Three weeks had passed since Scarlett had run into Sylus's arms in the driveway.
Three weeks of careful coffee dates in neutral locations, supervised by bodyguards who pretended not to listen.
Three weeks of hesitant conversations about the past—both the ancient one and the recent one.
Three weeks of slowly, carefully learning to exist in each other's presence without fear or anger clouding everything.
Three weeks of memories trickling back in dreams and flashes of recognition.
The red dragon teaching her to dive through clouds. Bringing her fish from the river because he'd learned she liked them prepared a certain way. Curling around her smaller form at night, keeping her warm and safe. Looking at her with eyes full of devotion that spanned lifetimes.
And with each memory, Scarlett understood more.
she woke up this morning in her small house and felt the pull—the need to see him, to be near him, to stop fighting what her soul had been trying to tell her—she didn't question it.
She just packed a bag and told Lin she was ready to come home.
Lin had tried very hard not to look surprised. Failed completely. "To the mansion, Mrs. Qin?"
"To the mansion," she'd confirmed, smiling at his poorly concealed joy.
Now she stood outside Sylus's office, hand raised to knock, heart pounding with nerves and anticipation and something that felt almost like excitement.
This was her choice. She was choosing this. Choosing him. Choosing to open her heart and see what happened when she stopped running.
She knocked twice and pushed the door open without waiting for an answer.
Sylus sat behind his massive desk, examining a gun with the careful attention of a craftsman. Several more weapons were laid out in front of him—new arrivals from a shipment, probably.
The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, catching on his silver hair and making him look almost ethereal.
He looked up at the sound of the door, and his expression went through several emotions in rapid succession: surprise, hope, careful neutrality, then finally that soft smile she was beginning to recognize as uniquely hers.
"Scarlett." He set down the gun carefully, giving her his full attention. "I wasn't expecting you today. Is everything okay?"
Scarlett stepped into the office, closing the door behind her. "Everything's fine. Better than fine, actually." She walked toward his desk with more confidence than she felt. "I've been thinking."
"That sounds dangerous." His tone was light, teasing, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. The fear that she was here to say goodbye permanently.
"Very dangerous," she agreed, coming around the desk to stand beside him.
"I've been thinking that the only way to get all my memories back—to fully understand what we were, what we could be—is to stop fighting it."
Sylus went very still. "Scarlett, what are you saying?"
"I'm saying I want to come home." She gestured at the office, at the mansion beyond. "Not because I'm forced to. Not because I'm caged. But because I choose to. Because I'm tired of living half a life in that little house when part of me feels like it belongs here. With you."
She saw him swallow hard, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for her.
"Are you sure? You don't have to—we can keep doing what we're doing. Coffee dates. Slow. I don't want you to feel pressured—"
Scarlett cut him off by sitting directly in his lap.
He made a choked sound of surprise, his hands automatically coming to her waist to steady her. "Kitten—
"I'm sure." She settled against him, adjusting until she was comfortable, then picked up one of the papers on his desk. Some kind of shipping manifest written half in English, half in Chinese, full of codes she didn't understand.
"What's this about?"
For a long moment, Sylus didn't answer. Just sat there with his arms carefully, loosely around her waist, hardly daring to breathe. Like she was a dream that might evaporate if he held on too tight.
Then he pressed a kiss to her hair. Soft. Reverent. Disbelieving.
"It's a shipment manifest," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "Weapons from Eastern Europe. Completely boring and definitely not worth reading."
Scarlett pretended to study it anyway, very aware of his chest against her back, his breath stirring her hair, his hands trembling slightly where they rested on her waist.
He kissed her hair again. Then again. Like he couldn't quite believe she was real. That she was here. That she was letting him hold her.
"I thought I'd lost you forever," he whispered against her hair. "I was prepared to wait centuries. To love you from a distance until time itself ended. And now you're here. In my arms. Willingly."
"I'm here." Scarlett set down the paper and turned slightly to look at him. Really look at him.
His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass. His elegant features belonged in art museums, painted by masters. Those red eyes—the ones she'd once thought looked like a demon's—now just looked like home. Like the dragon who'd taught her to fly so long ago.
She giggled suddenly, the sound surprising both of them.
Sylus frowned slightly, confused. "What's funny?"
Instead of answering, Scarlett reached up and placed her fingers on either side of his mouth. Gently pushed the corners up into a smile.
He looked absolutely ridiculous. And absolutely perfect.
"There," she said, still giggling. "Much better. You're too serious all the time."
"Scarlett, what are you—"
She kept her fingers there, making him smile like a puppet, and laughed harder at his increasingly exasperated expression.
Then his hands tightened on her waist, and faster than she could process, he'd pulled her fully against him. His mouth claimed hers, her fingers still pressed against his cheeks, both of them smiling into the kiss.
It was messy and imperfect and filled with laughter that made kissing nearly impossible.
It was perfect.
When Scarlett's fingers finally fell away, the kiss deepened. Sylus's hand came up to cup the back of her head, tilting her at just the right angle. His other hand stayed on her waist, holding her close but never restraining.
Always giving her the option to pull away.
She didn't want to pull away.
She wanted this. Wanted him. Wanted to remember what they'd been and discover what they could be.
