The city lights blurred past the window, neon bleeding into rain-streaked glass. Adair pressed her forehead against the cool pane, trying to quiet the chaos inside her chest.
Dominic hadn't said a word since the alley. He gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing anchoring him, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the road.
She wanted to break the silence, to ask him what he meant back there—I should hate you… but hate is the one thing I can't feel. Instead, the words stayed trapped in her throat.
Finally, she whispered, "Why do they keep coming after me?"
The question cracked the silence. Dominic's knuckles whitened on the wheel. For a long moment, he didn't answer. When he did, his voice was low, rough.
"Because your father's sins don't stay buried. And because now they know…" He exhaled sharply, as if forcing the truth out. "They know you matter to me."
Her heart stumbled. She turned, searching his face, but he refused to look at her.
"They'll use you," he continued, his tone harder now. "They'll bleed this city dry just to put you in their hands. Ricci, Duval… the whole damn council is watching."
Adair's breath caught. She had heard the names whispered before, always in hushed voices, always with fear. To know they were moving against her—it was like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring into darkness.
"And you?" she asked, her voice trembling despite herself. "What will you do?"
Dominic's jaw tightened. His eyes flicked to her then, just for a heartbeat, and it was enough to set fire to her chest.
"I'll burn every one of them," he said, steady and cold. "But I can't promise you'll come out unscathed."
The confession silenced her. Not because of the threat in his words, but because of the weight behind them—the fear, the protectiveness, the helpless honesty of a man at war with his own heart.
For a moment, the car seemed too small, the air too thick. Adair's fingers itched to reach for him, to bridge the impossible distance he kept building between them.
But before she could speak, Dominic turned into the gates of his estate. The guards stepped aside, the iron doors closing behind them like jaws snapping shut.
Adair stared up at the looming mansion, its windows glowing like watchful eyes. She had been saved from the alley, but something in her chest whispered that this house—Dominic Wolfe's house—might be just as dangerous.
Because the enemies outside were ruthless.
But the man inside was fire.