The aftermath hit them in waves.
The warehouse at Pier 17 was a chaos of flashing lights, sirens, and the hiss of static from radio comms. Paramedics swept in, tending to Nathan while Connor's men secured the unconscious Liam Crowe in cuffs thick enough to restrain a monster.
Michael's knuckles were bloodied, his arm wrapped hastily in gauze by a medic, but he barely felt it.
His eyes were only on Hazel.
She sat on a nearby crate, her face smudged with dirt, a cut above her brow, hair damp with sweat and rain — and to Michael, she'd never looked more beautiful. Not because she was flawless. But because she was real. Fierce. Alive.
Hazel met his gaze across the room, and something unspoken passed between them.
They'd survived.
Together.
Ava approached, guilt heavy in her eyes as she knelt beside her brother. Nathan clung to her, his voice a tremor of relief. "You came for me."
Ava's tears spilled freely. "I'm so sorry, Nate. I messed up so bad."
Michael watched, a part of him wanting to be furious — but knowing grief, desperation, and Crowe's manipulation had broken people braver than Ava. He'd deal with her later. Right now, there were bigger priorities.
Connor moved to his side. "We've got Crowe. And a team sweeping his known safehouses. This was his last move. He's done."
Michael's gaze didn't waver.
"I want him locked down, Connor. No deals. No loopholes. He doesn't see daylight again."
Connor nodded grimly. "Understood."
Michael took a breath, and for the first time in weeks, the weight on his chest eased.
But he wasn't done.
He crossed the warehouse toward Hazel, his footsteps soft against the wet concrete.
She looked up as he approached, a faint, tired smile curling her lips. "We make a hell of a team, Graze."
He stopped in front of her, eyes locked to hers. "You terrified me tonight."
Her smile faltered, something raw flickering in her gaze. "You scared me too."
He reached out, his thumb brushing the cut above her brow, his touch achingly gentle. "I don't ever want to lose you, Hazel."
Hazel's throat tightened. For so long, they'd danced around it. The insults. The fire. The teasing. The walls they'd built between hate and love.
But tonight, when it had all been about survival — none of it had mattered.
She reached up, her fingers curling around his wrist. "I don't want to lose you either, Michael."
The city noise faded.
The flicker of red and blue lights softened.
And for the first time, there was nothing left between them but truth.
Michael leaned down, his lips brushing against hers — not rushed, not wild, but deep and certain. The kind of kiss that spoke of battles fought, of fears faced, of hearts that had finally, finally stopped running.
Hazel melted into him, her arms wrapping around his neck, the world narrowing to just the two of them.
When they parted, breathless, Hazel laughed softly against his chest. "You still owe me that damn dance."
Michael chuckled, pressing a kiss to her hair. "Name the time and place."
She glanced around the warehouse, battered and bloodstained.
"Now works."
His brow quirked. "You serious?"
Hazel grinned, pulling him toward the empty space between crates. "You promised."
Connor and the rest of the team watched in bemused silence as Michael Graze — the cold, perfectionist businessman who'd once sworn he had no time for love, who'd tried to hate the woman forced into his life — took Hazel Graze's hand and pulled her into a slow, swaying dance amid the wreckage.
No music.
No glamour.
Just them.
The rain battered the roof above them like a heartbeat. The city lights gleamed beyond the broken windows. And in that moment, it wasn't about victory, or power, or enemies defeated.
It was about surviving together.
And choosing each other, despite everything.
Michael rested his forehead against hers.
"I love you, Hazel."
Hazel's breath hitched, her eyes stinging.
"Took you long enough."
They both laughed, and as the first hints of dawn painted the horizon in gold, Michael knew one thing for certain:
Liam Crowe might've started this war.
But Michael Graze had already won.
And Hazel Graze — his stubborn, clumsy, infuriating, perfect wife — was his greatest victory.....