Zara lay tangled in the sheets, her body warm from his, her skin still tingling from the way he touched her like she was the only real thing in his world. And maybe she was.
Aiden lay beside her, head propped on one arm, watching her with eyes that no longer looked like weapons—but windows. Unshielded. Honest.
> "What are you thinking?" she asked, voice hushed in the quiet morning light.
He didn't answer at first. His thumb brushed along her collarbone, slow, reverent.
> "I'm thinking… if you ever leave, you'll take pieces of me I won't get back."
Zara blinked, heart catching in her throat. "I don't want your pieces, Aiden," she whispered. "I want the whole damn man."
His smile was crooked. "He's messy."
> "So am I."
> "He's broken."
> "Then let's be broken together."
She reached for his hand and placed it over her heart.
> "Feel that?"
He nodded.
> "It's not afraid of you anymore."
---
Later that day, the mansion felt different.
No longer a cage.
More like a home with ghosts learning to let go.
Zara walked barefoot down the hallway, wearing one of Aiden's crisp white shirts—too big, too clean for her chaos, but comforting in a way that made her smile.
She found him in the library, not working. Just… reading. The fire crackled softly beside him, and there was a half-drunk cup of coffee on the side table.
> "Stealing my shirts now?" he said without looking up.
> "You stole my sanity first."
> "Touché."
She walked to him, curled into his lap without asking. His arms folded around her instantly, like they were muscle memory.
> "Do you want to go somewhere?" she asked.
> "Where?"
> "Anywhere. Somewhere you're not… him. Knight. The billionaire. The man with rules."
He was quiet for a moment.
> "Would you still want me if I was none of that?"
She looked up at him.
> "I only started wanting you when you weren't."
The silence in the library wasn't heavy. It breathed. It wrapped around them like a shared secret, echoing in the space between heartbeats.
Aiden's fingers traced lazy circles on Zara's thigh. Not sexual. Just… present.
> "You know," he said quietly, "the last time I let someone in, they didn't stay."
Zara leaned her head against his chest, listening to the slow rhythm of his heart.
> "Then it's a good thing I'm not someone."
That made him smile — small, but real.
> "You're dangerous," he murmured.
> "You made me that way."
> "You're going to ruin me."
> "You're already ruined," she whispered, lifting her head to look him in the eye. "I'm just the one who's going to make it feel beautiful."
He stared at her, as if trying to memorize the way she said that. The way her words wrapped around him like a balm — not to heal the scars, but to make them something worth showing.
---
That evening, they didn't make love like it was a battle.
There were no ropes. No toys. No rules.
Just Aiden's mouth against her skin like a prayer. Just Zara's hands tangled in his hair like she was anchoring herself to something sacred.
> "You're trembling," she whispered as he kissed his way down her stomach.
> "I don't know how to do this slow," he admitted.
> "Then let me teach you."
And she did.
With every gentle moan, every arch of her back, every whispered word that had nothing to do with power and everything to do with surrender.
Not to him.
To them.
---
Afterwards, their bodies tangled, Zara's breath still shallow as she traced the outline of his tattoo — the one just beneath his ribs, the one he always kept hidden.
> "What does it mean?" she asked softly.
> "It's Latin," he replied. "'He who builds walls dies alone.'"
She went quiet.
Then… "Do you still believe that?"
Aiden looked at her — really looked. And for the first time, it didn't feel like armor when he touched her cheek.
> "No," he said. "Not with you here."
Zara smiled, a real one, the kind she didn't have to fake.
And Aiden—he finally let the silence say everything he was too afraid to.
That he was falling.
Fast.
And for once in his life…
He wasn't scared to land.
---
Zara rested her head against his chest again, fingers still tracing the ink over his heart.
The air between them was different now. Not lighter.
Deeper.
Like something unspoken had finally made a home in the space between their bodies.
Aiden's hand moved to her lower back, holding her like she might vanish if he let go.
> "You're not scared?" he asked, barely louder than a breath.
Zara didn't answer right away.
Then—softly—
> "Terrified."
He smiled against her hair.
> "Good. That makes two of us."
Outside, the wind whispered against the windows. Inside, the silence was full again.
But just as Zara started to drift into sleep, Aiden's voice broke through the stillness.
Low. Raw.
> "Zara…"
> "Mm?"
He hesitated.
> "There's something I need to tell you."
Her eyes opened.
But he didn't say it.
Not yet.
He just held her tighter.
And somewhere in the dark, truth waited…
Ready to break everything they thought they understood.
---