Love Me Harder Part 1: The Stranger in My Bed
The bass thumped through Layla's bones as she slid across the stage, every move calculated, detached. She didn’t dance for attention. She danced to forget. The club lights painted her skin in shades of red and blue, but no one saw the bruises beneath her beauty. Not anymore. Not since she left the past behind.
That night, like any other, Layla kept her head down. Until she looked up—and locked eyes with him.
He wasn’t just watching. He was studying her.
Dark suit. Tie undone. A whiskey glass untouched. And those eyes—steel blue, hard as ice, hot as fire.
He didn’t belong here. Too polished. Too quiet. Too dangerous.
Layla turned away, heart stammering.
Backstage, girls gossiped, powdered noses, and reapplied lip gloss. She leaned against the mirror, letting her mask crack for a second. Just one second.
Then—“Layla.”
Her manager pushed open the curtain. “Private dance. VIP room. Now.”
Layla rolled her eyes. She hated VIPs. Rich men with cheap hearts.
Still, she went.
The room was velvet and dim, the scent of expensive cologne hanging in the air. And there he was—already seated, legs spread like he owned the world. No smile. No words.
“You paid for time,” she said, tone flat.
He leaned forward. “I don’t want your dance.”
Layla froze.
“Then why pay?”
“I want your time.”
She laughed, dry and sharp. “Time costs more than money.”
He slid a black card across the table. “Then take this. And sit.”
She sat.
Silence stretched. He studied her face like he was searching for something.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
Layla raised a brow. “To survive.”
He didn’t press further. “I’m Kade.”
She didn’t give her real name.
“I didn’t ask,” she said.
Kade smirked. “Not yet.”
His phone buzzed. He ignored it.
“Someone important?” she asked.
“No one I’d rather talk to than you.”
Layla stood. “Your time’s up.”
He didn’t move. “Next time, I’ll buy the whole club.”
She rolled her eyes. “Arrogant.”
“Determined.”
That night, she dreamt of eyes that burned through her.
The next day, he was there again. Front row. Alone. No drinks. No distractions.
Every night.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t touch. But Layla felt him.
Then came the roses. A dozen, then a hundred. With one note:
"If you’re going to haunt my thoughts, little dancer, the least you can do is let me closer." —K
She tore it up.
The gifts kept coming.
A diamond choker. A silk robe. Lingerie she refused to wear.
She didn’t see him again for a week.
Then, one night—he bought the club.
Literally.
The owner called it a “business deal.” Layla called it a trap.
He waited for her backstage. This time, no suit. Just a black shirt, sleeves rolled, ink peeking out.
“Miss me?”
She glared. “This is obsession.”
He stepped closer. “Then run, Layla.”
Her breath caught.
“I don’t run anymore,” she whispered.
His fingers brushed her jaw. “Good. Then stay.”
---
Layla didn’t trust him. But Kade wasn’t asking for trust. He was demanding space in her life, and something about the way he moved—calculated and calm—terrified her.
The following night, he didn’t show. Nor the next. Layla told herself it didn’t matter, but the club felt colder, quieter. Her body ached with confusion.
Then, a car waited for her after her shift. Black, sleek, and familiar. The driver handed her a note:
"Dinner. No strings. No lies. One night. – K"
She should have said no. But she was tired of being afraid.
She went.
He waited at a private rooftop, candles flickering in the breeze. A table set for two, violin music playing softly.
“This is insane,” she said.
“You’re right,” he replied. “But here you are.”
Dinner was quiet. Kade didn’t ask questions. He told her about himself—his business, his broken childhood, the way he built himself from nothing. He didn’t hide the shadows. He owned them.
Layla wasn’t ready to bare her wounds. But his honesty unsettled her.
Later, he walked her to the car. Stopped. Looked at her like she mattered.
“I won’t chase you forever, Layla. But I will ruin anyone who touches you.”
That should’ve made her leave.
Instead, she kissed him first.
Slow. Reluctant. Angry.
And when he kissed her back, it wasn’t gentle.
