The first man whimpered when I stepped over him. The second didn’t move at all.


    Both were still breathing—barely. Slumped at the edge of the alley behind the ck Vault’s freight corridor. Their mistake hadn’t beening for the port schedule.


    It was thinking I wouldn’t answer the alert myself.


    I lit a cigarette with blood running down my knuckles, shielding the me from the wind with my hand. Inhaled deep


    My phone vibrated again.


    Then again.


    Emergencies. Dys. Port fallout. Eastside retaliation threats. Rome had been calling for thirty minutes, Luca’s updates hadn’te through, and two more district syndicates were trying to muscle into tonight’s shipping manifest. A week ago I would’ve cared.


    But now?


    Now I just needed one thing.


    I dragged the phone out of my coat pocket, and tapped the app.


    Not messages or port security feeds.


    Hers.


    The mirror system came online immediately. Luca and I had it linked to our homescreens—because pretending we wouldn’t use it was the real delusion.


    We didn’t track her out of boredom.


    We tracked her because every fucking heir in the empire had her name on their lips now. Every second, a new deal was being drafted. Every hour, another family updated their merger uses to amodate her dowry.


    There were no boundaries anymore. No privacy. Not for her. Not when the world had shifted on the day she turned twenty-one. So no, she didn’t get privacy.


    She got protection.


    She got us.


    Even if that meant Luca and I checked her phone just as much as we checked our own. I hadn’t gone three hours without monitoring her calls, notifications, or alerts.


    And right now—she was at a restaurant.


    One of Viin’s most exclusive private lounges. The kind you didn’t walk into without a dozen handshakes, security credentials, and ast name that meant something. Red list only. Dynasty blood required.


    I stared at the quiet notification g at the bottom of the screen.


    Private reservation. 4 guests. Tag: Dynasty Heirs.


    She was sitting in a room full of men who wanted to own her.


    My jaw twitched. My grip tightened around the phone.


    The empire was heavier than it had ever been. Rome was starting to use, Luca was unraveling, and the penthouse we’d built brick by goddamn brick for her—was still fucking empty.


    I needed to see her.


    I needed to touch her.


    Even if just for a minute. Even if I had to tear the whole city down to do it.


    Another buzz. A port recall. I closed the notification and opened the high-clearance message chain. The one Luca and I used when subtlety wasn’t an option.


    CROW-09: Authorize ess. Disrupt Room B42 North Lounge. Five-minute window.


    No cameras, alerts, surveince trail.


    I sent it.


    The restaurant was fifteen minutes from here. Less if I didn’t stop at red lights. I had forty-three minutes to clean up the alley. To wipe the blood from my coat. To clear my schedule and erase my name from the manifest logs.


    And then I was going to see my wife.


    Because nothing—not the delusion of control, the empire, not the crown we bled to build for her was enough.


    Because the one ce in the world I hadn’t copsed yet… was under her hands.<hr>


    I didn’t check in at the front desk. I passed through the arched corridor—just as I’d instructed. Two servers crossed behind me, subtle nods confirming their part was done.


    Room B42.


    Private lounge, elite-tier and there she was.


    Emilia.


    Sitting at the far end of the table in a low-cut, backless navy dress. She hadn’t seen me yet. But I saw her.


    God help me.


    Every inch of her body sculpted like she’d been poured into that dress by the hands of God.


    It hurt to look at her.


    A pressure in my throat I couldn’t swallow. Because there she was, close enough to touch, but not mine.


    Not yet.


    She was surrounded by three heirs. All dressed in tailored suiting, subtle dynasty crests on their cufflinks. Each trying too hard to charm her. Each sitting too close.


    She tilted her head to one of them, offering a practiced smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Her posture was perfect, elegant, but I saw it.


    The tension in her shoulders. The way her hand fidgeted with the napkin under the table. The half-second she looked toward the exit like she was counting time.


    So I signaled.


    The first man’s phone buzzed.


    He excused himself to take it.


    The second was subtly tapped by a server—urgent message from his father.


