The plan wasn't perfect. But desperation made Ananya bold.
Late into the night, while the mansion was quiet and Rael's brooding footsteps had finally stopped echoing, she moved.
She had memorized the guard shifts. Hidden spare keys. Tucked away enough cash to get to the city.
Her heart thudded in her chest like it wanted out first.
She wore black. No phone. No luggage. Only survival.
Ananya slipped out through the wine cellar tunnel — a forgotten servant exit that Rael once bragged about never needing.
Good. Let his pride be his weakness.
---
The city lights blurred past as she boarded a late-night train.
Her hands shook. Her chest burned.
But she was moving. Finally.
And then the train stopped.
Not at a station. Not by schedule.
The lights flickered.
And standing at the far end of the compartment — black coat, storm in his eyes — was Rael.
She froze.
He walked slowly.
No yelling. No expression.
Just eyes locked on her.
She stood, ready to run again.
"Don't," he said. "You won't get far."
"I had to try."
"You always do."
She backed against the wall as he neared.
"You think you're still unbroken?" he asked. "Still dangerous?"
"I'm not yours," she hissed.
He reached her. Lifted her chin.
"No. But you burn like you are."
Then he kissed her.
---
It was violent. Breathless.
His hand slammed into the window beside her as his mouth captured hers. She clawed at his chest, pushing and pulling, fighting and needing.
She wanted to hate him. But her body betrayed her.
Again.
They collapsed onto the seat, then the floor. His jacket was tossed aside, her shirt ripped open.
"I should hate you," she whispered against his throat.
"Then hate me," he groaned, "but you'll still scream my name."
Their bodies met with the same violence as their hearts — rough, desperate, aching.
She didn't cry. She didn't beg.
She took.
So did he.
By the time they lay tangled in silence, breath slowing, the train had begun to move again.
Neither noticed.
Because for that moment — broken and bleeding — they had only each other.
---