ARSHILA POV
"Don't you owe me a kiss?" his voice comes out low, smooth, carrying something dark and almost teasing beneath it.
My eyes widen instantly, shock crashing straight into anger as I push against his chest again, harder this time, even though it does nothing. "Watch what you're saying, psycho!"
A quiet chuckle slips out of him, deep and controlled, the sound brushing against my skin in a way that makes something twist uncomfortably inside me.
His gaze sharpens slightly, amused but dangerous. "Psycho?" he repeats, tilting his head just a fraction. "Me?"
"Yes, you," I snap, trying to twist out from under him, but his body blocks every attempt, his weight hovering just enough to trap me without fully pinning me.
"You're a psychopath who enjoys killing people like it's some kind of game."
That only makes him laugh properly this time, low and rich, like I just said something entertaining instead of accusing him of something that should destroy a man.
His face dips slightly closer, his eyes locked on mine like he is studying every reaction I fail to hide.
"And yet," he murmurs, voice soft but edged, "weren't you the one calling that same man your hero every time his name came on the news?"
My words stall.
For a second, nothing comes out.
Because I remember.
The stupid comments, the careless admiration, the way I used to talk about the faceless vigilante like he was something untouchable, something righteous.
"That was before," I bite out, my voice tightening as I glare at him. "Before I knew it was you."
His brows lift slightly, interest flickering for the first time. "So?" he asks, calm, almost curious. "If it was someone else, it would still be fine. But because it's me, suddenly it's not?"
"Yes," I shoot back instantly, my chest rising sharply. "It's not fine. I don't want you to be this. I don't want you to be some fucking murderer hiding behind a mask like it makes it better."
He studies me for a second longer, something unreadable settling in his eyes before he asks quietly, "Why?"
The question hits harder than it should.
Because I don't have an answer ready.
Not one that makes sense.
Not one I can say out loud without exposing something I don't want to look at.
My lips part, but nothing comes out.
His gaze darkens slightly, noticing it, reading it.
"That's what I thought," he murmurs.
My jaw tightens as I push harder against him, finally forcing enough space to sit up, my breathing uneven as I shift back on the bed. My eyes flick to the side—
To the knife.
Lying just within reach.
Before I can even move toward it, his hand wraps around my waist and yanks me back into him in one sharp motion.
A gasp tears out of me as my body collides with his chest, the impact knocking the air from my lungs, my palms pressing instinctively against him as I try to push away again.
"You offered something to a ghost. Turns out, I was listening." he says against my ear, his voice lower now, almost a whisper, but heavier."Give me the kiss, wife".
"What kiss?" I snap, my voice breaking slightly as I struggle against him. "Stay away from me."
His grip doesn't loosen.
Not even a little.
"You don't remember?" he murmurs, his breath brushing the side of my neck as his head tilts slightly, his tone almost mocking now. "You're the one who promised it."
My movements slow.
Just for a second.
"You said," he continues, dragging the words out like he's enjoying this far too much, "that the day you find out who the vigilante is, you'll give him a kiss he won't forget."
My stomach drops.
Because I did say that.
More than once.
Careless. Joking. Never thinking it would matter.
Never thinking it was him listening every single time.
"You're fucking nuts," I mutter under my breath, my voice weaker now, my thoughts scrambling as the pieces connect in a way I don't like.
He tilts his head slightly, his lips curving again. "Maybe," he agrees calmly. "But a promise is still a promise."
"That was before I knew it was you," I argue, my voice sharpening again as I glare at him. "That doesn't count."
"Now you know," he counters immediately, his tone smooth, unbothered. "So it counts even more."
I lift my hand and show him my middle finger without hesitation.
"Take your promise and shove it."
He chuckles softly at that, the sound low and dangerous, his grip tightening just enough to pull me closer again until there is no space left between us.
His head lowers, resting briefly against my shoulder from the front, his breath warm against my skin as he speaks again, quieter this time.
"Are you really going to kill me with that knife you keep looking at?"
My body stills.
Because he noticed.
Of course he did.
Even now.
Even like this.
"What if I am?" I ask, my voice coming out lower than before, my pulse picking up again.
He hums softly, almost thoughtful.
"Do you think you can?"
My eyes lock onto his, something sharp flickering through me despite everything. "Can't I?"
He looks at me for a second.
Then—
"Yes."
The word lands heavy.
Simple.
Certain.
And it freezes me.
Because there is no hesitation in it.
No doubt.
No fear.
Just permission.
My breath catches as I stare at him, my mind struggling to process what he just said, what he just gave me without even blinking.
He lifts his head from my shoulder slowly, his gaze locking onto mine again, darker now, deeper, something dangerous settling fully into place.
"But only after," he says quietly, his voice dropping just enough to send a sharp shiver down my spine, "you give me the kiss."
"In your dreams, Adam," I shoot back, the name leaving my mouth like a challenge, sharp and deliberate as I glare straight into his eyes.
His smirk deepens just enough to make it worse.
"Adam?" he repeats slowly, like he's tasting it, his head tilting a fraction as his gaze drags over my face with something dark and amused. "That's what we're doing now?"
"Isn't it your name?" I snap, my fingers curling into his shirt without permission, my pulse still unsteady but my voice cutting anyway. "Fits you. Arrogant. Annoying. Completely insufferable."
His eyes flicker, something dangerous sharpening in them as his hand slides slightly higher on my waist, his grip tightening just enough to remind me how easily he can control this distance.
"This filthy mouth," he murmurs, his tone dropping, quieter but heavier, "you should learn to keep it appropriate, wife."
A laugh rips out of me, harsh and breathless, completely unamused. "Appropriate?" I scoff, leaning forward just enough to invade his space right back. "Says the man who kills people like it's part of his daily routine."
His expression doesn't crack.
Not even a little.
"Monsters," he corrects calmly, his voice steady, almost bored, like the difference actually matters. "Not people."
My brows pull together, irritation flashing instantly. "Oh, that makes it so much better," I bite out. "Changing the word doesn't change what you do."
"It changes everything," he says quietly.
There's no raise in his voice.
No anger.
Just certainty.
His gaze locks onto mine, deeper now, darker in a way that feels heavier than before.
"They were never human to begin with," he continues, his tone even, controlled, but carrying something colder underneath.
"Men who buy children. Men who break women for sport. Men who hide behind money and power and think it makes them untouchable."
His fingers flex slightly against my waist.
"They don't deserve to breathe the same air as you."
I stare at him, my chest rising unevenly, my anger still there but shifting under the weight of his words.
"That still doesn't give you the right to kill them," I push back, my voice lower now but just as firm. "You don't get to decide who lives and who dies."
His lips curve again.
Not amused this time.
Something sharper.
"I do," he says simply.
The words land like a blade.
Because he means it.
"I sit on top of everything they worship," he adds, his voice dropping further, something almost cruel threading through it now.
"Money. Power. Influence. I don't follow rules made to protect men like them."
A bitter scoff leaves me as I shake my head slightly. "God, you're so full of yourself."
His gaze doesn't waver.
"Obsessed," he corrects.
My eyes narrow. "With what?"
He doesn't even hesitate.
"With you."
The answer hits too fast, too direct, and for a second, my breath stumbles before I force it back under control, anger flaring again to cover whatever that was.
"I will fucking kill you," I snap, the words sharper now, more desperate than before as I push against him again.
His smirk returns, slow and dangerous, his face dipping just slightly closer, his breath brushing against my lips now.
"After this," he murmurs.
And then—
He closes the distance.
His lips crash against mine.