    Gone in under a minute.


    Thest was approached directly by management. A “scheduling conflict” about a previously confirmed meeting that had been bumped.


    All three disappeared like they’d never been there.


    She exhaled. As if she’d been underwater too long and could finallye up.


    My poor fucking girl.


    I stood just outside the entrance, watching her for one more second. I wanted to drag her from that table take her home, where she could be mad with us and we’d earn her forgiveness.


    She reached for her wine, unaware that the entire moment had been arranged for her.


    By me.


    So she could have five minutes of silence. And I could have five minutes of her. I stepped inside.


    God, she was beautiful. Not polished dynasty-perfect.


    My kind of beautiful.


    The kind that made me want to hurt every man who’d dared to touch her wrist tonight.


    She didn’t look up until I pulled out the chair beside her, not across from her. Fuck being respectful and dynasty rules right now.


    Slowly she looked up, and when our eyes met, she offered me a smile.


    A cold, polished, dynasty smile. One that had been trained and sharpened over years of survival.


    “Bastion Crow,” she said smoothly. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”


    She said myst name like it wasn’t already hers.


    I sat down beside her. Let my knee brush hers beneath the table.


    Didn’t speak at first I just… looked.


    And she looked back.


    Her gaze raked over me once, slow and deliberate. She took in the bruising along my jaw, the healing cut near my temple, the new tattoos beneath the open cor of my shirt. No tie or dynasty gold.


    Maybe she was inspecting the damage.


    Maybe she was judging me—for showing up like this, for looking every inch the violent kingpin I was expected to be.


    I didn’t care.


    Because I was already staring too.


    At her hair, pinned in a style I knew wasn’t her favorite. At the diamond choker that didn’t belong to her collection.


    At the way her pulse kicked just beneath her jaw when I didn’t say anything.


    “I thought you didn’t attend public events,” she murmured, turning slightly so she was facing me.


    “I don’t.”


    “Yet here you are.”


    “Yet here I am,” I said. “Couldn’t let you sit here alone.”


    “I wasn’t alone,” she corrected, ncing at the now-empty chairs.


    “No. You were surrounded.”


    And for the first time since I sat down—her breathing changed.


    Just slightly.


    Enough to make me want to reach across the space between us and touch her. Pull her chair closer. Unhook the ne that didn’t suit her. Strip every trace of this dynasty performance from her skin until she remembered who she was before all of this.


    And I hated it—that ne.


    Hated that it sparkled where ours should have rested. Hated that someone had dared to give my wife something so visible. So iming. So fucking public.


    I leaned back in my seat, jaw tense. I hadn’t attended her birthday.


    Because if I had seen the parade of heirs lining up with gifts and mergers and open contracts, I would’ve killed someone before the candles were lit.


    My control had been fraying since the day she turned twenty-one and became everyone’s favorite opportunity. Everyone’s favorite meal.


    Still, I kept my eyes on her neck. That delicate skin. The hollow of her throat.


    I kissed her there, in the hallways of the academy. iming her throat when everything was still good between us. Before the world tore her away.


    Now all I could think about was wrapping my hand around her throat and pulling her in close, dragging her out of this world and back into ours.


    “Was that ne a birthday gift?” I asked finally, voice lower than I meant.


    She blinked once, then arched a brow. “For a minute. I thought you weren’t going to speak at all. Just stare.”


    I almost smiled. “I didn’t want to make you ufortable.”


    Her lips curved, and for a moment… she softened.


    “It was a gift,” she said, her voice catching just slightly at the end.


    That was when I noticed it.


    The velvet jewelry box still sitting on the table beside her half-finished wine. So it was from tonight. Not just a ne, a im.


    I leaned forward, slow, never breaking eye contact.


    And gently—very gently—I reached up and swept her hair over her shoulder.


    She froze but she didn’t stop me.


    Just let me touch the delicate sp at the base of her neck. “This doesn’t suit you,” I murmured.


    Then I unhooked it.


    The ne came free, falling into my palm and I dropped it on the table like it was worthless.


