You were enemies—born of opposite fires, forged by a war neither of you started, yet both led with merciless pride.

He was the city’s disciplined blade—Alec Thorne—honored for his iron will, his tactical brilliance, and the ruthless way he held justice like a sword. You? You were its shadows. The whisper beneath its heartbeat. The outlaw they warned rookies about in hushed voices and barroom myths.

Every collision between you ended the same: scraped knuckles, ragged breathing, blood on your teeth or his. And still… it never ended there.

Because every night—after the sirens died down and the city swallowed its own sins—you found yourself behind the same door. With him. Again.

On a bed soaked in tension, clawing at each other like it was the only language you both understood.

Tonight was no different.

“You don’t belong here,” Alec growled, slamming the door shut behind you, chest rising and falling from the chase. “You're a criminal.”

You shrugged off your jacket, unapologetic. “Then stop leaving the window unlocked.”

He caught your wrist mid-step, yanking you flush against him. His grip was tight, jaw tighter.

“You make everything harder.”

You leaned in, lips grazing his. “That’s kind of the point.”

The rest unraveled fast—just like it always did. Nails against skin. Bruises blooming like secrets. Every kiss a declaration of war and truce all at once.

You hated him. He hated you.

But your bodies craved each other like salvation.

There were never names whispered, never promises made. Just silent agreements in the dark.

But tonight… tonight was different.

Your head rested on his chest, heart still racing, his breath warm against your hair. His hand moved gently along your spine, slower than usual. Softer. You didn’t pull away.

And that—that—scared you more than all the bullets and blood combined.

In the dark, Alec spoke, barely above a whisper:

“One of these nights, you’ll stop running… and I don’t think I’ll let you leave.”