When she felt his tongue trace her bottom lip, seeking entrance, she parted her lips willingly. Invited him in. Kissed him back with equal fervor, equal want, equal need.
This kiss was different from all the others. Not forced. Not stolen. Not tainted by fear or control or desperation.
This was mutual. A choice they were both making. A door they were both walking through together.
Sylus made a sound low in his throat—half groan, half growl—that sent shivers down Scarlett's spine. His hand tightened in her hair slightly, then immediately loosened, like he was reminding himself to be gentle. To let her set the pace.She appreciated it. But she also didn't need it. Not anymore.
She bit his lower lip gently, playfully, and felt him shudder against her. Felt his careful control crack just a little.
When they finally parted, both breathing hard, Scarlett's face was flushed. Her lips felt swollen, sensitive. Her heart raced in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
Sylus looked like he was in pain. Beautiful, exquisite pain. His red eyes were dark with desire he was clearly working very hard to control. His jaw was clenched. His hands on her were shaking slightly.
"You're going to kill me," he said, voice rough and strained. "You're going to kill me and I'll die the happiest dragon who ever lived."
Scarlett laughed breathlessly. "Dramatic."
He rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed, clearly trying to regain some composure. "Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this? For you to want me? To choose me?"
"A thousand years, apparently."
"Longer. Forever. Since the moment I first saw you."
Scarlett's chest felt tight with emotion she was only beginning to understand. "I'm still scared," she admitted quietly. "Still angry about some things. Still figuring out who I am now."
"I know." Sylus opened his eyes, and they were soft. Understanding. "We'll figure it out together. At whatever pace you need. I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise you won't lock me in again. Even if you're scared. Even if you think you're protecting me."
"Yes" The words were immediate, absolute. "Never again. Your freedom, your choices—they matter more than my fear."
"And no more guns." She touched his cheek. "No more shooting me to keep me from running."
He flinched. "Never again. I swear it on everything I am. That was—that was the worst thing I've ever done. Watching you bleed because of me. I'd rather die a thousand deaths than do that again."
"Okay." Scarlett believed him. Could see the genuine regret and horror in his eyes when he thought about that night. "Then we can try. Really try. Not as captor and prisoner. But as... as whatever we're meant to be."
"Mates," Sylus said softly. "We're meant to be mates. The dragon bond, remember? From our past life."
"I'm starting to." She touched her neck, where the fang marks tingled. "Is that what this is? The mate bond reforming?"
"Yes. I marked you without meaning to. My dragon nature recognized you before my human mind fully understood. The bond is there, waiting. It will manifest fully when you're ready. When you accept it completely."
"And if I'm never ready?"
"Then we'll be together anyway, in whatever way you'll have me." He kissed her forehead gently. "The bond doesn't force love, Scarlett. It just recognizes what's already there. You can reject it if you want. I'll still love you. Still wait for you. Still be whatever you need me to be."
Scarlett felt tears prick her eyes. "How did I get so lucky? To be loved like this across lifetimes?"
"I'm the lucky one." Sylus's smile was soft. Genuine. "You came back. After everything—after dying, after being reborn, after everything I did wrong this time—you still came back to me."
"Yeah." She kissed him again, soft and quick. "I guess I did."
They sat like that for a while, Scarlett in his lap, his arms around her, both of them just existing in this moment of peace and possibility. Outside, snow was falling again, but the office was warm. Safe.
Home.
Eventually, Scarlett pulled back slightly.
"So. I'm moving back in. We should probably establish some ground rules."
Sylus raised an eyebrow. "Ground rules?"
"Yes. Like: I get to keep my own room. At least for now. And you have to ask before entering."
"Done."
"And no more controlling where I go or who I see. The bodyguards can stay—I understand the danger now—but I get final say on my schedule."
"Agreed."
"And we're going to therapy. Both of us. Together and separately."
That made him pause. "Therapy?"
"Yes. We have a thousand years of trauma to work through, Sylus. Plus whatever happened in this life. We need professional help."
She poked his chest. "Even dragons can benefit from therapy."
He laughed, surprised and delighted. "Okay. Therapy. I'll make the arrangements."
"Good." Scarlett settled back against him, satisfied. "Oh, and I'm finishing my degree. No exceptions."
"I wouldn't dream of stopping you."
"I want you to teach me about your business. The legal parts, at least. I want to understand what you do."
"Consider it done."
"And—" She paused, biting her lip. "And when I'm ready. When we're ready. When we've done the work and healed and learned to be together properly... then we can talk about the mate bond. About making it permanent."
Sylus's breath caught. "You mean that?"
"I mean it." She looked up at him, and her eyes were clear. Certain. "I'm not ready now. But I think... I think I want to be. Eventually. With you. The real you. Not the monster I imagined. Not the perfect dragon from my dreams. Just you. Complicated and broken and trying."
"That's all I've ever wanted." He pulled her close, buried his face in her hair. "That's everything."
They're stayed like that until the sun set and the office grew dark. Until Mrs. Chen knocked politely to ask about dinner. Until reality intruded and they had to separate and be two people instead of one tangled, healing unit.
But it was a start.
A real start.
Not perfect. Not easy. But real.
And sometimes, real was enough.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued.