“I got the ash,” she says softly. “I knew the fire was for me. All of it.”
She pulls back just enough to look at me.
“But I wasn’t ready,” she adds. “Not to forgive you. Not to believe it was real. I needed to find myself first—to make choices that were mine. Without anyone else steering the wheel.”
The words hitlike truth always does—clean and brutal.
“They forged my signature,” I tell her. “I found out the day you left. I burned everything. But I should’ve protected you before it ever came to that.”
Her eyes shimmer.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I should’ve told you I loved you when it mattered.”
She kisses me again—and this time it’s desperate. Teeth. Tongue. A pull that feels like gravity snapping me back into place. “I hope you tipped well,” she breathes.
I manage a broken smile. “I bought the place.”
She stiffens. “You did what?”
“Relax,” I say quickly. “Just for the hour.”
She exhales—half laugh, half sob—and I lift her onto the counter because I need to feel her weight again. Need to know she’s real.
She clings to me. Kisses me like she hates herself for still loving me.
And I know—no matter what comes next—I’ll spend the rest of my life earning her trust back.
Not controlling it. Not demanding it. Just holding it.
Holdingher.
Epilogue
Violet
Two years ago, this building was a crime scene. Burned out. Blood-soaked. Nothing left but ash and a foundation too stubborn to collapse.
Now, the air smells like cedar cabinets, ethanol, and the faint citrus of Sasha’s awful tea. Every surface gleams. Every lab coat is clean. Every project logged, backed up, and verified—legally and redundantly.
This lab is mine.
Not because Asher signed a deed. Not because my name is etched into glass. But because I built it. I rebuilt me. From scratch.
We don’t make weapons here. We heal.
“Vi!” Sasha pokes her head into my office, waving a folder with a smug smile. “Peer review fromBioMod. You’re top of the citation list.”
I blink. “Seriously?”
She lowers the folder. “Basically, you’re a badass.”
I try not to smile. Fail immediately. “Tell the interns I’m throwing out their samples if they leave one more petri dish unsealed.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She salutes, then disappears down the hall, grinning like she just won something.
I rest my back in my chair, letting sunlight spill across the polished desk. The degree on the wall still surprises me sometimes. Not because it’s there—but because it’smine. Legitimate. Earned.
It used to feel like I stole everything. Now it feels like I clawed it back.
