Night softened Paris.
The city looked almost gentle from above, lights stretching like constellations across the dark. Amélie stood by the window of her private quarters, her silk robe loose around her shoulders, her thoughts anything but calm.
The war outside was loud.
The war inside her was louder.
She felt him before she heard him.
Vittorio's presence always altered the air, like gravity shifting slightly. He stopped just inside the doorway, careful, as though she might shatter if he moved too quickly.
"You should be resting," he said.
She turned slowly. "So should you."
He smiled faintly. "I am terrible at listening."
"So am I."
Silence settled between them, thick and charged. Since the kidnapping, since the moment she had pulled him from death with her own hands, something had changed.
Distance no longer protected them.
It only hurt.
"You scare them," he said quietly.
"Good," she replied. "They should be afraid."
"I am not talking about them."
Her breath caught.
She crossed the room until only inches separated them. "Then what are you afraid of."
His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes. "You."
The honesty in his voice made her chest tighten.
"Why," she whispered.
"Because you make me forget the rules," he said. "And men like me survive by remembering them."
She reached up, resting her fingers lightly against his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath her palm. "And women like me rewrite them."
His breath deepened.
"Amélie," he warned softly.
She shook her head. "Do not ask me to be careful. Not tonight."
The space between them vanished.
His hand slid to her waist, firm but restrained, as though he were holding back something dangerous. She leaned into him instinctively, her body recognizing what her mind had denied for too long.
When his lips met hers, it was not gentle.
It was desperate.
Years of unspoken desire poured into that single moment. Fear. Relief. Want. The knowledge that tomorrow was never guaranteed.
She kissed him back without hesitation, fingers curling into his shirt, grounding herself in the reality of him.
Alive.
Here.
He pulled away first, resting his forehead against hers, breathing hard. "If we cross this line," he said, voice rough, "there is no pretending anymore."
She met his gaze steadily. "I am done pretending."
His hand slid into her hair, tilting her face up, his thumb brushing her cheek with unexpected tenderness.
"This world will use this against us," he said.
She smiled softly. "This world already is."
Their lips met again, slower this time, deeper. The kiss lingered, unhurried, filled with promise rather than urgency.
When they finally separated, she rested her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
"This does not make me weak," she said quietly.
"No," he agreed. "It makes you human."
She closed her eyes. "Promise me something."
"Anything."
"If this ends badly," she said, "do not regret choosing me."
He kissed her hair. "I regret every choice that did not lead to you."
The morning after was dangerous in its own way.
Amélie entered the strategy room composed, her expression unreadable. No one would know that hours earlier she had allowed herself to be held, to be wanted, to be more than a Queen.
Vittorio stood at her side, professional once more, but the connection between them was undeniable.
"They are moving assets through northern Italy," one advisor reported. "Quietly."
Amélie nodded. "They think I am distracted."
She glanced at Vittorio briefly.
"I am focused."
Far away, the founder reviewed surveillance reports.
His advisor hesitated. "She is closer to him than before."
The founder smiled slowly. "Good."
"Good," the advisor echoed uncertainly.
"Yes," he said. "Because now she has something to lose."
He leaned back.
"And when power and love collide," he added softly, "history always bleeds."
That evening, Amélie stood alone once more on the balcony, the weight of everything pressing down on her.
Vittorio joined her, his hand brushing hers intentionally this time.
"Whatever comes next," he said, "we face it together."
She intertwined her fingers with his. "They wanted to break me."
He smiled. "They only taught you how to burn."
Below them, Paris glittered.
Above them, war waited patiently.
And between power and love, Amélie Valen made her choice.