Now that I got a taste, I think that I'd suffocate

For every second that you aren't by my side

-'Ashes' by Stellar

I don't act on impulse.

Impulses are reckless. Impulses get people killed.

But this? This is different.

This isn't recklessness-it's strategy

Or that's what I tell myself as my grip tightens around the wheel.

The black Range Rover slices through the city streets, my own car trailing in the shadows. Every turn, every shift of their tires on the pavement, I match with precision.

Measured. Calculated.

My fingers drum against the steering wheel-slow, steady. An anchor. A leash on the storm inside me. Because the urge is clawing at my chest, a wild, insatiable thing demanding I act.

Because she's in that car.

Ziva.

So fucking close I could reach out and take her.

I shouldn't be doing this. Shouldn't be in this goddamn driver's seat, following her like an obsessed shadow. I know better than to chase.

But tonight, control isn't enough to chain the hunger in my veins.

Because this isn't about reason.

This is about possession.

I was never meant to step into the light. Never meant to let her see me.

When I found her, it was supposed to be from a distance-watching, waiting, ensuring she was safe until I took care of the threat looming over my head.

The Shed.

Those parasites won't budge.

They've been circling for years, waiting for an opening, their greedy hands reaching for Vihaan Kapoor-the perfect pawn in their ellobrate game.

That's why I built SINS in the dark.

A shield. A weapon. A kingdom that answers to no one.

Because power on paper isn't real power. Influence means nothing when the enemy knows your name, your weaknesses-the faces of the people you'd burn the world for.

The Range Rover veers off the highway, slipping from the neon sprawl of the city into quieter roads lined with towering estates. Places where power buys silence. Where secrets don't just stay hidden.

They rot.

A slow, sharp breath presses past my teeth.

And then I see it.

The gates. The property carved into the night, shrouded in shadow except for the glow of security lights. The kind of place designed for authority.

I don't need to see the name on the title to know who it belongs to.

Vikram.

Something sharp and venomous detonates in my chest.

Years.

Years spent chasing ghosts, hunting shadows, following trails that led to nowhere-while they had her right under my fucking nose.

My jaw locks. My pulse hammers. The anger sits, cold and merciless, threading through my veins like wire ready to snap.

The gates slide open, the Range Rover slipping inside without hesitation. Like it belongs there. Like she belongs there.

A bitter taste coats my tongue.

I pull over a few houses away, killing the engine. The silence is thick, heavy. My knuckles ache from the pressure of my grip, my muscles coiled so tight it feels like steel replacing bone.

They think they've won. That they've tucked her away, out of my reach.

They're wrong.

I drag in a slow breath. Exhale just as steadily.

This isn't over.

Not even fucking close.

The sharp ring of my phone cuts through the silence, D's name flashing across the screen.

I let it ring.

Once.

Twice.

On the third, I pick up, barely holding back the rage lacing my voice.

"What."

A low whistle. "Sheesh. Someone's got a short fuse."

He's amused. Light, easy, all humor and sunshine-the D from the balcony, the one who simmered with dark thoughts nowhere to be seen. If I hadn't seen it myself, I wouldn't have believed it.

"Watch it," I mutter, my gaze locked on the gated property just as the doors glide open.

"You followed her."

Not a question. Just affirmation.

I hum, distracted, barely registering my own response-because a second vehicle pulls up to the gate.

"They've had her all this time," I murmur, half to myself.

D doesn't say anything.

"Tucked her away right under my fucking nose," I continue, watching as the second vehicle disappears inside the gated fortress.

"Hiding in plain sight."

There's another stretch of silence, and then D's voice comes through the speaker, quiet. Almost unreadable.

"And what are you gonna do about it?"

A slow breath fills my lungs.

"I need a blueprint of this place along with security access."

A beat of silence. Then-

"Sure. Let me just pull one out of my ass, since I keep blueprints of rich people's houses on file for fun."

I roll my eyes. "Dhruv."

"Fine, fine. Gimme a sec. You know, most people call before breaking into a heavily secured property, V. Just a thought."

"Most people are idiots."

"True. But let's not pretend Jason isn't a paranoid bastard. I guarantee there's top-tier security."

That's exactly what bothers me. Jason might be a lot of things, but careless isn't one of them.

I end the call and pull out my laptop from the glove box. D's already sent the codes.

Too fast. Even for him.

A thought flickers through my mind, amusement curling at the edges of my frustration.

Sneaky bastard.

My fingers hover over the keyboard as I type in the access codes. My screen floods with security feeds-every angle of the estate, every blind spot, every vulnerable entry point.

And then-

The backyard camera.

The angle gives me a clear view of the living room, where they all sit.

Laughing. Chatting.

Ziva is there.

She's changed out of her gown, wearing soft pajama bottoms and an oversized hoodie. Her hair is loose, falling over her shoulder as she sips from a mug, completely at ease.

She looks...comfortable.

Too comfortable.

Like she belongs.

Like she's-happy.

