Chapter 13: The Morning After Fire

The rain had stopped, but the city still glistened—wet streets bathed in pale blue light as dawn crept in through the penthouse windows.

Zara lay still, tangled in black sheets that smelled like Lucien. Like sweat, sex, and sin.

Her body ached in places she didn't know could ache. Her throat was raw from screaming. Her skin bore marks—his fingerprints on her hips, teeth on her collarbone. She'd given in, completely. Not just to the lust. To him.

And that terrified her more than any enemy on her list.

Lucien sat at the edge of the bed, shirtless, sipping black coffee like a king surveying his ruined kingdom. His back was to her—taut muscles lined with scars she hadn't noticed last night. Scars that told their own stories.

He hadn't spoken much after they collapsed, only pulled her closer when she tried to slip away. Now, in the light, the silence felt heavier.

Zara slowly sat up, the sheet slipping down her bare chest. She didn't bother covering herself. He'd seen all of her—touched all of her. Hiding now would be pointless.

"Do you always fuck like that?" she asked, voice hoarse but laced with defiance.

Lucien didn't turn around. "Only when I can't help myself."

Her breath hitched, and she hated how much the words made her want him all over again.

"You said I belonged to you," she said.

He finally looked over his shoulder. "You didn't disagree."

She met his eyes, calm but unreadable. "Don't mistake submission for surrender."

Lucien stood, slow and deliberate. "Don't mistake dominance for control."

They stared at each other across the space—two alphas with the taste of each other still on their tongues.

Finally, he walked to her side of the bed and sat again. This time, closer.

"I don't want to control you, Zara," he said, voice softer now. "I want to burn with you."

She stared at him, something fragile shifting behind her eyes. "Why me?"

Lucien reached for her hand, brushing his thumb along her knuckles. "Because when you walked into my tower, I saw a ghost with fire in her eyes. And I knew—if I got too close, she'd burn me alive. But I couldn't look away."

Zara didn't pull her hand back.

She exhaled. "You're not the only one with burn marks."

The moment hung between them—thick with the kind of truth that usually only came after pain or climax.

Then his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

He checked it. His jaw tensed.

Zara watched him. "What is it?"

Lucien stood, grabbing his shirt. "Our watcher from the terrace? He sent a photo to Blackwell."

Zara's blood ran cold. "A photo of…?"

"Us. Talking. Close enough to raise flags."

"Does he know it's me?"

Lucien's eyes met hers. "Not yet. But he's asking questions. Celeste got a call this morning."

Zara's mind spun.

If Ethan connected the dots—if he realized she was Zara Raine, not Winters—it wouldn't just jeopardize her job. It would blow up her entire strategy.

"I need to disappear again," she said. "I need to vanish from the inside."

Lucien crossed the room to her. "No. We double down."

She blinked. "What?"

"Let them get suspicious. Let them watch. If they're watching you, they won't see me coming."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're using me as bait."

"I'm keeping you close," he said. "Where I can protect you."

She stood now too, fully exposed, unashamed. "Or where you can keep control?"

Lucien's expression hardened. "Is that what you think?"

"I don't know," she said. "Last night blurred a lot of lines."

He stepped in, pressed a kiss to her forehead—gentle, possessive.

"Then let me help you redraw them."

The front door buzzed.

Lucien grabbed his gun from the table. "Stay here."

Zara didn't listen. She followed him, silent on bare feet.

He opened the door to a courier in a black helmet, no markings on the uniform. Just a small envelope in his hand.

"Delivery for Ms. Winters," the courier said. "Direct handoff only."

Lucien took the envelope before Zara could. The courier disappeared without another word.

Zara took the envelope from Lucien's hand and tore it open.

Inside: a single photo.

Caleb Myles.

Dead.

Slumped on a hotel bed, eyes open, blood soaking the sheets.

There was a sticky note stuck to the back.

"Clean up your mess, Zara. Or we will." — E.B."

Zara stared at the message.

And then she broke.

Not into tears.

Into fury.

Lucien watched her, jaw tight. "This changes everything."

She nodded, voice cold. "Yes. It does."

Cliffhanger: Caleb is dead. The game just turned deadly. Zara and Lucien are no longer just playing for vengeance—they're fighting to survive.