Chapter 5 THE FIRE BETWEEN THEM

The Fire Between Them

Ayla kept her distance the next few days.

She didn't say it outright, but her silence spoke for her. She busied herself with laundry, chores, a second job she picked up just to avoid long stretches alone in the apartment. Every time Lorenzo tried to talk to her, she gave him polite, hollow answers. No warmth. No softness.

He felt the wall rising.

And he let her build it at least for now.

But every time he looked at her, he remembered how close their lips had come. How her voice had trembled when she said "You're going to leave."

How she looked like she wanted to run, but part of her wanted to stay.

He saw it in her eyes.

Even if she refused to admit it.

Meanwhile

Lorenzo's lead had finally panned out.

His private investigator had emailed him the bank transfers.

The money trail from the shell account that funded the hit...

...led straight to his half-brother, Adrian Steele.

He stared at the screen, jaw tight, stomach burning.

Adrian had always hated him. Resented him for being the firstborn, the heir. But murder? Lorenzo hadn't believed he was capable of something that dark.

Now there was no doubt.

It wasn't just betrayal anymore.

It was war.

He didn't tell Ayla. Not yet.

She had enough pain on her plate.

But it lit a fire under his skin.

It made him want to shield her from everything. Especially now that people still believed he was dead. If Adrian ever found out Lorenzo was alive and living with the girl who saved him Ayla could be a target too.

He couldn't let that happen.

Thursday Afternoon

Ayla hadn't returned from work by nightfall.

Worried, Lorenzo stepped out just as the first drops of rain began to fall. He found her down the block, standing outside the food stall, completely drenched.

She stood frozen in front of her boss and a young couple.

The woman a customer was laughing.

"She smells like wet dog," she said loudly.

The man snorted. "Are you sure she works here? Or just eats out of the trash behind the counter?"

Ayla didn't respond. She just bowed her head and picked up the crates she'd been carrying. But her hands were shaking.

Lorenzo's fists clenched.

He walked straight up to the pair and said in a voice so low it made the rain pause:

"Apologize."

The woman blinked. "Excuse me ?"

"I said," he repeated, "apologize to her. Right now."

The man stepped forward. "Who the hell are ?"

Lorenzo turned to the stall owner. "She's done here. She doesn't need this job."

"What? But"

"She'll be paid for the full week," he said flatly. "Or you'll answer to me."

Ayla stood frozen.

He turned to her.

"Let's go."

Back at the apartment, Ayla stood dripping in the doorway. Her teeth chattered. Her eyes stayed on the floor.

"Why did you come?" she asked.

"I was worried."

"I didn't need saving."

He stepped closer. "Yes, you did."

"No, I Her voice cracked. "You can't keep doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Showing up like some... storm," she whispered. "Blowing through my life. Making me feel seen. Making me feel safe. I don't get safe. That's not my story."

"It can be."

"No, it can't!" she shouted, tears finally breaking free. "Because when people leave, it hurts. And people always leave. My mom. My dad. My friends. Everyone."

She paused, chest heaving.

"You're no different."

Lorenzo took a step forward. Then another. Until he was standing just inches from her.

"I'm trying not to be."

She looked up at him then eyes soaked with more than just rain.

Thunder rumbled outside.

The lights flickered.

Then everything went dark.

The Storm

Power outage.

Complete silence, save for the sound of thunder and the rain hammering the roof.

Lorenzo lit two candles. The glow was soft and flickering, casting golden shadows across her face.

"You should get out of those wet clothes," he said.

She hesitated. "There's only one bedroom."

"I'll sleep on the couch."

"I'll sleep on the floor."

"You're not sleeping on the floor."

They stared at each other for a long, loaded moment.

Ayla turned away first, stepping into the bedroom and shutting the door softly.

Lorenzo sat down, running a hand through his soaked hair.

The storm was outside.

But it was nothing compared to the one between them.

Hours Later

She couldn't sleep.

And neither could he.

The rain had slowed to a whisper. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

Ayla stepped out of the bedroom in one of the large T-shirts he'd left folded for her. Her hair was damp. Her skin still glowed from the warmth of the shower.

Lorenzo looked up from the couch. "Couldn't sleep?"

She shook her head.

They stared at each other through the candlelight.

Then she sat beside him.

Not too close.

But not far.

"I'm tired of being afraid," she whispered.

"Me too," he said.

She looked at him, really looked.

This man wealthy, powerful, born into luxury and yet somehow... just as alone as she was.

"Why are you still here?" she asked.

His answer was immediate.

"Because I don't know how to leave you."

Silence.

Her eyes welled again but this time, from something softer.

He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

"I don't want to run anymore," she whispered.

"Then don't."

Their faces drew closer.

He hesitated for a heartbeat.

Then she closed the gap.

Their lips touched.

It wasn't rushed.

It wasn't desperate.

It was gentle. Deep. Like a promise. Like a question finally answered.

Her fingers curled into his shirt. His hand slid up to the nape of her neck.

And for the first time since her world collapsed, Ayla felt something like home.

But...

Outside the window, across the street, someone watched them from a black car.

Phone pressed to their ear.

Voice cold.

"She's still with him. Yes. He's alive."

A pause.

"No. Not yet. We wait."