My jaw tightens, muscles locking as I fight the urge to reach for her. My fingers curl into a fist, nails biting into my palm. A tether, a warning-because if I touch her now, I might not stop.

That mask she wore at the gala drove me insane, a barrier between us that mocked me, teased me. But without it? It's pure fucking torture.

No veil, no shield. Just her. Every delicate feature, every flicker of emotion laid bare, and yet she's still just out of reach.

But there's something about this that doesn't add up.

They're not treating her like a hostage.

She's not on edge. Not tense. Not looking over her shoulder like she's waiting for a chance to escape.

And the way they interact with her...

It's not forced. Not fake.

If anything, they look like-friends.

But that makes no sense.

If they care about her, why keep her from the world? Why hide her? Why lie?

There's definitely something I don't know about and the uncertainty of it is eating me alive.

My gut tightens.

I type out a quick message to D.

Vihaan: Dig deeper. I want to know everything.

Because he was the one who gave me the first valid clue to begin with.

And because curiosity has me doing things I wouldn't have considered before-like tailing people, tracking their movements in the dead of night, memorizing the patterns of their routines-I push further.

Deeper. Beyond the boundaries I once respected.

I study the blind spots.

Map the best route in.

Every weak point in their security, every lapse in coverage, every vulnerability waiting to be exploited.

The estate is designed to keep people out-high walls, floodlights, armed guards stationed at key entry points. But even the best security has cracks, and I find them.

The east side of the estate has a break in the camera angles. A ten-second window between motion sweeps.

Ten seconds is all I need.

I move.

The cool night air clings to my skin as I slip through the darkness, silent as a shadow. Every step is measured, calculated. I scale the outer wall with ease, my fingers gripping the rough stone, my boots pressing into crevices so precisely it feels rehearsed.

Because it is.

I've studied this place. Every crack in the foundation, every lapse in security.

I reach the top, flattening against the ledge, my breathing slow, steady.

Ten seconds.

That's the window between the security camera's motion sweeps. A brief flicker of darkness before the feed resets. Just enough time to disappear.

I leap.

The ground rushes toward me, but I land with feline precision, rolling into the shadows just as the next sweep begins. My back presses against the cold stone, heart steady.

No alarms. No movement.

But then-

A subtle shift. A click.

Not from inside. From above.

My muscles coil.

Rooftop patrol. I wasn't expecting them.

Jason you little shit.

The guard moves, boots scuffing against the roof tiles. He's scanning the perimeter, probably rotating positions. If he turns the wrong way-if he looks down-I'll be in his line of sight.

I tense, fingers brushing the knife strapped to my thigh.

I could take him out. Fast. Silent.

But that's not my plan.

I wait. Still. Silent. A shadow in the dark.

Seconds stretch. Then-movement.

He pivots, his gaze shifting toward the front entrance instead.

Good.

I slip past, pressing into the side of the estate, invisible in the night.

The balcony is ten feet away. A smooth vault gets me there, my gloved hands gripping the ledge as I hoist myself up.

A slow breath leaves my lips as I shift, my eyes locking onto the french doors. Tall, elegant. Reinforced glass.

Locked.

Of course they are.

Jason don't make mistakes. He double-check everything. Triple-check it. His paranoia is what keeps him ahead.

But they don't think like me.

I am not reckless. I am not desperate. I am patient. I am prepared.

I reach into my pocket, fingers curling around the sleek metal of my lock-picking tool. Simple, efficient, silent.

A flick of my wrist.

A breath.

A heartbeat.

Then-

Click.

The lock gives way, and a slow smirk tugs at my lips.

I push the doors open, the faintest whisper of air slipping through the crack.

And then, I step inside.

Unseen. Uninvited.

And completely in control.

The air shifts around me, thick with silence, heavy with something unspoken. My pulse stays steady, my movements precise. But the second I inhale-

Her.

Her scent engulfs me. Warm. Familiar. A comfort I've never known, never dared to want-until her. Now, it's the only thing that feels like home.

The only thing that is home.

My fingers flex at my sides, instincts sharpening. The pull is undeniable, a force that tugs me forward, leading me through the dimly lit corridor.

I follow it.

Silent steps. Careful, deliberate. The scent lingers in the air, guiding me like a predator tracking its prey. It clings to the walls, the floor, the very fabric of this place. But it's stronger here.

I slow.

Her door stands before me. A barrier, fragile and thin, separating me from the one thing I refuse to be kept from.

My hand lifts, fingers curling around the knob.

I twist.

Unlocked.

A mistake. A miscalculation.

She should have been more careful.

Because now?

She's within reach.

I move deeper into her space, the soft glow from the windows casting long shadows across the room. It's neat. Cozy.

Personal touches everywhere, like she's carved pieces of herself into every inch of this place. A contradiction-order wrapped in warmth. Chaos hidden beneath discipline.

The bed is made, but her dress from earlier is sprawled across it, discarded without thought. My gaze catches on the mask beside it, silver under the dim light.

