He told himself he wouldn't reach out again.
Not so soon.
Not when his hands still remembered the shape of her waist. The taste of her mouth.
But wanting her felt like hunger now.
Constant. Gnawing.
And patience had never been his gift.
⸻
"She got the note?" he asked Nico.
"She read it. Crushed it. Didn't throw it away."
Leon smirked. "Good girl."
"You sure about this?" Nico asked. "Pulling her in like this? She's not built for our world."
"She's already in it," Leon muttered. "She just doesn't know how deep."
⸻
That night, he sent the car again.
No message.
No warning.
Just the open door and the quiet offer.
And when Ayla stepped inside?
Leon knew.
She'd made her choice.
⸻
He was waiting for her at his private penthouse this time—high above the city, drenched in cold marble and shadowed elegance.
She stepped in like she belonged there.
And maybe she did.
Because nothing in Leon's world had ever looked as fearless as her in that moment.
⸻
"Why am I here?" she asked softly.
Leon walked toward her.
"Because you're the only thing that makes this place feel less empty."