The world blurred around them.
The music from the violinist faded into nothingness, the distant murmurs of pedestrians melted into silence, and the city's dazzling lights became mere flickers in their periphery. All that remained was the warmth between them—the intoxicating closeness, the steady rise and fall of their breaths, and the weight of something unspoken yet undeniable pressing between them.
Vincent's gaze was locked onto Anastasia's, his emerald-green eyes darkening with something deeper, something raw. It was the kind of intensity that could consume, that could burn everything else to ash and leave only them standing in the wreckage.
And Anastasia—cold, untouchable, the girl who never let anyone too close—did not pull away.
Instead, she tilted her head just slightly, her blue eyes gleaming under the streetlights, a challenge dancing within them.
He didn't need words to understand.
Vincent's fingers, steady yet reverent, traced along her jawline before slipping into her golden hair, cradling the back of her head as if she were the most precious thing in existence. And to him, she was. She always had been.
Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in, closing the remaining distance between them.
Then, their lips met.
It wasn't rushed. It wasn't desperate. It was something far more dangerous.
A slow, burning possession.
Anastasia didn't merely accept the kiss—she returned it with equal intensity, her fingers gripping the front of Vincent's jacket, as if daring him to pull away. But he wouldn't. He couldn't.
She was his.
And he was hers.
The kiss deepened, heat pooling between them, but it wasn't just passion—it was something far more consuming.
For years, they had been two forces of nature, circling each other like predators—testing, teasing, knowing that no one else could ever stand beside them as equals. And now, here they were.
No titles. No wealth. No power games.
Just Vincent and Anastasia.
Just a man who had been obsessed with her from the moment he understood what love was.
And a girl who had always belonged to him, even before she realized it herself.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads touched, their breaths mingling in the cool night air.
Vincent smirked, brushing his thumb against her lower lip. "Now, tell me… was that perhaps enjoyable?"
Anastasia's lips curled slightly, her blue eyes still dazed yet sharp with amusement.
"Perhaps."
Vincent chuckled, his grip on her tightening. "I think I should do it again."
And this time, when he kissed her, she didn't hesitate.