part 7 : one kiss ..no ..twice

It happened the night Paris rained again.

The streets shimmered like liquid gold under the streetlamps, the sound of rainfall whispering secrets against glass. Fiona stood barefoot on the balcony of her hotel suite, silk robe clinging to her skin, her fingers curled loosely around a cup of cooling tea. Her thoughts were anything but calm.

She should've felt safe up here, high above the chaos. But peace had long abandoned her. Torn between two men whose presence clung to her like smoke, she was unraveling.

A knock broke her haze.

Soft. Familiar. Dangerous.

She opened the door—and there he was.

Damien.

Drenched, hair plastered to his forehead, breathing hard like he'd run through the city just to get to her. His eyes—wild. Desperate.

"I couldn't sleep," he said, voice low, eyes not leaving hers. "Not when I didn't know if you still thought of me."

Her grip on the door tightened. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to." He stepped in, shutting the door behind him.

Before she could speak, his hands were on her cheeks—rough from the rain, but trembling. And then he kissed her.

Not gentle. Not careful.

Hungry.

Reckless.

His lips moved against hers like she was his salvation and his downfall all at once. She felt the storm in him, the chaos. The heat. She hated how much she leaned into it.

But just as her lips parted to breathe—

"I must be dreaming," came a voice, sharp and cold like lightning. "Or am I interrupting?"

Fiona froze. Damien pulled back, chest heaving.

Dominic stepped out from the shadows of the hallway, already inside. Already watching.

"You followed me?" Damien hissed.

Dominic's smile was bitter. "I was here first. She just didn't notice."

Fiona's heart thudded. The room was heavy with electricity. With heat. With war.

Dominic walked toward her like he owned the floor beneath him. Eyes fixed on hers, unreadable. Dangerous.

He stopped just inches from her, gaze flicking to her lips, then back to her eyes. "He touched you first," he murmured, voice low, cruel. "But that doesn't make you his."

His hand slid around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. "You're mine too," he whispered. "You always were."

Then he kissed her.

Not like Damien. No chaos.

Dominic was slow. Deep. Possessive.

He kissed her like he was branding her—like each second was a punishment and a reward.

She gasped into him, caught between desire and guilt and something darker. Her knees nearly buckled.

Two kisses.

Two men.

Both willing to burn the world just to claim her.

When Dominic finally pulled back, his thumb brushed her lower lip. "Don't pretend you didn't feel that."

Damien's voice cut the air. "She felt everything."

And Fiona—trapped between two storms—realized that this wasn't love.

It was war.

And she was the prize they'd bleed fo