The door closed softly behind them.
The sound echoed faintly through the room before settling into silence.
Leah stepped inside first, her pace slow, measured.
She glanced back over her shoulder.
"…Careful," she murmured.
Izana followed a step behind her.
Steady.
Controlled.
"…I am."
She didn't look convinced.
Not even a little.
He noticed immediately.
A faint flicker of amusement passed through his expression.
"…You're still watching me," he said.
"…You're still injured," she replied without hesitation.
"…You've said that a lot."
"…Because you keep ignoring it."
"…I'm not ignoring it."
A pause.
"…I'm managing it."
She turned slightly, giving him a look.
"…That's not the same thing."
"…It's close enough."
"…Not to me."
A quiet pause settled between them.
Leah walked further into the room, adjusting the pillows on the bed out of habit.
Straightening the sheets.
Fixing something that didn't need fixing.
"…Sit," she said softly, gesturing toward the bed.
Izana didn't move.
She noticed.
"…Iz."
"…In a moment."
"…You said that earlier."
"…And I meant it both times."
She exhaled softly, turning back toward him—
And before she could say anything else—
His hand caught her wrist.
A quick movement.
Controlled.
Leah let out a small breath as he pulled her toward him.
Then—
The shift.
Her back met the bed.
Soft.
Not forceful.
Not sudden.
Intentional.
Izana leaned over her.
Careful of his arm.
Balanced.
His right hand braced beside her.
His cast angled away, protected.
"…Iz?"
His gaze held hers.
Steady.
Focused.
"…You caused a problem today."
Her brows pulled together slightly.
"…A problem?"
"…Everyone was staring."
A pause.
"…At you?"
"…At this," he said, lifting his cast slightly into view.
The ink was still there.
Unfaded.
Unapologetic.
Hearts.
Crowns.
Small details that didn't belong in a room filled with men who feared him.
Leah's lips curved faintly.
"…It suits you," she said softly.
"…It distracted them."
"…Good," she replied. "…Then they weren't focused on anything else."
A flicker of something passed through his eyes.
Something almost impressed.
"…You're not sorry."
"…Not even a little."
"…You should be."
"…Why?"
A pause.
His voice lowered slightly.
"…Because now…"
He leaned closer.
"…you need to be punished."
Leah blinked once.
"…Punished?"
"…For interfering with my meeting."
A quiet pause followed.
Then her gaze drifted—
To his arm.
Then back up to him.
"…With one arm?"
Silence.
Then—
A slow, subtle smile formed on his lips.
"…You doubt me."
"…I think you should sit down before you prove me right," she replied calmly.
A soft breath left him.
Almost a laugh.
"…You're not taking this seriously."
"…I am," she said.
"…Very seriously."
"…Then you understand the consequences."
"…Do you?" she asked quietly.
That made him pause.
Just for a second.
Then—
He leaned down.
Close enough that the space between them disappeared.
"…Careful," she whispered.
"…I am."
And then—
He kissed her.
Soft.
Measured.
Leah stilled for half a heartbeat—
then kissed him back.
Warm.
Familiar.
His hand shifted slightly, steadying himself against the bed.
Careful.
Deliberate.
The moment deepened.
His presence closer.
Her breath soft.
Then—
She stopped.
Her hand pressed lightly against his chest.
"…Iz."
He didn't move far.
Still close.
"…You're going to hurt your arm."
"…I'm fine."
"…You're not."
"…Li—."
"…No."
Soft.
But firm.
Her hand remained there.
Holding him back.
"…You're pushing it," she added quietly.
He stilled.
The air shifted.
Not tense.
But heavier.
"…You're stopping me," he said.
"…Yes."
"…You usually don't."
"…You're injured," she repeated.
A pause.
"…And you're stubborn."
A faint smirk returned.
"…Only with you."
"…Exactly."
Silence lingered between them.
He looked at her properly this time.
Not teasing.
Not testing.
Just… seeing her.
Her concern.
Her quiet determination.
Her refusal to let him ignore something that mattered.
A slow breath left him.
His posture softened.
The weight shifted.
Less pressure.
More ease.
"…So I don't win?" he murmured.
Her lips curved slightly.
"…Not this time."
"…You're sure?"
"…Very."
"…Even if I try again?"
"…Especially then."
A quiet pause.
Then—
A soft laugh escaped him.
"…You're impossible."
"…And you like that."
"…I do."
Another pause.
Then—
He leaned back slightly.
Giving her space.
The tension dissolved.
Not gone.
Just softened into something gentler.
He looked at her for a moment longer.
Then leaned in again—
But this time—
He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
Slow.
Warm.
Lingering.
"…I admit defeat," he murmured.
Leah blinked.
Then smiled softly.
"…That was quicker than I expected."
"…Don't get used to it."
"…I might," she replied lightly.
He let out a quiet breath.
Almost a laugh.
She shifted, sitting up properly now.
Her hand moved instinctively to his cast.
"…Still intact," she murmured.
"…Your masterpiece survived."
"…Of course it did."
Her fingers traced one of the small hearts.
Slow.
Careful.
"…They really stared?"
"…They did."
"…All of them?"
"…Every single one."
Her lips curved again.
"…Good."
He raised an eyebrow slightly.
"…You're proud of that."
"…Very."
"…You distracted an entire room without being there."
"…That's impressive," she said softly.
"…It is," he admitted.
A pause.
Then—
"…Next time," she added,
"…I'll add more."
He glanced at her.
"…More?"
"…Maybe my name."
"…That would definitely cause a problem."
"…Then I should do it," she said, completely serious.
A quiet laugh escaped him.
"…You're dangerous."
"…Only to you."
"…That's enough."
Silence settled again.
He shifted beside her now.
Close.
Relaxed.
Her shoulder brushed against his.
"…You should rest," she said softly.
"…You're not letting that go."
"…No."
"…Even after I admitted defeat?"
"…Especially after that."
A faint smile returned.
"…Alright."
He leaned back against the headboard.
Leah adjusted the pillow behind him.
Careful.
Gentle.
"…There."
"…You're persistent."
"…Someone has to be."
"…And it's always you."
"…Only with you."
A quiet moment passed.
Then—
His right hand moved slightly.
Resting over hers.
Light.
Steady.
She didn't pull away.
"…Stay," she murmured.
"…I am."
The room fell quiet again.
Soft.
Warm.
The kind of quiet that felt full instead of empty.
Outside, the world still moved.
Still uncertain.
Still unfinished.
But here—
For now—
Everything was steady.
And this time…
She had won.