9PM sharp.
The address in the message led her to a quiet, expensive part of the city—far from the chaos she'd grown used to.
A private estate.
Tall gates. Guard dogs. Armed silence.
She told herself to turn back.
She didn't.
⸻
The door opened before she knocked.
A man in black nodded silently and led her through sleek marble halls until they reached a lounge that looked like it belonged in a magazine.
And in the center, seated like a king in exile—Leon.
⸻
He didn't rise when she entered.
Didn't smile.
Didn't speak.
Just looked at her.
She hated how her heartbeat stuttered.
"You've been following me," she said quietly.
Leon raised an eyebrow. "I've been protecting you."
"There's a difference?"
"Yes," he said. "Protection ends when the threat does. Watching you? That hasn't."
⸻
Silence.
Heavy. Dense.
Then Ayla stepped closer.
"I don't want to be a project. Or a responsibility."
Leon stood now, slow and deliberate.
"You're not."
"Then what am I?"
His eyes darkened.
"A mistake."
It was a lie.
And they both knew it.
⸻
"You can stop now," she whispered.
"I won't."
"Why?"
Leon stared at her for a long moment.
Then, softly, like it hurt him to say it:
"Because I want you."