Chapter 25
T he rooftop terrace still thrummed with the heat of our encounter, the air heavy. Ronan held me against his chest, his jacket draped over my shoulders, his fingers tracing slow, possessive circles on my arm.
My skin tingled from his touch, from the way his mouth and hands had unraveled every defense I had left.
My bag lay nearby, discarded on the terrace floor, the flash drive inside it a cold weight I couldn’t face—not when his warmth consumed me, not when his promise to build my dream house still echoed in my mind.
The city sprawled beyond the glass, its lights glinting like secrets, and I wondered if someone had seen us, if a telephoto lens had captured the way I’d surrendered to him. The thought should’ve scared me, but it only stoked the fire still burning in my veins.
I was a political columnist. A professor.
A woman who wrote about systems and scandals and the slow death of democracy.
And yet here I was, slick with sweat and sex, legs still trembling from how thoroughly I’d been wrecked.
By a man I barely knew. A man who made me feel more alive than I ever had with someone who checked all the “right” boxes.
It felt surreal. Like I was watching someone else’s life unfold. Some version of me that had finally stopped hiding behind careful choices and cautious words. A version that didn’t just want—but took.
Who had I become?
Ronan shifted, his lips brushing my temple, his breath warm against my skin.
“Come with me,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver through me.
He stood, pulling me up with him, his hand firm around mine.
My dress clung to my hips, disheveled from earlier, and I smoothed it down, my cheeks flushing as his dark eyes raked over me, hungry and unyielding.
He led me across the terrace, past the fairy lights woven through lush greenery, to the infinity pool that glowed under the starlight, its water shimmering like liquid glass.
The pool was a marvel, its edge blending seamlessly with the horizon, reflecting the city’s lights in a way that made it feel like we were suspended.
He stopped at the pool’s edge, turning to face me, his expression intense but unguarded. I wanted to touch him, but the flash drive in my bag tugged at my thoughts, a reminder of the truth I’d been avoiding all night.
“You’re still thinking about it,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet, low and rough like gravel wrapped in velvet. He stepped closer, his hands settling on my hips, grounding me. “The drive.”
I swallowed, my throat tight. “I can’t help it.”
He nodded, his eyes searching mine, steady but heavy with something unspoken. “Ask me, Zara. Whatever you want to know.”
My pulse raced, the question burning on my tongue. The flash drive held answers I wasn’t sure I could handle, but I needed something—some piece of him to hold onto before I faced it all. “What’s on it?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “What have you done?”
His jaw flexed, a shadow crossing his face, but he didn’t look away. “It’s a record,” he said. “Names. Dates. Jobs I took. Problems I made go away for people who could pay for it.”
A chill ran through me. I remembered what he’d said in the bar—threats, leaks, problems that can’t be handled in a boardroom. “Problems,” I echoed, my voice trembling. “You mean people.”
He didn’t flinch. “Sometimes,” he said, his voice steady but laced with something raw. “People who were dangerous. People who hurt others. People who couldn’t be stopped any other way.”
My breath caught, the truth taking shape in my mind without him saying the word—hitman.
He wasn’t admitting it outright, but I could feel it, the violence and precision of his past, the shadows he’d lived in.
I should’ve pulled away, should’ve run, but his hands on me, his eyes so open and vulnerable, kept me rooted.
“Did you choose them?” I asked. “The … problems?”
“Sometimes,” he said. “Sometimes they were chosen for me. But I never took a job I didn’t believe was necessary. Not once.”
I hesitated—then asked the question that had been clawing at the edges of my mind since that first week, when I still thought Ronan might be a fantasy I could box up and walk away from .
“Before we met,” I said slowly, “there was a story on the news. A man—Charles Redmond. Former chancellor at Southeastern Christian. Shot and killed in what they called a home invasion.”
Ronan didn’t blink. But his body went still.
I kept going. “The official story was vague. No forced entry. No leads. One shot. Nothing else.” My voice dropped. “It didn’t feel like a robbery. It felt like a message.”
He didn’t confirm it. Not with words.
But I saw it in the shift of his shoulders, the flicker behind his eyes. A ghost of recognition.
“You did it,” I said, barely more than a whisper. “Didn’t you?”
A long beat passed. Then: “He was a threat.”
My heart pounded, but I didn’t pull away. “To who?”
“To students. To women. To anyone who didn’t fit into his twisted version of morality.
” Ronan’s voice was calm—cold, almost—but I could hear something deeper underneath.
Rage. Resolve. “He buried abuse under Scripture. He silenced victims. Ruined lives. And he was about to be elevated to a national policy committee with unchecked power. There were people who tried to stop it through the courts. The media. Nothing worked. Not fast enough.”
I stared at him. “So you were sent in.”
“I accepted the job,” he said, unwavering. “And I made sure he never had the chance to destroy anyone else.”
My breath hitched.
He didn’t look triumphant. Didn’t smirk. He didn’t even flinch when I stepped back slightly, needing air. “I wrote about him,” I said, half to myself. “When he was still alive. I tore him apart in op-eds. I thought that was the most I could do. The only power I had.”
“It was,” Ronan said. “For you. For people like you. But there are other ways to hold a man accountable when the system fails.”
“And you’re one of them?”
His eyes didn’t waver. “I was.”
The rooftop felt too quiet, too far above the world we were talking about.
But the memory of that news report came roaring back—Redmond’s smiling headshot, the manor house with its wrought-iron gates, the quick flicker of something dark and professional behind the anchor’s eyes as she reported what was clearly not supposed to look like an execution.
