The silence afterward was heavier than any touch.
Adrian pulled back first, his hand dropping from my face like it burned him. He turned toward the window, jaw tight, shoulders rigid—control snapping back into place piece by piece.
"This changes everything," he said quietly.
"Yes," I replied. My voice trembled, but I didn't look away. "It already has."
The car moved again, the city swallowing us whole. Neither of us spoke. There was nothing left to explain. The truth had already done its damage.
When we arrived, security cleared the floor without comment. Adrian dismissed them with a nod, then stopped just inside the door, as if crossing further would mean crossing another line he couldn't undo.
"You're still under threat," he said. "That hasn't changed."
"And you?" I asked. "What are we now?"
He turned slowly. The mask was gone—not replaced with softness, but with honesty. Raw. Dangerous.
"We're a liability," he said. "To each other."
My chest tightened. "That sounds like regret."
"No," he replied. "It sounds like inevitability."
He stepped closer—not touching, not yet. "I won't pretend tonight didn't happen. But I also won't rush what could destroy us both."
I nodded, tears stinging my eyes. "I don't want rushed."
His gaze softened—just a fraction. "Good. Because what I feel doesn't disappear with distance. And it doesn't get weaker with denial."
The admission settled between us, fragile and heavy.
"Get some rest," he said. "Tomorrow, we decide how to survive this."
"Together?" I asked.
His answer came without hesitation.
"Yes."
He turned away then, retreating into the shadows of his world, leaving me alone with the echo of his confession and the knowledge that nothing would ever return to the way it was.
The contract was gone.
The rules were broken.
And what stood in their place wasn't safety or certainty—but something far more dangerous.
Choice.