Aria couldn't stop replaying the scene in her mind—the warehouse, the man on his knees, the steel in Leon's voice. And the gun.
Always the gun.
She hadn't heard a shot, but that didn't matter. She had seen enough. And now, everything felt different. Even the sound of his footsteps across the marble made her tense.
That morning, Leon made breakfast. He never did that. Scrambled eggs, toast, fresh juice. He even set the table.
Aria sat across from him in one of his shirts, her hair still damp from the shower, and tried to act normal.
But nothing felt normal.
"How did you sleep?" he asked, sipping his coffee like he hadn't been standing in a blood-soaked warehouse just hours ago.
She hesitated. "Okay."
He nodded, watching her carefully. "You seem… quiet."
"I'm just tired."
He reached across the table and took her hand. Warm. Strong. Steady.
But she felt cold inside.
"I'm not stupid, Aria," he said softly.
She froze.
"You've been different since last night."
Her pulse quickened. "I don't know what you mean."
His jaw tensed. "Don't lie to me."
She pulled her hand back. "Isn't that a bit ironic, coming from you?"
Leon leaned back slowly, his eyes sharpening. "What did you see?"
Aria stood, unable to sit still. She walked to the window, arms crossed, the city buzzing far below.
"I went for a walk," she said. "And I followed you."
Silence.
"I saw the warehouse," she added. "I saw you."
Leon didn't speak for a long time. Then, finally, he rose and walked toward her.
"I told you there were things you didn't want to know."
She turned to face him. "You were going to kill that man."
"He betrayed me."
"You had a gun to his head, Leon."
His voice was steel now. "And I didn't pull the trigger."
"Does that make you a good man?"
"No," he said flatly. "It makes me a man who knows restraint."
The honesty in his voice chilled her. He wasn't apologizing. He wasn't ashamed.
"You don't belong in this world," he said. "You're light. And I'm made of shadow."
"Then why pull me in?"
He stepped closer, cupping her face gently. "Because you made me feel like I could have something good. Something clean."
Tears filled her eyes. "Then let me go."
He shook his head. "I can't."
She looked up at him—this beautiful, broken man who had wrapped himself around her life like smoke. Dangerous. Addictive. Impossible to hold without being burned.
"I don't know who you are anymore," she whispered.
Leon kissed her. Slow. Tender. A goodbye and a plea in one breath.
"I'm still me," he said against her lips. "But I'm also everything I was made to be. Everything they trained me to be. I kill when I have to. I protect what's mine."
Aria's voice broke. "And what am I?"
His answer came without hesitation. "Mine."
She didn't know whether to run or fall into his arms.
She did neither.
Later that night, Leon left again. No explanation. No promises.
Aria lay in his bed, tangled in his scent, and stared at the ceiling.
She didn't know if she could stay.
But worse—she didn't know if she could leave.
Because part of her still wanted him.
Even if she was terrified of what that said about her.
Even if he could destroy her.
Especially because he already had her heart.