A silent lure.

I reach for it, running my thumb over the smooth surface before slipping it into my pocket. A piece of her to keep. A warning to leave behind.

Because I will be back.

My attention shifts to the bedside table. Watches. Earrings. Skincare, neatly arranged. But it's the drawer beneath that draws me in. I pull it open, expecting something simple. A journal, maybe. More jewelry.

Not this.

My fingers brush over the sleek frame of a P-90, tucked away like an afterthought. But it isn't. The magazine is loaded. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

My jaw tightens.

A memory slams into me like a fist to the gut—violent, unrelenting, leaving me gasping for air.

One second I’m here, grounded in the present, and the next I’m yanked back into that dark, suffocating room.

Chains biting into my wrists. The scent of dirt and blood heavy in the air. I just sat there, spine curled, forehead resting on my knees, trying to block out the muffled sounds of shouting beyond the door.

A small hand touched my shoulder, featherlight but certain. I looked up, vision blurry from exhaustion, and saw her. Pigtails half undone, dirt streaking her cheeks, but those eyes—they never wavered.

Fierce. Determined. Clutching that stupid torn teddy bear like it was some kind of charm that could chase away the monsters.

"They’re gonna come back," I whispered, voice cracked and dry. I hated how scared I sounded—how broken.

She knelt beside me, her tiny frame practically swallowed by the darkness, and hugged that teddy to her chest. "I won’t let them hurt you," she said, so sure of herself it almost made me believe her. "Next time they come, I'll protect you."

A bitter laugh clawed its way up my throat, but I swallowed it down. She didn’t know—she couldn’t. What could a little girl do against men twice her size, with cruel hands and colder eyes?

But she wasn’t done. Her voice dropped to a whisper, fierce and unyielding. "I'll get you out of here. I promise. I'll never leave your side. No matter what."

Her fingers slipped between mine, threading together like a lifeline. I squeezed her hand, holding on to that promise as if it were the last good thing in the world.

Then she did something that caught me off guard. She pressed the torn teddy bear into my lap, wrapping my fingers around its frayed arm. "Hold onto him, Wolf Boy," she whispered. "Until I come back with help."

My fingers clenched around the worn fabric, the last bit of softness left in that godforsaken place. I looked at her, a thousand unspoken words caught in my throat, but all I could manage was a nod.

She gave me a small, shaky smile—one that didn’t quite reach her eyes—and then slipped away into the shadows, silent as a whisper. I waited, clinging to that bear, waiting for her to come back like she promised.

But fate had other plans.

The men never came back.

Something worse did.

Now I’m standing here, years later, staring down at a gun tucked in a drawer—the cold, unforgiving steel glinting in the dim light.

I pick it up, and the weight settles in my palm, heavy and ruthless—nothing like the softness of that torn teddy bear. I squeeze the grip, and it bites into my skin, a harsh reminder that the naive girl I knew is gone.

In her place stands someone harder—someone who’s built walls so high and so thick I’m not sure I can break them.

She doesn’t know. Doesn’t understand that when she promised never to leave my side, she sealed her fate. She became mine to protect, mine to keep safe from the world’s cruelty.

And I’ll be damned if I let the world take her from me again.

I place it back carefully, my mind turning over the revelation.

I turn to her closet. Everything lined up in black, white, and gray. Precise. Predictable, at least on the surface. But people like us-people who crave control-it isn't about predictability. It's about power.

She likes control.

The thought pulls a slow, knowing smirk to my lips. My fingers trail over the carefully arranged clothes.

I exhale a quiet chuckle, low and dark.

"So do I, baby," I murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

"So do I."

The bookshelf in the corner tells a different story. Darker books stacked in perfect alignment-psychological thrillers, murder mysteries. But one stands out. Spine creased, worn from too many reads.

Twisted Kingdom by Rina Kent.

I pluck it from the shelf, flipping it over. A man and a woman locked in a heated embrace. A romance.

Interesting.

A slow smirk tugs at my lips as I thumb through the pages before slipping it back into place.

My kitten has layers. Secrets.

And I intend to strip every last one from her.

But not tonight.

The urge to go deeper-to sift through her world, to pull apart the pieces she's so carefully arranged-settles deep in my bones.

I want to touch.

I want to take.

I want to break past the restrain she clings to and watch the exact moment it slips through her fingers.

But time is a liberty I don't have. Not tonight.

I drag in a slow breath, steadying the hunger clawing its way up my spine.

Not yet.

With one last glance around the room, I turn, slipping back into the shadows, leaving everything exactly as I found it.

Almost.

Tonight, I leave with nothing but

the mask in my pocket and a truth that settles deep in my bones-

She's not the woman I once knew.

She's become something else. Sharper. Colder. A fortress built brick by brick, designed to keep people out.

But walls have cracks.

And I have every intention of slipping through them.

Not to break her.

No-to understand her.

Because something tells me that whatever she's become, whatever war she's fought to get here-

It's not over.

Not yet.