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Then I see him...through the glass doors, out back near the edge of the pool. Shirtless. Back turned. Shoulders rigid. Smoking.

Even from here, I can feel the weight on him.

I slide the door open and step outside.

He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t even flinch.

“Before you say it, I know I shouldn’t be here,” I say, the words catching on the breath I barely have.

Still, he doesn’t move. Just exhales slowly, smoke curling in the night air like a ghost between us.

“But I am.”

I take another step toward him.

And this time, he turns.

His eyes find mine, haunted, hollow, burning. Like seeing me hurts more than anything else he’s endured.

Good. Because this? This hurts me too.

Ares turns...slowly. And the moment our eyes meet, something sharp and ancient slices through me. The weight in his stare tells me everything I need to know.

He’s breaking. And if he pushes me away now… I might break too.

So, I take a step forward.

He doesn’t move. Another step. Then another, until we’re only a breath apart. I can see the smoke curling from the cigarette between his fingers. See the tight clench of his jaw. The storm behind his brown eyes.

“You don’t get to shut me out,” I whisper. “Not like that.”

He exhales through his nose, slow and quiet, but his eyes never leave mine. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“We’re passed that,” I murmur.

He says nothing.

“Bianca told me what she said to you,” I add. “She said she asked you to leave me alone.”

His spine straightens, every line in his body drawn tight. His silence is louder than any yes.

I step even closer, close enough to smell the smoke on his skin and the fury still simmering in his veins.

“Is that what this is? You ghosting through the hallways like I don’t exist? Ignoring me like I’m poison now? Because my sister begged you to?”

“She’s not wrong,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “You should stay away from me.”

I shake my head. “And what do you want, Ares?” I look up at him. “Do you want me to stay away from you?”

Again, he doesn’t answer.

So I press, voice trembling, “Because I’m done listening to everyone else tell me how I should feel. What I should want. I’m here. You. Me. Right now.”

He looks away, and that hurts me.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, softer this time, reaching up to turn his face to mine. “So, if you’re trying to scare me off, try harder.”

He laughs. But it’s hollow...pained.

Then his eyes snap back to mine, and the weight of them nearly buckles my knees.

“I’m not trying to scare you,” he says, voice low. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what?”

His gaze darkens.

“From me, ” he asserts, voice rougher this time, like he’s bleeding in silence with every word.

I stare at him. At the broken but beautiful man in front of me, who wears violence like skin and grief like armour. The man who has every reason to walk away. And yet here he is, still standing, still trying to keep me at arm’s length.

Still hurting.

My throat goes tight, but I don’t let it break me. I step in closer, slowly, until the space between us disappears. My fingers reach for his, cigarette still burning between them, and gently I take it from his hand and toss it aside, and he lets me.

“I don’t want your protection,” I whisper.

His brows draw together, barely breathing. “I want you. ”

His eyes flicker, pain seeping through the surface.

“You don’t know what that means, Bambina?—

“Yes, I do,” I cut in, my voice trembling now, but steady enough to hold. “I know exactly what it means. You’re dangerous, I know. I know what you’ve done. And I know there’s a part of you that thinks walking away will somehow save me.”

I reach up, my fingers brushing his jaw. He flinches, just slightly, but he doesn’t pull back.

“But you’re wrong. Because walking away from you will destroy me faster than any enemy you’ve ever made.” His eyes close for a beat. Like he’s trying to hold something back. Like I’ve cracked something open that he can’t unsee.

“I’m not asking you to be perfect, Ares,” I whisper. “I’m just asking you not to lie. Don’t stand there and pretend you don’t feel it too.”

Silence stretches between us, heavy and electric.

And then, almost brokenly, he says, “You’re the only thing in this world I don’t know how to survive, Bambina.”

My heart lurches.

I press my forehead to his chest, letting the rhythm of his heartbeat ground me. He stands perfectly still, then slowly, slowly, his arms come around me. Not in possession, but in surrender.

He holds me like I’m fragile.

Like he doesn’t trust himself not to crush the only soft thing left in his world.

His muscular arms are strong around me, solid and steady, but there’s a tremble buried deep beneath it all, one I feel more than see. Like he’s trying to keep himself from falling apart completely.

I tilt my face up, eyes searching his.

