The storm was coming.
Outside, the world had already been swallowed by an unforgiving blizzard. Snow piled high along the streets, the rooftops blanketed in a thick coat of white. The wind howled, fierce and biting, plummeting temperatures to a numbing -10°C. Yet, inside the towering 29-story building that Hudson had made his sanctuary, the warmth was a comfortable contrast. The atmosphere was meticulously controlled, and the fire crackled in the hearth like an old friend whispering of comfort in the face of a world that felt indifferent. But Hudson, his gaze fixed on the flurrying chaos beyond the window, felt an unsettling tightness gnaw at his chest.
The blizzard outside stirred something deep within him. It wasn't just the freezing cold or the gnashing of the wind that troubled him—it was the haunting presence of a memory. Her memory. The last look she had given him, filled with such sorrow, still lingered in his mind. It was a pain that never eased, a relentless echo that jolted him awake in the dead of night. The soul-tugging pull of that memory seemed as sharp as it had been two years ago. Had she truly left him, or had he left her?
Hudson's thoughts were interrupted by the sharp sound of the doorbell ringing through the emptiness of the penthouse. His brow furrowed, and instinctively, he tensed. This was Twelve Eagles' headquarters, after all. Not just anyone could wander into these halls. The security was tighter than any government building, each guard trained to spot an intruder before their foot even touched the ground. He had long rejected Nightya's overly cautious proposal—a fingerprint and vocal recognition system—that would have made his every move under surveillance. He didn't like being watched too closely.
Who was at his door? No one dared disturb him unless summoned.
With slow, deliberate steps, Hudson approached the door, calculating in his mind whether he should deal with the intruder in the usual way—by silencing them before they even had a chance to speak. But as his hand touched the door handle and pulled it open, a voice, light and familiar, struck him dumb.
"I've missed you, Hudson."
His hand froze midair, his fingers still gripping the handle. A woman stood in front of him, her beauty dazzling, almost too much for his senses to process. She had a brightness that seemed to push the gloom of the storm outside into oblivion. She wasn't just any stranger—there was something about her that reached deep into him, stirring a sense of confusion and disbelief. She shouldn't have been here, couldn't have known him so intimately. His real name was a secret, a rare thread of his past tied only to those who shared his blood.
He blinked, taking a step back. "Who are you?" His voice was low, dangerous. "How do you know my name?"
The woman, with a casual grace that suggested she belonged here, stepped into the apartment as though she were the lady of the house. She walked right past him, her movements smooth and confident, as though she had been here a thousand times before. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Hudson standing there, slightly disoriented. He followed her to the living room, his eyes never leaving her. There was something terribly familiar about her, yet he couldn't place it.
"How did you get in?" he asked again, his voice tight, the suspicion gnawing at him.
She turned to face him, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Baiyi gave me a silver key," she said with a shrug. "He told me with this key, I could command anyone in Twelve Eagles. Except you. You're above everyone else." She said this last part with an almost mocking respect.
Baiyi? The arms dealer, always busy, always on the edge of chaos. What was he playing at? This woman—who was she to him?
Seeing the flicker of confusion in his eyes, she lifted her chin proudly. "I'm Baiyi's future sister-in-law."
Hudson's face darkened. "Baiyi doesn't have a brother. He's an orphan."
Her eyes gleamed, a playful spark in them. "You're his brother, aren't you?" She raised her eyebrows, as if the answer were self-evident. "By oath. You two are brothers, just not by blood."
Hudson's mind spun, but he kept his composure. "I would never marry you," he muttered, more to himself than to her. This woman, whatever delusions she harbored, was dangerous. He couldn't afford to be distracted by something so… ridiculous.
The woman's eyelash fluttered, and in an instant, a single tear, as bright as crystal, slid down her cheek. It was slow, deliberate, as though she meant for him to notice. Her lips parted, as if to say something, but she let out only a soft sigh.
"You've forgotten me," she whispered, the words laced with a deep, hurt accusation. "You've forgotten me, haven't you?"
Hudson's gaze narrowed. Forgotten her? How could he have forgotten her? He didn't even know her. Or did he? The sudden, unexpected vulnerability in her voice struck a chord deep within him, a place he couldn't quite touch. A forgotten part of him began to stir.
