The Corvatti library was sacred—tall shelves, ancient books, and shadows perfect for secrets. The air always smelled like old paper. A cathedral of knowledge passed down by men who’d ruled with pens just as often as with knives.

I was alone when he entered. Bent over a sprawling map of alliance lines and territorial threats, my fingers tracing faded ink routes and possible betrayals. Luca stepped in without knocking. His presence was felt before it was seen.

“No swords today?” he teased, voice light but alert. Always alert.

I didn’t look up right away. “Just politics,” I said.

“Deadlier.” He chuckled softly and moved toward one of the high shelves, brushing dust off a leather-bound book like it was part of a ritual.

“You always study this hard?” he asked, watching me instead of the pages.

I finally looked up. “Only when the world expects me to fail.” It came out too easily. Too honest. But I didn’t take it back. There was no room left for pretending.

He didn’t answer with words. He stepped closer.

“You never looked like someone who breaks easily,” he said. His voice wasn’t flirtation this time—it was fact. His tone settled around me like warmth I hadn’t known I missed.

I stood straighter. “And yet here I am,” I replied. “Shattered, reassembled, sharper than before.” I didn’t say it for sympathy.

Then I felt him before I heard him.

His presence moved through the room like a shift in the air—quiet, deliberate, impossible to ignore. The sound of his footsteps was barely there, but something inside me responded anyway. My pulse slowed, then quickened, like it was adjusting to him.

He stopped just behind me.

I didn’t turn. I couldn’t. My body was too aware—of the distance, of the silence, of the heat building between us like a secret we weren’t ready to speak aloud.

His voice came low and steady, near my ear.

“I want to kiss you.”

The words settled over my skin like smoke: warm, thick, lingering.

I turned toward him slowly, breath caught somewhere between my throat and my chest. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, the whole world narrowed to the space between us.

He looked at me like he wasn’t asking for permission, he was offering vulnerability. Like this wasn’t a move, but a moment. One that would only exist if I allowed it.

I searched his face. For doubt. For arrogance. For any sign of control.

There was none. Just quiet intensity. Just him.

My voice trembled in my chest, but I held it back. Words would’ve ruined it. This wasn’t a conversation, it was a decision. And we were both standing at the edge of it.

He stepped closer.

Close enough that I could feel his breath brush across my cheek. Close enough that my heart thudded once, hard, against my ribs.

Then his hand rose: slow, cautious, reverent. His fingers barely grazed the side of my neck as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The touch was nothing and everything.

My skin tingled where he had touched me, like it remembered more than I did.

And still, I didn’t stop him. Not when he leaned in. Not when his lips hovered just above mine.

Not when the silence deepened, and the only thing I could hear was my own breathing.

He waited. And then—when the space between us finally broke—he kissed me.

Softly. Like he meant it.

Like he was afraid if he wasn’t careful, I’d vanish.

His mouth moved over mine with the kind of control that spoke of restraint, but underneath it was heat: smoldering, slow, impossible to ignore. I leaned in without realizing it, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. His hand settled at the base of my neck, holding me there, like I was something worth anchoring.

I could taste the words he didn’t say.

The ones I wasn’t ready to hear.

But the kiss said enough. It said everything. When we pulled apart, the air felt different. Too quiet. Too full.

He didn’t speak. I was still standing there, breathless and shaken, feeling something I hadn’t felt in years.

Wanted. Seen. And maybe—just maybe—safe.

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like a pawn or a princess or a threat. I felt like a woman. In her own body. Making her own choice.

Luca leaned in and whispered:

“Aria, I need you. All of you.”