    My hand didn’t leave her. And I stared into her eyes of the woman we’d been building an empire around for thest three years.


    God, our wife was beautiful.


    She just stared back, trying to remember how to breathe while I memorized every fucking detail of her face again. I loved that. I still had an effect on her.


    And for five seconds I felt like the world might finally fucking stop spinning if I could just hold her here long enough.


    If I could just keep her.


    And then she shifted. Turned her body toward me—so fucking close now that if I leaned forward, just an inch or two, I could kiss her.


    Fuck, maybe I should take the moment for what it was and break the world open. Remind her what her body did when it was underneath mine.


    Her knee brushed mine under the table, idental. Still, it was enough to flood me. The tension, need from waiting three years. My dick was hard just from proximity. From one fucking idental touch.


    “Why are you here?” she asked, her voice quieter now.


    “Hungry.” I lied.


    “You hate food with long names.”


    I didn’t answer.


    “You hate menus that don’t have at least one word in English,” she added. “Don’t pretend you came here for the amuse-bouche.”


    Her tone wasn’t mocking. It was something colder. Like she was building a wall again and wanted me to see it happening in real time.


    Her gaze swept the table, the space behind me, thennded back on me with a slightly raised brow.


    “Are you here alone?” she asked.


    The implication wasn’t subtle.


    This ce was known for its exclusivity. Private booths, curated wine pairings, views of the skyline so elite they made headlines. It was where heirs brought their dynasty girls. Of course she’d think I brought someone.


    But I hadn’t.


    I hadn’t touched another woman since her. I hadn’t even looked at another woman. Because no one fuckingpared.


    And I wasn’t built for substitutes.


    Only her.


    I told her once that our love was final. Luca and I already had sworn to her. The vow mightn’t be public or tattooed. But it was final, for us.


    “No,” I said.


    Her eyes flicked over my face like she was testing that answer, looking to see if I was lying.


    I wasn’t.


    Because the truth was, I’d been fucking my hand for three years, imagining her mouth. The way she begged, her legs shaking, her eyes glossy, the way she whispered daddy when she came.


    And I was already building a new image now.


    How she looked tonight. Her lips were slightly pinker than usual, like she’d bitten them. The way the dress clung in all the ces I used to hold.


    I was going to take this image home. To the penthouse. To the shower.


    Because it was all I had. And it was enough to ruin me.


    “Did you eat?” I asked, breaking the silence as I nodded toward her untouched te.


    “No,”


    “So they ordered for you,”


    Her head tilted slightly. “What?”


    “You didn’t pick that dish.” I nodded toward it again. “You hate bouibaisse.”


    Her eyes went sharp again. And I fucking knew I was right.


    She hadn’t picked the meal. Someone else had ordered it for her. Probably one of the heirs she’d been seated with before I had them removed. Polished dynasty boy who thought he’d win her with a seafood stew and ast name worth hyphenating.


    She didn’t answer.


    So I added, “You used to say it smelled like a dying aquarium.”


    She reached for her wine ss. “People change.”


    There it was.


    The wall, rebuilt.


    The temperature dropped.


    And I watched her retreat into the version of herself they’d trained. The girl who could survive dynasty rooms by pretending not to feel anything at all.


    “I think you should go,” she said softly.


    Not cruel. Just… measured. Like she’d rehearsed it in her head before saying it out loud.


    She watched me, waiting to see if I’d obey. If I’d finally do the polite thing.


    I leaned back in my chair instead. Hooked my arm over the backrest. Let my legs spread just a little wider beneath the table—casual, like I owned the fucking ce. Technically we did, we owned the building and if she liked eating here, I’d make sure we own the restaurant.


    “I’ve heard that before,” I said.


    I wasn’t going any where. Because if five minutes was all I could have, I’d take every second like it was oxygen.


    “Why now, Bastion?” she asked, her grip tightened on the ss. “It’s been three years.”


    “Three years, two months, and fourteen days,” I said.