She took something from a large bag—a shirt. His shirt. A simple men's dress shirt. She held it out to him, her eyes filled with quiet pain. "This is your shirt," she said softly, her voice almost trembling. "You gave it to me when you took me in. I've kept it all this time."
Hudson's breath caught in his chest. For a moment, the world seemed to tilt. His heart thudded, an echo of something he hadn't felt in years, and he suddenly knew—he remembered her. This wasn't just some random woman standing before him. This was Emilia.
The girl he had once taken in, the one whose innocence had captivated him, was now grown, a woman who had shed her fragility. She was no longer the shy, awkward girl who had clung to him for protection—she had become something more, something wild and untamed. The girl he remembered had vanished, replaced by someone whose presence now threatened to unravel him. She was radiant, undeniably so, but there was a sharpness in her eyes now that suggested she had grown accustomed to the cruel games of the world.
"Emilia?" The word slipped from his mouth without thinking, as if it were a name he had long been trying to recall.
Her reaction was immediate. She leapt up, her arms wrapping around him in a forceful embrace. She clung to him desperately, her small frame pressing against his like a lifeline.
"You remember me! You remember me!" she cried, her voice breaking with joy and relief. "You've been thinking of me, haven't you? You've missed me too."
Hudson stood rigid, stunned. Her words sliced through him in ways he couldn't quite process. The girl, the woman now, had always been there, in his mind, hidden away in the recesses of his thoughts. Those eyes—those eyes—had haunted him, pulling at him, like a magnet he couldn't escape.
Emilia. His body froze, his heart erratically beating against his ribs. She had grown. But how had she changed so much? She had gone from a small, almost invisible girl to this woman—bold, beautiful, and entirely too sure of herself.
And then, without thinking, he was lost in her gaze. The temptation to touch her, to kiss her, to do something was almost overwhelming. But still, there was hesitation. His mind was filled with questions, with doubts, with fear.
Her lips, soft and full, found his before he could make sense of anything. Her kiss was the culmination of everything—every emotion, every thought, every hesitation.
She pulled back, her breath shaky. "Kiss me," she whispered, her voice a velvet plea.
His mind screamed at him to stop, to pull away, to regain control, but in that moment, he was no longer Hudson the untouchable leader of Twelve Eagles. He was just a man, lost in a woman's touch, a man who had no idea what he was about to lose—or gain.
And Emilia? She was determined to make sure he didn't walk away again.
"Marry me," she said softly, her voice filled with a quiet conviction. "I will do whatever it takes."
Hudson's gaze darkened, his lips curling into a smile that was as dangerous as it was captivating. "I never said I wanted to marry you," he replied, but the flicker in his eyes betrayed him.
Her response was nothing short of determined. "But I will make sure you do," she said, her words fierce with promise.
The storm outside continued to rage, but in that room, nothing seemed colder than the fire that had been reignited between them.
The night outside was nothing short of a tempest, a cacophony of snowflakes tumbling down in an endless swirl. The wind howled as if it were an animal in pain, lashing at the windows with fierce desperation. But inside, the room was a study of warmth and quiet, a fire crackling lazily in the hearth, and a heavy silence settling like a thick fog. Hudson stood there, his heart a little faster than usual, his thoughts scattered, as he watched Emilia, standing before him like a conqueror on the verge of claiming his soul.
She was the storm, the hurricane in the eye of his otherwise carefully controlled life. Every step she took in his presence seemed deliberate, each movement a calculated attack on the walls he had so carefully constructed. And now, as she stood before him with her gaze locked on his, she issued a command—a demand that sent a ripple of unease through his veins.
"Close your eyes."
Hudson blinked, as if the words were a foreign language. For a moment, he couldn't comprehend them, the absurdity of the situation catching him off guard. What was this? Some kind of game? Was she really asking him—demanding him—to shut his eyes? He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat.
"Close your eyes, Hudson," she repeated, her voice softer now, but still firm. "You wanted me to kiss you, didn't you? I don't kiss a man with his eyes wide open."
And there it was—her undeniable power, that ability to turn the simplest moments into something charged with tension, with meaning, with weight. She wasn't asking anymore. She was taking what she wanted. And he... he didn't know how to refuse.
