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And that terrified him more than any bullet ever had.

She didn’t know about the children he’d failed to save. But she’d chosen him anyway—reached for him when her world collapsed.

And now if he let her in—if he touched her the way he wanted to—there would be no coming back from it. No pretending the mask still fit.

The Bentley slowed as it turned into his street, pulling toward the private entrance. He stepped out first, the fresh night air a shock through his shirt in seconds. He scanned the shadows. Nothing out of place.

Kat climbed out behind him. Her dress shed powder in faint clouds.

His focus narrowed to her—her bare shoulders under his jacket, the dust in her hair, the graceful way she moved.

The air between them thrummed. No words. Just the quiet weight of what had changed in the last few hours.

Inside the front lobby, the carpet muffled their steps. The night staff at the desk gave a brief nod, eyes flicking between them and their disheveled clothes. Leo barely registered it.

He touched the small of Kat’s back as they approached the elevator. A whisper of contact—nothing more than guidance. But his fingertips met silk, warm from her skin, and the contact was a jolt. Her muscles shifted beneath his hand.

He wanted her.

And he wasn’t sure he could keep pretending he didn’t.

They stepped into the elevator. He hit the button for the penthouse. The doors closed, sealing them in together. Silence settled again, broken only by the soft hiss of the ventilation and the rustle of her dress.

“Leonid.” Her voice was a scant whisper.

He turned. Finally met her gaze.

Her eyes pinned him. Her skin was marked by the night—dust on her cheekbones, a bruise blooming faintly along her collarbone. His jacket on her shoulders to protect her from the cooling night air swallowed her frame. She looked fierce and breakable all at once.

He wanted to shield her from everything—especially himself.

He didn’t deserve this moment. Didn’t deserve her. But he couldn’t walk away.

The elevator slowed. The number lit for their floor.

The doors opened to his penthouse, spilling golden light across the threshold. Neither moved. Ten seconds. Twenty.

The air between them was alive with possibility and danger—not from their enemies, but from this moment that would change everything.

He was done choosing duty over the one person who’d ever made him feel human.

His hand shot past her to slam the close button. The doors sealed them in again, and with that choice, Leo’s last defense crumbled.

One step forward and she was backed against the wall. Not startled. Waiting.

His hands came up, framing her face, not touching—then touching. Thumbs at her jaw, brushing upward. Her skin was warm. Her breath deepened. He searched her eyes.

No fear. No flinch. Just fierce permission.

Her lips parted just enough to drag his focus downward.

Just her. Just them. Just this.

He let go.

His mouth crashed against hers with ten years of suppressed hunger, years where he’d memorized the shape of her lips and imagined this exact moment.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. She met him with equal fire, no breath between them.