The city lights blurred against the glass as the storm outside finally gave way to silence. But inside the penthouse, another kind of storm was unraveling—one that neither Dominic nor Adair could escape.
Her breath caught as his hand finally touched her cheek, warm and steady, though his fingers trembled ever so slightly. It was the first unguarded crack in Dominic Wolfe's iron composure, and it stole something from her—something she couldn't name, but couldn't let go of either.
"Why do you fight it?" she whispered, her voice breaking in the space between them.
"Because everything I touch," he said, eyes dark and raw, "I destroy."
Her pulse quickened. She wanted to step back, to guard herself, but her body betrayed her—leaning in, as if his gravity had pulled her in long before she realized she was falling.
"Maybe," Adair breathed, "I'm not afraid of being burned."
And then there was no more distance. His lips crashed against hers, fierce and desperate, tasting of bourbon and regret. The kiss wasn't gentle—it was possession, confession, and surrender all at once. A wildfire, unstoppable now that the spark had caught.
For a moment, time dissolved. The city, the wars they fought, the walls between them—none of it mattered. There was only the way he held her, as though letting go would mean shattering completely.
But the moment broke as sharply as it began. His phone vibrated on the table, a harsh reminder of the world waiting outside their fragile bubble. Dominic pulled back, chest heaving, eyes conflicted.
Adair's heart raced, fear flickering in her gaze—not of him, but of what came next. "You're going to answer it," she said softly, already knowing.
He stared at the glowing screen. A name he could never ignore. A name that meant danger.
His jaw tightened. "This… isn't over," he told her, voice rough, before he turned away to take the call.
Adair stood frozen, her lips still tingling, her body aching from the weight of everything left unsaid. She knew then, with chilling certainty, that loving Dominic Wolfe would never be simple. It would be fire—consuming, beautiful, and deadly.
And yet, she didn't want to walk away.
Not anymore.