The moonlight poured into the bedroom through the sheer curtains, casting a silvery glow across the space. Dylan sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, the bruises and bandages on his torso evidence of the battle that had almost taken his life. Yet his expression was softer than usual—as if some invisible weight had been lifted.
Heaven emerged from the bathroom wearing one of his shirts—oversized and resting gently against her thighs. Her hazel-brown eyes scanned him, worry still dancing behind them despite the safety of the moment.
"You should be lying down," she said quietly, walking over to him.
"I'm fine," he replied, voice gravelly, though his body clearly protested.
She stood between his knees and cupped his face gently. "You're not invincible, Dylan."
"No," he said, eyes locked on hers, "but you make me want to be."
Her heart faltered. For a man like Dylan, words weren't cheap. He didn't say things to fill silence—he said them when they were carved from truth.
Heaven leaned forward, placing a kiss on his forehead. "Don't scare me like that again."
His hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer until she was straddling his lap. "Then don't ever leave me."
"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered.
And in that moment, they weren't Heaven the captive and Dylan the king of the underworld. They were two fractured souls, slowly mending in each other's arms.
Their lips met—slowly at first, like a question waiting to be answered. But then it deepened, fueled by relief, by need, by something that felt dangerously close to love.
—
The Next Morning
The world outside hadn't changed. But something inside Dylan had.
He stood at the head of a long table in his private war room, surrounded by his most trusted allies. His tone was colder now—sharper.
"Richard is alive, but humiliated. That makes him twice as dangerous," Dylan said, eyes sweeping across the room. "I want surveillance on his movements. I want our allies checked. No more surprises."
Jayden sat quietly, still earning back the little trust Dylan had left. Despite his betrayal, Dylan had chosen not to kill him—but trust, once broken, was never freely given again.
Mason leaned forward. "There's something else. A new player. Quiet but growing. He's building in the shadows."
Dylan's jaw clenched. "Name?"
"Goes by the name Seth Navarro. No confirmed connections yet—but he's moving into our old ports. Fast."
Dylan's eyes darkened. "Let him come. Let him try. We'll burn him to the ground."
But a flicker of concern danced in Dylan's gut.
The underworld had always been ruthless—but now, it was evolving. It was no longer just about empires built on blood.
It was about survival in a new war—one that would demand more than power.
It would demand loyalty, sacrifice… and perhaps, for the first time, a reason to fight that wasn't rooted in hate.
He thought of Heaven.
She was his reason now.
And that terrified him more than any enemy ever could.