“Necessary,” she finishes quietly. “For both of us.”
She’s right. Something shifted between us in those moments—some invisible line crossed, some threshold passed that we can’t uncross. This isn’t a fake marriage anymore. Isn’t a strategic alliance held together by threats and necessity.
This is real. Dangerous. Consuming.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” I say, but I’m already pulling her closer, already pressing kisses into her hair, already planning how soon I can have her again.
“Probably not.” She shifts in my lap, and I can feel her smiling against my throat. “Are you going to tell me what happened tonight?”
“No.”
“Are you going to lie to me about how dangerous this is getting?”
“Yes.”
She huffs a laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “At least you’re honest about your dishonesty.”
“It’s one of my more admirable qualities.”
“You don’t have admirable qualities, Nikola.” She pulls back to look at me, and her expression is complicated—affection mixed with exasperation mixed with something deeper that I don’t want to name. “You have dangerous qualities that I’m apparently attracted to despite every bit of common sense I possess.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Probably.” She cups my face in her hands, thumbs tracing my cheekbones. “But I’m choosing it anyway.”
The echo of her words from two nights ago—I’m choosing this anyway—settles something in my chest that’s been restless since the moment I met her. She’s not being forced anymore. Isn’t staying just because I’ve eliminated her other options. She’s choosing this, choosing me, with full knowledge of what I am.
The trust in that choice is more intimate than any physical act could be.
I stand, careful of my arm, lifting her with me. She wraps her legs around my waist automatically, and I carry her toward the bedroom.
“Where are we going?”
“To bed.”
“Are you actually going to sleep this time?” There’s skepticism in her voice. “Or are you going to wait until I pass out and then go back to work?”
“I’m going to hold you until morning.” I kick the bedroom door closed behind us. “Everything else can wait.”
“The world isn’t going to stop just because you decide to take a night off.”
“Let it burn.” I lower her onto the bed, following her down, wrapping myself around her despite the protest from my injured arm. “Right now, nothing matters except this.”
She goes still in my arms, and I can feel her holding her breath. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
The terrifying thing is, it’s true. If Marcus Hale burned down every operation I have, if my entire empire collapsed tonight—I’d burn it all myself before I’d trade this moment for strategic advantage.
“You’re more important than any of it, Elara. More important than business, than control, than the careful structure I’ve built around everything. If I have to choose, I choose you.”
“That’s insane,” she whispers.
“Yes.” I press a kiss to her temple. “Most things about me are.”
She laughs—actually laughs—and the sound is unexpected enough that I pull back to look at her. There’s genuine amusement in her eyes, but also something softer. Something that looks dangerously like affection.
“You’re using my own words against me.”