    She nodded. Slowly. “That’s a long time to leave a woman on read.”<fnec6d> Newest update provided by find[?]ovel</fnec6d>


    Fuck.


    It wasn’t just the words—it was the way she said them. The quiet strain in her voice. She didn’t meet my eyes when she said it. But I heard the truth even if she wouldn’t look at me.


    That it had hurt.


    That I had hurt her.


    And she wasn’t asking for an exnation.


    She reached for her drink again and finished it in a single sip. I watched her fingers trace the empty ss. The slight tremor in them


    “I’m sorry.”


    That word meant nothingpared to hurt I felt. How much it hurt being away from her.


    She stared at the empty ss. “And I love sea urchin soufflé now.”


    My eyes dropped to the untouched te in front of her.


    “The lies we tell,” she murmured, “just to make other peoplefortable.”


    And fuck—I felt that.


    She wasn’t talking about the soufflé.


    She was talking about us.


    About all the years of silence. Every message we left unanswered. The calls she made that were never answered. She was right to throw it back in my face.


    I didn’t speak, not because I didn’t have the words—but because anything I said would just be another lie.


    But one day—one day—she’d know.


    One day, I’d get to show her.


    Every deal, every empire, every fucking line of blood spilled since she left—it was always for her. To make room for her, clear a path no one could block again.


    But tonight wasn’t that night.


    So I leaned back. Loosened my grip on the edge of the table. Forced myself to stay silent, one more time. Because she didn’t need an apology.


    She needed proof.


    And I hadn’t earned the right to give it.


    “Well. As I told Luca. It’s all in the past.” She sighed, and brushed us off.


    With the kind of poise trained into girls who weren’t allowed to break. Not even when their hearts were shattered by boys who disappeared without warning.


    She looked away, and then smoothed a hand over her dress and asked, “Do you think they’ll serve dessert?”


    It wasn’t a real question.


    It was dynasty small talk. A graceful deflection. And still, it gutted me.


    Because that was our good girl—still being polite. Still offering conversation. Even to the man who broke her heart and never gave her the goddamn closure she deserved.


    I nodded. “Probably something with a French name you’ll pretend to like.”


    Her lips twitched. But it didn’t touch her eyes.


    “I should let you get back to it,” I said, standing slowly. “Enjoy your dinner.”


    Her eyes followed me. I leaned down. Pressed my lips to her cheek. Slower than I should’ve. Closer than I was allowed. Fuck the rules.


    “Have a good night, Emilia.”


    My wife.


    My love.


    Our legacy.


    I leaned in, kissed her cheek. I stayed close, my lips still hovering near her cheek.


    “Happy birthday, baby,” I whispered, low. So quiet it wasn’t meant for the room. Just her.


    And then I pulled back.


    Left her sitting there with perfect posture and a full room of wolves that didn’t even know they’d just been warned.


    I walked out.


    Everything I’d been bleeding through this week, it all slipped back into focus.


    I hadn’te here to win.


    I came to remember.


    To see her. To feel the pulse of what we built this for. And I’d gotten exactly what I needed.


    I stepped into the alley behind the restaurant, lit a cigarette my hands no longer shaking with rage.


    Because one day soon, I wouldn’t be saying good night to my wife.


    I’d be climbing into bed with her. We’d be fucking her to sleep. Kissing the back of her neck. Holding her between us until she couldn’t remember what it was like to sleep alone.


    And she’d be curled between me and Luca, wrecked and worshipped, exactly where she belonged


    Between us.


    Ours.


    But that wouldn’t happen, if we didn’t own this city.


    I took one final drag, exhaled, and grabbed my phone.


    I messaged her security. Told them to create an excuse, take her home. Our girl was getting a headache she needed sleep. Not to keep entertaining those fuckers, who I had every intention of putting in the ground if they got any closer.


    Then I called Rome back, stepped into traffic like I owned the pavement, and rejoined the war that never stopped.


    But this time?


    I was refueled.


    And now reminded exactly why I nned to burn the world down just to put her back in our bed.