It hadn’t been random.
It hadn’t been sloppy.
And now I knew why.
“I should be horrified,” I said softly, fingers trembling at my sides. “I’ve spent my whole career telling people that killing isn’t justice. That due process matters. That no one has the right to decide who lives and dies.”
He nodded once. “I know.”
“But I’m not horrified,” I whispered. “Not like I thought I’d be.”
A pause.
“Why?” he asked.
Because I remember the fury that filled my chest that day.
The bile in my throat when I thought about how Redmond would be eulogized as some kind of saint.
How the system let men like him rot everything from the inside while calling it righteousness.
And how maybe—just maybe—there was someone out there who didn’t wait for permission to stop him .
“Because I think a part of me wanted someone like you to exist,” I said.
He took a slow breath. “And now that you know I do?”
“I don’t know what that makes me,” I said, voice raw. “But I know I still want you.”
His hand reached for mine again. “Then take me. With everything that comes with it.”
I did.
And for the first time since hearing that news broadcast, I understood what it felt like to be on the other side of a story.
The truth wasn’t black and white.
It was him.
Gray, complicated, violent—and still the safest place I’d ever known.
I stared at him, trying to reconcile the man who’d killed with the man who’d touched me like I was his entire world. “And now?” I asked, my voice barely audible. “Do you still … do that?”
His gaze darkened, not with anger but with resolve. “Not if it means losing you.”
The words hit me like a punch, stealing my breath. The sexual tension that had simmered all night flared hot again, my body responding even as my mind grappled with the weight of his confession. “You’d give it up?” I whispered. “For me?”
“I’d give up everything,” he said, his voice rough with something that felt like love. “I want all of you, Zara. I want you in public, by my side, where everyone knows you’re mine. I want you to choose me, even with the truth.”
My throat tightened, tears pricking my eyes, not from fear but from the intensity of his words. He was offering me everything—his past, his future, his heart. “Ronan,” I said, my voice breaking, “I’m scared.”
“I know,” he said, his fingers brushing my cheek, catching a tear I hadn’t felt fall. “But I love you. And I’ll wait as long as it takes for you to trust that.”
The words shattered me, my heart splitting open. I love you .
My God.
He’d said it, raw and unfiltered, and it was everything I hadn’t known I needed. I pressed myself against him, my hands sliding up his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart.
“I love you, too,” I whispered, the words spilling out before I could stop them, and his breath hitched, his eyes flaring with something fierce and tender.
He kissed me, deep and desperate, his lips claiming mine with a hunger that made my knees buckle. The pool’s glow reflected in his eyes, and the tension between us crackled, electric and consuming.
My dress clung to my skin, still askew from our earlier frenzy, and his hands roamed, tugging it higher, exposing my thighs to the night air. The risk of being seen only fueled the heat, my body aching for him despite the shadows of his past we’d just touched.
He pulled back, his breathing heavy, revealing the muscles I’d memorized.
“Get in the pool,” he said, his voice a low command that sent a shiver through me.
I didn’t hesitate, letting my dress fall to the terrace until I was bare under the starlight. The warm air kissed my skin. His gaze was fire, burning away any doubt.
I stepped into the infinity pool, the warm water enveloping me, lapping at my thighs, my hips, my waist as I descended the steps. The city shimmered in the distance, beyond the pool’s edge, and I felt exposed, vulnerable, but alive.
So very alive.
Ronan followed, shedding the rest of his clothes as he joined me, the water rippling around us.
He pulled me against him, the water making our skin slick, his hands sliding over my curves, possessive yet reverent.
“You’re mine,” he murmured, his lips brushing my ear, his beard scraping my skin.
“And I’ll never let you go.” His hands cupped my breasts, thumbs teasing my nipples, and I moaned, my head falling back against his shoulder as the water lapped around us.
I’d already come so many times. Somehow, I still wanted more.
He turned me to face him, lifting me so my legs wrapped around his waist, the water buoyant, making me weightless in his arms. His mouth found mine, kissing me deeply as he pressed himself against me, his cock hard and ready.
He entered me slowly, the water amplifying every sensation, and I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders as he filled me. His thrusts were deliberate, deep, each one a vow.
“I love you,” he said again, his voice rough, his lips brushing mine. “Every part of you.”
I moved with him, the water splashing softly, the city watching, and the pleasure built, sharp and overwhelming. I came once more. Hard.
But he wasn’t done. He carried me to the pool’s edge, setting me on the smooth tiles.
He knelt before me, his mouth finding me, his tongue teasing my clit with slow, languid strokes that made my hips buck.
His fingers joined his tongue, curling inside me, and I trembled, my hands gripping the tiles as another climax crashed through me, my cry swallowed by the night air.
He rose, kissing me deeply, and then he pulled me back into the water, guiding me to straddle his lap as he leaned against the pool’s edge. I sank onto him, the water splashing around us, and rode him slowly, his hands on my hips, his eyes locked on mine.
“I’d burn the world for you,” he murmured, his voice rough, his fingers teasing where we joined, drawing out every sensation until I shattered again, my head falling back, the stars blurring above.
His release followed, a low groan against my throat, his arms tightening around me as if he’d never let go. We stayed there, tangled in the water, our breaths mingling, the city a silent witness. He kissed my shoulder, my neck, my lips, his touch tender now, reverent.
He wrapped his arms around me, the water lapping softly, and whispered, “Zara, tell me what you want.”
“You,” I said, my voice steady despite the tears in my eyes. “I want you.”