The penthouse suite stayed quiet after the kiss.
Rain moved softly against the windows, Milan glowing below like a city built from secrets and expensive mistakes.
Oliver still stood where she left him, one hand loosened at his side, the other brushing absently over the place where she had grabbed his shirt.
Anna walked past him toward the kitchen as if nothing had happened.
"That expression is annoying," she said.
"What expression?"
"The one where you look pleased with yourself."
"I'm mostly surprised."
"Be less."
She opened a bottle of water and took a slow drink.
Behind her, Oliver approached carefully.
Not the way he moved in boardrooms.
Not the way he moved toward enemies.
This was slower.
More thoughtful.
"I deserved worse," he said quietly.
Anna turned.
"That's true."
"And yet I received a warning."
"Don't get sentimental about it."
A faint smile touched his mouth.
"I wouldn't dare."
She leaned against the counter, studying him.
The polished control was back—but thinner now.
More human around the edges.
"Here are the new terms," she said.
Oliver's brows lifted slightly. "Terms."
"Yes. Since apparently you enjoy contracts."
"I respect structure."
"You hide inside structure."
That landed.
She continued.
"No secrets disguised as protection."
"Yes."
"No monitoring my life in any form."
"Yes."
"No making decisions for both of us because you think you know better."
A pause.
Then: "I'll try."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Wrong answer."
He corrected immediately.
"Yes."
"Better."
She set the bottle down.
"And if your uncle threatens us again, we handle it together."
His expression hardened at Adrian's mention.
"That may not be safe."
"Neither is marrying you, yet here we are."
He nearly laughed.
Nearly.
"You make reckless arguments sound reasonable."
"I make honest arguments sound inconvenient."
He stepped closer.
Close enough that the room seemed smaller.
"You missed one term," he said.
"I doubt it."
"You require one from me too."
Anna folded her arms.
"Go on."
"No punishing kisses followed by emotional distance."
She stared at him.
"That was not punishment."
"It felt strategic."
"It was efficient."
His mouth curved.
"There you are."
She hated how easily he could do that.
Then her phone buzzed on the counter.
Both of them looked down.
Unknown number.
Oliver's expression changed instantly.
Anna opened the message before he could stop her.
A single photograph loaded.
The two of them leaving the palazzo.
Taken from across the street.
Below it, one line:
You argue well together. Let's see how long that lasts.
Anna's pulse sharpened.
Oliver took the phone, jaw tight.
"Adrian."
"Or someone working for him."
He was already reaching for his own phone.
She caught his wrist.
"No disappearing to 'handle it.' Remember the terms."
Their eyes locked.
Then slowly, he lowered the phone.
"Together," he said.
"Together," she confirmed.
For the first time in years, Oliver Vale looked like a man learning something harder than power.
How to share it.
And somewhere in Milan, Adrian smiled over another screen.
Because trust, once rebuilt, was always easier to attack the second time.