“Annulment and transfer of properties papers.”
Mara shakes her head. “Why?”
“You wanted to choose. It’s all in your hands now.”
There’s a beat of silence. She’s watching me with an intensity, and I realize how badly I want to kiss her.
I lean in. The air between us tightens, held in the space of her hesitation. Her breath is already there, caught against my lips.
When our mouths meet, it’s not soft. It’s not hesitant. It’s raw, desperate. A kiss that tastes like a last chance. Like the edge of something that might shatter if we press too hard.
And I do. I press.
Her lips part. She lets me in. But it’s not surrender. Not yet. Her hand finds my chest—not to pull me closer, but to stop me. Her fingers tremble against my chest.
“Wait,” she whispers, breath breaking against my mouth. “I need?—”
I pull back an inch, jaw clenched. Her pupils are blown wide, lips kissed red, a smear of emotion across her cheeks.
I could fall into that face. I’ve been falling since the day I saw her. Really saw her.
She closes her eyes for a beat, steadying herself.
Then, voice shaking, “I need time, Nicolo. To think. To feel all of this…properly.”
The words twist like a blade.
I nod once, but the movement costs me. Every instinct screams to pull her back into my arms, into my control, where I know she’s safe—even from herself.
“You have time,” I say, though it tastes like poison. “Take all of it, if you need.”
She looks away. But not before I see it. Want. Ache. Fear.
She feels it too. The pull. The hunger. But something inside her is still resisting. Maybe out of self-preservation, maybe pride. Maybe it’s the echo of everything I’ve done that hasn’t earned me the right to hold her now.
I take a step back. Space. It feels like distance and death.
Mara exhales slowly. “You said I could choose. And you meant it. But Nicolo…you’re not the only one with ghosts.”
My jaw tightens. “I know.”
“And you’re not the only one who’s scared of being owned.”
My heart thuds in my chest. “I wouldn’t own you, Mara.”
She looks up, that sharp spark in her eyes. “But you want to.”
I don’t lie. “Yes. God, yes.”
She walks past me, trailing her fingers along the back of the chair as she moves. Her heels echo like a clock ticking down. She stops at the doorway, spine straight, hand gripping the frame like it’s the only thing holding her up.
“You say you’ll let me go,” she murmurs. “But I don’t think you can.”
I swallow hard. “You’re right.”
Her shoulders rise with a breath. “I’m scared, Nicolo. Of you. Of what I feel for you. I can’t tell if you’ve ruined me or if I’ve been waiting to be ruined.”
My stomach turns inside-out.
