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CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

I THOUGHT THAT would be enough.

The way she came to me. The way she held on.

The way she whispered that she didn’t want to fight anymore.

For the first time in days, I could breathe. Just… breathe.

Her body was soft against mine, warm and real and steady, her fingers curled loosely in the fabric of my shirt like she needed that small connection to keep from falling apart.

And I would’ve stayed like that all night. Still. Silent. Content just to feel her breath against my skin.

But then—she shifted.

It was subtle. Her thigh brushed against my hip, the curve of her body sliding closer, and I felt it in my chest—in my cock .

My hand had been resting on her back, nothing more than a quiet reminder that I was here if she wanted me, but now I wasn’t sure I could stop touching her if I tried.

I should’ve held back.

Should’ve been careful.

But I didn’t have it in me anymore.

Not with her.

Not after everything.

Her fingers slipped under the hem of my shirt, and my breath caught—sharp, guttural, wrecked —as she ran her hand across the skin just above my waist like she owned me.

She did.

She fucking did.

When I looked down at her, there was no more doubt in her eyes.

No more fear.

Just fire.

So I kissed her.

And it wasn’t soft—not even close.

It was messy and desperate and real, like weeks of tension snapping all at once, like every damn second I’d spent holding back had finally caught up to me.

I rolled her beneath me, a low growl tearing from my throat before I could stop it, and her legs wrapped around me like she needed me as badly as I needed her.

“Zeynep,” I breathed against her mouth, rough and shaking. “Tell me you want this.”

“I need this,” she whispered. “I need you. ”

That was it.

That was all it took.

Clothes were peeled away, torn, pushed, thrown aside. There wasn’t a single ounce of patience left in me.

Only need.

Only her.

I didn’t ask this time. I didn’t wait.

I pushed inside her in one slow, brutal stroke, and the way her body clenched around me, the way she arched beneath me with a gasp that sounded like my name— it undid me.

We moved together in a rhythm that wasn’t careful or sweet.

It was raw.

It was filthy.

It was everything I’d been starving for and more than I ever thought I’d have again.

She moaned into my mouth, her nails digging into my back like she was trying to leave a mark—and God, I wanted her to. I wanted her to scratch her name into my skin. Let them all see who I fucking belonged to.

My hand gripped her thigh, spreading her wider, deeper, harder, each thrust driven by weeks of silence, days of distance, months of buried guilt and hunger and the goddamn fear that I’d lost her forever.

But she was here.

And she wasn’t holding back anymore.

She kissed me like it hurt, cried out like she couldn’t take it, then begged for more like she never wanted it to stop.

I whispered her name like a prayer, over and over again, buried in her skin, in her hair, in the soft gasp she gave when I gripped her hips and rocked harder, faster, losing every ounce of control I had left.

She shattered beneath me, her legs tightening around my waist, her hands in my hair, her body trembling as she came apart.

And I followed.

Hard.

Fast.

Helpless.

I held her through it, both of us wrecked and shaking, breath tangled between our lips like something sacred, something claimed.

And when it was over, when the high began to fade and my body finally stilled, I didn’t move.

I couldn’t.

Because if I pulled away now, I might forget how it felt to be this close to her.

To have her.

Her hand slid up my chest, slow and gentle, her fingers brushing over the scars I used to hate. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

She just held me, quiet and steady, like she’d known all along that this would be the place we found each other again.

I let my forehead rest against hers, our breaths syncing, our silence no longer heavy.

It felt like peace.

***

THE LIGHT WAS soft through the curtains, creeping across the bed in thin lines that painted her skin in gold.

Zeynep was still asleep, curled on her side, her hair tangled across the pillow, her breathing slow and even. Peaceful. Like she was always meant to be in my bed, in my arms, in this fucking life.

But I didn’t deserve this.

Not yet.

Not until I finished the last step and forced the hand of that manipulative bitch.

I sat up slowly, careful not to wake her, my body still sore in all the ways that came from loving her the way I’d needed to. The way we both had.

But this wasn’t the end.

It was just the start.

I pulled on my jeans, found my shirt on the floor, shoved my arms through the sleeves as quietly as I could. The cut was draped over the back of the chair where I’d left it last night. I stared at it for a beat before slipping it on.

I had a lot of shit to answer for, and I couldn’t ask her to keep carrying my weight until I handled mine.

She stirred just as I was lacing up my boots, her brow furrowed, eyes still heavy with sleep. “Mystic?”

Her voice—raspy, low—sexy, made me want to crawl back into bed with her, but I had to handle shit. Instead, I turned, walked back to the bed, and leaned down, brushing my fingers through her hair. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Her hand slid over mine, holding it in place. “Where are you going?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, leaned down, and kissed her forehead. “To put the final nail in my past.”

She blinked, slowly. “Chelsea.”

I nodded and sighed heavily, “She’s never signed the papers, but today she will. I’ll fuckin’ make sure of it.”

She just looked at me, soft, quiet, understanding in those dark eyes that had seen more pain than they ever should have.

“I’ll be back,” I said, kissing her lips. “And when I am… we’re going to talk. Everything. No more walls. No more secrets.”

Her hand tightened around mine. “Okay.”

