CH 72 - Break the Chains

The city outside Hayden's penthouse was a blur of amber lights and muted rain, a perfect mirror of the war quieting inside Ana's chest. The storm had been raging for weeks—questions, pain, betrayal. But now, silence wrapped around her like the cashmere blanket she clutched to her chest, her bare feet cold against the marble floor.

Behind her, the sound of footsteps was slow. Measured. Hayden.

She didn't turn.

"I thought you'd left," he said, voice gravel-deep and quiet.

"I tried," she murmured. "But my heart's a traitor."

The ache in her voice cracked something in him. He came closer but didn't touch her. Not yet. His presence was enough—solid, grounding, dangerous in all the ways that made her heart race and tremble.

"I deserve your hate," Hayden whispered, "But I can't live without you hating me either. I need—"

She cut him off with a sharp inhale, turning slowly to face him. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, collar damp from the rain, eyes wild with emotion he rarely let show.

"You broke me," she said. "You lied, you used me… and I still crave your touch like it's the only thing that keeps me breathing."

He stepped closer, slowly, deliberately.

"You think I don't hate myself for that?" His voice cracked. "You think I don't wake up every night choking on the memory of what I've done to you?"

Silence. And then—

"Then show me," she whispered. "Show me you love me, not with words. Not with lies. Show me you feel every inch of my pain. Every part of my love."

It was an invitation wrapped in fire and thorns.

Hayden's eyes darkened, his body taut like a predator about to strike—but it wasn't violence that flashed in his gaze now. It was reverence. And guilt. And need so sharp it could tear them both open.

He reached out and cupped her face, thumb brushing a tear she didn't know had fallen. "You are the only thing that's ever made me want to be more than a monster."

She leaned into his hand, closed her eyes, and nodded once.

And the dam broke.

He crushed his lips against hers, a kiss that tasted like apologies and longing, like pain being rewritten into passion. His hands tangled in her hair as she pulled him closer, gripping his shirt, tearing it open. Buttons scattered across the floor like forgotten promises.

"Don't be gentle," she said against his mouth. "Not tonight."

He lifted her off her feet and carried her to the bedroom, their lips never parting. Rain lashed against the glass, thunder in the distance, but inside that room was only heat.

He laid her down slowly, reverently, like she was something fragile he was terrified of breaking again. But when she pulled him down with her, scratched her nails across his back and wrapped her legs around him, something inside both of them snapped.

"You still taste like war," she gasped.

"And you still taste like peace," he growled, kissing down her throat, her collarbone, to the valley between her breasts.

She arched into him, hungry, alive, stripped bare in every way. There was no hate now—just fire. They moved together like they were learning each other all over again, this time with nothing to hide. His hands roamed with both desperation and worship, hers clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring her to this earth.

"Tell me you're mine," he demanded, voice trembling as he slid into her.

She gasped, tears burning her eyes. "I've always been yours, even when I hated you."

That made him falter. Just for a second. His rhythm stuttered as he buried his face in her neck, whispering her name like a prayer, a curse, a plea.

"Ana," he moaned. "God, Ana—"

Their bodies moved in sync, sweat-slicked and breathless. Every thrust, every kiss, was a thread weaving their shattered souls back together. He kissed her temple. Her cheeks. Her mouth. Her scars.

She cried out as the world splintered around her. And he followed—arms wrapped around her like chains and wings all at once.

They collapsed into each other, shaking, gasping, utterly undone.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn't heavy now. It was soft. Healing.

"I meant it," Hayden finally said, fingers stroking her hair. "I'd burn the world before I let anyone hurt you again."

Ana traced the tattoo on his chest, the one that said *Vendetta*. "Then stop hurting yourself too. Stop carrying this guilt like it's a medal."

He was quiet.

"You think loving me is your punishment," she whispered. "But it's not. It's your redemption."

Hayden turned his head to look at her, really look at her. "You're the only good thing I've ever had."

She smiled, soft and broken. "Then don't lose me again."

He leaned in and kissed her slowly this time—no desperation, no rage. Just love. Pure and fierce.

"I won't," he said.

And for the first time in years, Ana believed him.