The morning light seeped through the curtains, golden beams stretching across the bedroom floor. It took Vivie a moment to register the warmth enveloping her, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat so close to her own. Blinking against the soft glow of daylight, she realized she was still nestled against Ashton.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The memories of last night returned in sharp clarity—the nightmare, the suffocating fear, and then him. His hands anchoring her, his presence calming the storm within her. She had clung to him, desperate for something real to ground her, and instead of pushing her away, he had stayed.

Ashton Varela had stayed.

She shifted slightly, trying to slip away without disturbing him. But the moment she moved, his deep, sleep-laced voice filled the quiet air.

“You’re awake.”

Vivie swallowed hard. The gravelly rasp of his voice sent something unsteady through her, something she wasn’t ready to name.

“So are you,” she murmured.

A slow exhale left him as he ran a hand over his face, rubbing away the remnants of sleep. His gaze flicked to her, and something unreadable passed through his expression. “You were screaming in your sleep, Sinclair. I wasn’t going to leave you alone after that.”

She should have been embarrassed, but the words didn’t sting the way they usually did. There was no cruelty in his voice, no mockery. Only quiet truth.

Her fingers curled around the sheets as she struggled to find the right words. “Thank you.”

He looked at her then, really looked at her. As if trying to decipher something just out of reach. But instead of responding, he only nodded before shifting to the edge of the bed.

A sharp knock on the door shattered the fragile moment.

“Boss, meeting in an hour.”

Ashton sighed, rolling his shoulders before pushing himself to his feet. The spell was broken. The intimacy of the night, the quiet comfort between them—it all vanished like smoke in the morning air.

He shot her one last look, his expression unreadable. “We’ll continue training later.”

And then he was gone.

Later that morning, Vivie found herself standing in the training room, fingers curled around the hilt of a knife. The weight was unfamiliar but not unwelcome. She had asked for this—to learn, to fight, to never feel powerless again. And Ashton had agreed, though she knew he hadn’t been convinced at first.

Now, as he stood before her, arms crossed over his broad chest, his gaze unreadable, she felt the tension tighten between them like an unspoken challenge.

“You’re hesitating,” he murmured, watching the way her grip shifted slightly. “Hesitation will get you killed.”

Vivie clenched her jaw. “I’m not hesitating.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Prove it.”

She lunged, fast and precise, aiming for his side. But he was faster.

In the blink of an eye, he had disarmed her. The knife clattered to the floor, and before she could react, she found herself pinned against the training room wall. His body was inches from hers, his hand braced beside her head.

Her pulse roared in her ears.

“Ashton—”

His fingers brushed against her jaw, tilting her chin upward. “You’re improving,” he murmured, voice lower than before. “But you still hesitate.”

She exhaled shakily, heart hammering. She should push him away, should break the tension pressing between them. But she didn’t.

Couldn’t.

His breath was warm against her skin. The intensity in his dark eyes made her stomach twist, a slow, dangerous pull she wasn’t sure she had the strength to resist.

And then, before hesitation could stop them, before logic could intervene—

He kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle.

The moment their lips met, it was heat and desperation, a silent battle neither of them wanted to win. Ashton’s hand moved from the wall to the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair as he pulled her closer, as if daring her to pull away. But she didn’t. She melted into him, her body molding against his as a fire she hadn’t expected ignited between them.

His lips were firm, insistent, moving against hers with a hunger that made her knees weak. The scent of him—clean, sharp, distinctly Ashton—invaded her senses, making her head spin. She responded instinctively, her hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt, holding on as if she would fall without him.

A deep sound rumbled in his chest, somewhere between a growl and a sigh, as he pressed her further into the wall. Every movement, every touch, sent shivers cascading down her spine. His lips parted, deepening the kiss, tasting, taking, consuming her in a way that left no room for doubt.

This wasn’t soft. This wasn’t sweet.

This was raw, intense, a collision of fire and ice, of emotions they had long refused to acknowledge.

And just as suddenly as it started, he pulled away, breathing heavy, his forehead resting against hers. Silence stretched between them, thick and charged. His fingers lingered against her skin, as if reluctant to let go.

Vivie’s heart pounded against her ribs. Her lips tingled, still feeling the phantom pressure of his.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them moved.

But everything between them had changed.