It was a promise.
A storm.
A surrender.
---
They met again in secret.
Once in his penthouse. Once in her apartment, where the wallpaper peeled and her nightmares clung to the walls.
Each time, the fire between them flared hotter. Layla hated how her body responded to him—how he seemed to memorize her every need.
He didn’t touch her the way others had. He touched her like she was his.
Like she’d always be his.
And the more he broke her walls, the more she feared what lay beneath.
One night, she asked him, “Why me?”
Kade was silent a long time.
“Because you look like someone who gave up on love. And I’m someone who never believed in it.”
Their hands met in the dark. And this time, when she fell into bed with him, it wasn’t just for pleasure.
It was for the illusion of safety.
Afterward, she lay on his chest, heart pounding.
“Don’t fall for me,” she whispered.
“I already did,” he said.
She should’ve run then.
But she was tired of running.
And maybe, just maybe…
She wanted to be caught.
Love Me Harder Part 2: The Fire I Couldn't Escape
Layla woke to silk sheets and the distant hum of city traffic. For a second, she didn’t know where she was—until she turned her head and saw Kade. Shirtless. Staring out the window, hands behind his back.
Memories of the night before slammed into her like heat: his lips, his hands, the sound of her own name broken from his mouth. She sat up quickly, tugging the covers over her chest.
“I should go,” she said.
Kade didn’t move. “I’m not stopping you.”
But something in his voice told her he wasn’t letting her go, either.
Layla stood, gathering her dress and heels. His room was spotless, controlled—like him. Every surface gleamed, but it felt cold. Expensive. Empty.
“I’m not yours,” she said, glancing at him.
Kade turned. Walked over. His gaze burned.
“No,” he said, lifting her chin with two fingers. “But you will be.”
She slapped his hand away and walked out.
---
Back at her apartment, the walls felt even smaller than before. She didn’t sleep. Her body still ached in places she didn’t want to name. Her heart thudded with confusion.
He was dangerous. Everything about him was a warning. But the way he touched her—the way he looked at her like she was both the question and the answer—it made her knees weak.
The next morning, there was coffee on her doorstep. From her favorite café. No note.
She didn’t need one.
---
At work, the girls noticed.
“Girl, you glowing,” one teased.
“Is he rich?” another asked.
Layla didn’t answer. Because it wasn’t about money. It was about how Kade made her feel like she was the only thing he wanted. Needed.
And that terrified her.
That night, she found herself outside his building.
Kade opened the door like he’d been waiting all day.
“I told myself I wouldn’t come,” she said.
“I told myself I wouldn’t kiss you unless you asked.”
She didn’t say a word. Just grabbed his shirt and pulled him in.
The night was rougher. Desperate. His lips bruised, his hands possessive. He whispered things into her skin like confessions.
“I dream of you every damn night.”
“You’re mine.”
“I don’t care what I have to break to keep you.”
And Layla didn’t stop him.
Because a part of her wanted to be broken—just so someone would care enough to put her back together.
---
Days blurred. Kade never asked questions, never demanded her time—but he was always there. In the silence. In her thoughts.
He gave her space but made sure she never forgot who she belonged to.
Once, a man grabbed her wrist at work. Before she could pull away, Kade was there—silent, brutal. The man left in an ambulance.
“You can’t do that,” she hissed later.
“I can. I did. I will.”
“It’s not love, Kade. It’s obsession.”
He stepped closer, his voice low. “Then call it what you want. Just don’t walk away.”
---
She stayed.
One night, she woke up screaming. The nightmares were old, familiar. Memories of a man who hurt her. Used her. Left her bleeding.
Kade didn’t speak. He just pulled her into his arms and held her until the sun rose.
“Tell me who he was,” he said quietly.
Layla trembled. “He was the reason I stopped believing anyone could love me without owning me.”
Kade didn’t reply. But the next day, she learned that man had been arrested for drug possession, fraud, and assault.
She never asked how.
---
But the tighter Kade pulled her in, the more she lost herself.
