slowly, controlled, like a lioness cornering wounded prey. "You told me I was different. That I mattered. But I was just a pawn, wasn't I? A perfect daughter for a perfect plan. You wanted revenge and I was the key."
He didn't deny it. That, more than anything, cracked her resolve.
"You used me."
His jaw clenched. "Yes. I did."
The room went quiet. Her breath caught at the honesty of it—so uncharacteristic, so disarming.
"But it stopped being a game the moment I started caring," he continued, voice low. "And I didn't know what to do with that."
"Caring?" she spat. "Is that what you call it when you drag someone into your war? You cared while watching me fall for you—knowing the entire time that I was a means to an end?"
"You think it was easy?" His voice rose slightly, a rawness creeping in. "You think I didn't wrestle with this every single day? That I didn't try to walk away, end it before it could get worse?"
"Then why didn't you?"
"Because it was already too late."
She stared at him. His hair was a mess. His suit jacket hung off his shoulders like armor that no longer fit. In his eyes, that cold glint of the strategist remained—but beneath it, there was something else. Something broken.
"You wanted to destroy my father," she said, voice shaking. "And you would've gladly destroyed me too."
"No," he snapped, stepping closer. "Never you."
She slapped him.
The sound rang out sharp and merciless. His cheek turned with the force of it, but he didn't react. Didn't touch the spot. Just stared at the floor between them like it held every bitter truth.
"I deserved that," he said quietly.
"You deserved worse."
She turned, walking toward the window. The city sprawled below, lights blurred by rain and memory. When she spoke again, her voice was hollow.
"What did he do, Killian? My father. What did he do that made you this?"
Silence stretched long. Then, finally:
"He orchestrated my mother's financial ruin."
She turned, stunned.
"She was a whistleblower," Killian said, voice stripped bare. "A senior accountant in one of your father's offshore holding companies. She tried to expose the laundering. Next thing we knew, she was framed for embezzlement. Lost everything. Reputation. Pension. Her mind."
Aria couldn't speak.
"She died before I could clear her name," he continued. "And I made a vow. That the man who engineered her downfall would pay."
"And I'm collateral damage."
"You were never that," he whispered. "You were the line I swore not to cross. But then I met you…and you didn't match the blueprint. You laughed in boardrooms. You danced in kitchens. You cared about people in ways I forgot were possible."
She swallowed. Hard.
He stepped closer again, but this time he moved slowly. Like he knew she could shatter.
"Do you honestly think I wanted this?" he asked. "To fall in love with the daughter of the man I've hunted for ten years?"
Her eyes welled. She blinked them dry.
"You don't get to say that."
"I mean it."
"Then say it plainly."
He hesitated. A breath. And then:
"I love you."
The words dropped like glass.
She looked at him, truly looked, and saw the conflict tearing him apart. But it wasn't enough.
"I don't care," she said coldly. "You want vengeance? Fine. But don't use me to do it. You're not allowed to break me to fix yourself."
She walked to the door.
Killian reached for her wrist. "Aria—"
She yanked it back. "Don't. Touch. Me."
The storm outside howled, thunder rattling the glass. She stood by the door, hand on the handle, heart in her throat. Then she froze.
The elevator was locked. Of course it was.
She turned, teeth gritted. "Let me go."
"I will," he said. "Just… not yet. Please. It's dangerous out there. The storm's real."
"So is mine."
The silence stretched. Then, she turned away from the door and paced toward the hallway. She didn't look back.
"I'm staying because the weather's bad," she said. "Not because of you."
She disappeared down the hall, slamming the guest room door.
Killian stood in the silence that followed, the faint sound of rain hitting glass. He didn't move. Didn't breathe.
In her room, Aria curled into the bed, eyes burning but dry. Sleep wouldn't come. How could it? Her heart wasn't just broken—it was rewritten.
And in the other room, Killian sat awake, staring at the door between them. The distance felt like an ocean. But still, he didn't sleep.
Not yet.