His hands, those hands that had held so many lives in their grasp, now trembled slightly as they reached to touch her face. It wasn't the kiss he feared—it was what came after. What would she do to him, to his carefully guarded heart? The walls were crumbling faster than he could rebuild them.
"Hudson," she whispered, her voice low, with a faint trace of sadness. "Do you kiss women often?"
He had to stop, had to clear his throat, to steady himself. "Emilia," he muttered, his voice thick with something he couldn't name. "You don't ask questions like that. No woman ever dares—"
His words faltered as he met her gaze, that impossibly sweet yet utterly determined face, the look of a woman who had already claimed a place in his soul, whether he was ready or not. She was like an itch he couldn't scratch, an ache that didn't go away.
Her lips curved into a faint, almost wistful smile, a smile that held both triumph and sorrow. "It's alright, Hudson. Every normal man has desires. I'm not jealous. I know you'll love me one day—love me more than anyone else."
A warmth bloomed inside her, something that made her heart race, but not with fear. No, this was the exhilaration of finally getting what she had longed for. She closed her eyes then, allowing her breath to catch as his hands moved to the back of her neck, pulling her close. His lips brushed against hers, soft at first, a hesitant meeting of two worlds, two desires.
But his hands shook—he was nervous, too. The realization hit her then: this was his first kiss. He was as unskilled as she was. The thought made her heart swell. She had made him feel vulnerable in a way no one had before. He was not invincible.
Time stretched for a moment, caught between the flicker of the firelight and the rush of her heartbeat. Outside, the blizzard raged on, but inside, there was a quiet surrender. It was the first kiss of many to come, but also the beginning of a battle neither of them knew they were fighting.
Later, when she crawled into bed, she couldn't get close enough. She was restless, her heart still pounding from the kiss that had taken something from him, yet left him something of hers in return. She pulled at his arm, forcing him closer, until her small form was pressed against his, her arms wrapped around him tightly.
His heartbeat, steady and slow, felt like a lullaby to her. The warmth of his body, his breath against her hair, soothed her more than anything else. For a while, she just listened to the sound of him breathing, the familiar rhythm of life. And then, as if her thoughts had finally caught up with her, she smiled softly. She would make him see it—see how deeply she cared for him, how she would never let him go.
Hudson lay there, feeling the weight of her in his arms. He could almost hear the slow tick of his patience unraveling. The idea of her—of this—wasn't supposed to fit into his world, but somehow it did. She was a force, impossible to ignore, impossible to resist. And though he resisted in his mind, his body betrayed him. He couldn't pull away.
When morning came, and he watched her sip her coffee, her eyes filled with warmth and secrets, he found himself thinking of the things she said. She had been the one constant in the storm of his life. The one thing that didn't frighten him—but it should have.
"Baiyi gave you the key?" he asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
Emilia only smiled, her eyes flicking up from her coffee. "He did. He's been calling me every week for two years. And you—" She shrugged, the hint of a playful grin tugging at her lips. "You haven't bothered to call me once."
A small frown tugged at Hudson's lips. His thoughts darkened, a tight knot forming in his chest. "Baiyi didn't give you that key for fun," he muttered, his voice low. "Be careful, Emilia. You don't know him the way I do. He's not the kind of man you want making moves on you."
She didn't flinch at his tone, didn't back down. Instead, she just looked at him, a steady gaze. "He only wants what's best for me. He wants me to be with you. He says you've been alone too long."
Hudson scoffed, his eyes narrowing. "And you believe him?"
Emilia didn't answer immediately. Instead, she sipped her coffee slowly, her lips curving at the edges. "I don't just believe him, Hudson. I've loved you for so long, I can't help it."
The words cut into him more than he wanted to admit, the weight of them pressing on his chest. She was too much for him—too intense, too real, too dangerous.
He stood, turning away to hide the sudden rush of emotions he couldn't quite control. "I've got work to do," he muttered. "If you want to go out, Jason will show you around."
Emilia's smile never faltered. "No, I'll stay here. I'll wait for you, like a good wife."
The words hit him like a blow to the chest. And for the first time in years, he felt the sharp sting of something that wasn't just cold calculation. He felt something else—something much more complicated.
As he moved toward the door, Emilia's eyes followed him, her thoughts quiet but determined. She would wait. She would wait, no matter how long it took.
Hudson, walking away, didn't see the small piece of him that she had already claimed.