I held her gaze for another second, just long enough to make sure she believed me. Just long enough to believe it myself.

Then I stood.

Because this wasn’t just about ending a marriage.

It was about proving something—to her, to me, to the man I’d buried under guilt and fear and silence.

It was time.

Time to cut the last string Chelsea had wrapped around my throat.

So I could finally be free.

So we could finally start again.

***

I SHOULDN’T HAVE come here alone.

I knew how this was going to go, knew Chelsea wouldn’t just sign the fucking papers and let me walk away.

But I had to do this. I had to end it.

Because after last night—after finally holding Zeynep, after hearing her whisper that she wasn’t leaving—there was no fucking way I was letting my past keep me from her any longer.

So I walked into what had become her house for the last time, and just like every time before, I regretted it the second I crossed the threshold.

She was lounging on the couch, a glass of red in hand, legs tucked under her like she hadn’t spent the last few weeks doing everything in her power to fuck with my life.

She barely looked at me. Just smirked. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Kain?”

I didn’t bite. I set the papers down on the coffee table, my voice flat, cold. “Sign them.”

Her smirk widened. Like she’d been expecting this. Like she’d been waiting for it. She let out a soft hum, tapping her nails against the glass. “Even came in person. You’re really that desperate to play house with your little refugee?”

My fists clenched at my sides. “Sign the fucking papers, Chelsea.”

She sighed, long and theatrical, like she was bored already. Then stretched her legs out and gave the documents a lazy glance. “And if I don’t?”

I ground my teeth. “Then we do this the hard way.”

Her eyes flashed.

And just like that—the game ended.

She stood. Slow. Deliberate. And I felt it. The shift in the air. The moment she decided to go for blood. “I have to say,” she murmured, stepping closer, “I was surprised when I found out about her.”

My gut tightened. I didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. Because I knew— fuck , I knew—whatever came next was meant to rip me apart.

“Did you know she’s not even a citizen?” she went on, head tilted, her tone dripping sugar. “That her little ‘run for freedom’ wasn’t exactly legal?”

Still, I stayed silent.

“You think you can just walk away from me, Kain?” Her voice dropped—low, sharp, venom laced in every syllable. “You really think I won’t burn everything down on my way out?” A slow, cruel smile curved her lips. “Because I can make one call. Just one. And they’ll rip her away from you.”

I snapped.

I moved too fast.

One second she was smug and untouchable—

The next, her back hit the wall, hard. My hand slammed beside her head. My body trembled with the force it took not to do what every part of me screamed for.

She gasped. But it wasn’t fear in her eyes. It was satisfaction .

Because she knew . She had gotten to me. Had dragged me back into the worst parts of myself.

“Careful, sweetheart,” she whispered, thick with poison and sugar. “You wouldn’t want to do something you’ll regret.”

My pulse thundered. My blood boiled. And she wasn’t done.

Her lips curled again. “You know, I’ve been thinking—”

I didn’t give a fuck what she’d been thinking.

“It’d be a shame if certain... stories got out.”

I froze.

She dragged a fingernail down my arm—slow, taunting. “People love a scandal. And if they thought your sweet little refugee wasn’t some innocent victim... if they thought she knew what she was getting into...”

“Chelsea,” I warned, voice shaking, low and lethal.

Her smile stretched wider. “I could ruin her, Kain. You know that, right?”

Rage swallowed me whole, and I could feel the violence winning. Then, a hand clamped down on my shoulder. Strong. Solid.

“That’s enough.” Devil’s voice cut through the storm like a blade of ice.

I had barely registered the door slamming shut behind him or the heavy boot steps sounding across the hardwood. Because all I could see was her —that smirk, that twisted satisfaction. That goddamn victory in her eyes.

“Get out,” Devil said. Calm. Controlled. Final.

Chelsea let out a soft laugh—but the edge of confidence was gone. She hadn’t planned for him. She thought she’d have me alone.

He stepped between us, his broad frame cutting her off from my sight like a wall of iron. “You don’t get to threaten one of ours and walk away clean.”

Her smirk faltered. For the first time, her fingers twitched at her side.

Devil tilted his head. His stare was sharp enough to bleed. “You don’t have the power here, bitch.”

Her lips tightened. The room went still. The she took a breath. Long. Slow. Calculated. She masked up. Back to calm. Cool. Collected. Like her plans hadn’t just exploded in this room. She looked past Devil and locked eyes with me one last time. Her expression unreadable. But I knew that look. I’d seen it too many times. It meant this wasn’t over.

“Leave, Mystic,” Devil said, not sparing her another glance. “She’ll keep baiting you, and if you take it—you’ll lose everything.”

Chelsea’s voice followed, mocking, “Gotta have someone fight your battles for you now? Like the fucking coward you are?”

I let out a cold laugh. Hollow. Mean. She’d always had a thing for Devil. Thought I didn’t know. Ever since high school, but Devil had treated her like the bitch she turned out to be. He saw through her early. I should’ve listened.

“Try not to kill her,” I muttered, turning toward the door. “She keeps threatening Zeynep, and I will get violent.”

I didn’t look back. Didn’t need to.

Because Devil would handle it.

And he was right—

She’d keep baiting me, and I would strangle her.