“Ares…” I whisper, my voice barely carrying.

His gaze drops to mine, and something behind it flickers, like a flame burning low, not yet ready to die.

“I meant what I said,” I tell him. “I don’t want protection. I want you. All of you. The good, the bad… the parts you think no one could ever love.”

His lips press together firmly, and I see it again, how hard it is for him to let the words come. Like they don’t fit easily in his mouth. Like they were carved from stone just to be spoken aloud.

“I don’t deserve you,” he finally says, voice rough. “I’m the reason everything I touch turns to ash.”

I shake my head slowly. “Then maybe I’ll be the one thing that doesn’t.”

A beat of silence passes between us.

Then he leans in, forehead pressed to mine, the warmth of his breath dancing across my lips. The nearness steals the air from my lungs, but I don’t pull away. I don’t flinch.

Because I’m done pretending that I don’t want this.

He speaks again, barely a breath. “You make me want things I thought were dead in me.”

“You make me feel like I’m not alone anymore,” I whisper back.

His hand rises, fingers trailing gently along my jaw, over my cheek, like he’s trying to memorise me with touch alone.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.

I look him dead in the eye. “Don’t you dare.”

And then he dips his head and kisses me.

Not soft. Not sweet. But like he’s drowning and I’m the first breath he’s had in years.

And goddamn it, the man can kiss.

His hands bury themselves in my hair, gripping me like he never wants to let me go.

His lips part mine, his tongue sliding in like he’s claiming me, devouring me like I’m the last meal on earth.

The kiss deepens, teeth grazing, breath mingling, and I feel it everywhere.

In my chest, my spine, the trembling in my thighs.

It’s raw and honest, and fucking electric.

Ares draws back just enough to look at me, his breath ragged, his eyes dark and searching.

He’s waiting for a sign, for some last-minute salvation, but there’s no hesitation in me.

Only burning desire. “Fuck me,” I whisper, my voice trembling with need.

My fingers slide across the warm, hard planes of his stomach, tracing every dip and ripple of muscle that twitches under my touch. “Fuck me, the way you need me, Ares.”

A low, guttural sound escapes him, something primal, like the last thread of his restraint snapping. Then his mouth is back on mine, and everything else vanishes. With no effort at all, he grabs the back of my thighs, squeezes and lifts me into his arms like I weigh nothing.

We move through the house, clothes disappearing between kisses and gasps, falling to the floor like discarded fear. I don’t feel self-conscious. Not under his gaze. Not when he looks at me like I’m the only beautiful thing left in his world.

His hands roam, slow and deliberate, like he’s not just touching me, like he’s carving me into every crevice of his mind.

His fingers trace the curve of my waist, the dip of my hip, the swell of my breast, and I shiver under his touch.

He’s everywhere, his skin hot against mine, his breath ragged in my ear.

We reach the bed without ever breaking apart, and when he lays me down, he does it like I’m something fragile he’s afraid to shatter.

But I don’t want careful—I want him. I pull him down to me, my legs wrapping around his waist, locking him in place.

Our mouths meet again, slower now, more deliberate.

His weight presses into mine, claiming me, and every kiss, every touch, feels like a vow unspoken.

His cock is hard against my thigh, and I can feel the heat of him, the need of him, and it makes me ache.

When he finally sinks into me, my breath catches, sharp and sudden, and everything else disappears.

The world doesn’t exist here. Only us. Only this.

He moves slowly at first, his hips rolling against mine, each thrust deep and deliberate.

I can feel every inch of him, stretching me, filling me, and it’s so damn perfect.

My nails dig into his back, urging him on, and he groans, low and deep, his breath hot against my neck.

“Fuck,” he growls, his voice rough with need. “You feel so fucking good.”

I can’t speak, can’t think, can only feel.

His pace quickens, his thrusts harder, deeper, and I’m lost in the rhythm of him.

My body arches against his, every nerve on fire, every sensation amplified.

His hand slips between us, his fingers finding my clit, and I cry out, the pleasure so intense it’s almost too much.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down, just keeps fucking me with a relentless, desperate need.

“Come for me.” he whispers, his tone a command, a plea. And it doesn’t take long before my body shatters around him, waves of pleasure crashing over me, pulling me under.

“Uhh, yes, yes , Ares!”