She stopped dancing.
Stopped going out.
Started wearing the things he bought her. Eating the food he sent.
She was drowning in silk, in kisses, in whispered promises—and she didn’t know when her choices had stopped being her own.
One night, she confronted him.
“I feel like I don’t exist outside of you anymore.”
Kade looked wounded. “I thought I was giving you everything.”
“You were taking everything, Kade.”
The silence between them cracked.
“I need air,” she said.
He stepped aside.
And for the first time, she left without looking back.
---
It lasted two days.
Two days before he showed up at her door, rain-soaked, eyes wild.
“I can’t breathe without you, Layla.”
She stood in silence.
“I don’t know how to love right,” he admitted. “But I’m trying. Please… stay.”
And for the first time, he dropped to his knees.
Layla reached for him, her voice trembling. “Then learn to love me harder… but learn to love me right.”
He looked up at her, broken, but willing.
And that was the beginning of everything.
Love Me Harder Part 3: Mine, Even If It Hurts
Layla told herself she was stronger now. That choosing space from Kade meant she was healing, not breaking. She kept to herself, worked a simple job at a coffeehouse downtown, and left her phone on silent.
But silence didn't mean peace.
Every shadow she passed made her heart race. Every luxury car that turned the corner made her stomach twist.
Because she knew Kade.
He would never just let her go.
---
It started with the flowers again. No note, just a vase of black orchids on her doorstep.
Then the calls—never from his number. Always unknown.
Then the man.
She noticed him twice. First on her way home. Then outside the coffee shop.
Big. Suited. Watching.
She confronted him on the third day. “Tell Kade to stop.”
The man didn’t blink. “Mr. Rivers doesn’t take orders, miss.”
She slammed the door.
That night, she found her apartment door unlocked. Nothing stolen. Just a box on her bed.
Inside: the silk robe he gave her, still smelling like his cologne.
And a note:
“You can pretend not to want me. I’ll wait anyway.” —K
She screamed. Punched the wall. Cried for hours.
But she didn’t call him.
She wouldn’t.
---
Weeks passed.
Layla tried dating. Once. A kind man named Ryan.
Kade found out.
Ryan disappeared the next day. No explanation. No messages.
She knew better than to ask questions.
She saw Kade again the next night. He was in her building’s hallway, leaning against the wall like he’d lived there all along.
“I told you,” he murmured. “You’re mine.”
“You can’t control me,” she spat.
“I don’t want to. I want to protect you.”
“That’s not love, Kade. That’s prison.”
“Then lock me up with you.”
She slapped him.
He just stared at her.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Even when you hate me.”
Layla was shaking. With rage. With fear. With longing.
Because damn him—she still wanted him.
---
She gave in again. Just once. Told herself it was closure.
It wasn’t.
Their bodies remembered each other like no time had passed. Their mouths, their hands, their pain—it all poured out in a storm of kisses and bites.
After, she lay tangled in sheets and guilt.
“This has to end,” she whispered.
Kade only kissed her shoulder. “Then end it. If you can.”
She couldn’t.
Not yet.
---
A week later, her mother called.
“How are you, sweetheart?”
“I’m okay,” Layla lied.
“Someone came to visit. A man. Said he was a friend. Handsome. Tall.”
Layla froze. “Did he give a name?”
“He didn’t need to. The way he looked at your photo… I knew.”
Kade.
He was reaching into every corner of her world.
---
She confronted him again. In his penthouse. She stormed in, shoving past his guards.
“You went to my mother?”
“She deserves to know her daughter’s protected.”
“She deserves to know her daughter isn’t owned.”
He moved to her. Fast. Grabbing her wrists.
“I don’t want to own you. I want to belong to you.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Then stop hurting me to keep me.”
Kade stepped back like she’d slapped him.
“I don’t know how,” he admitted.
“Then I can’t be with you.”
He looked shattered.
---
She walked away.
For real this time.
Cut off all contact. Moved apartments. Switched jobs.
It was quiet for months.
Until the envelope.
No name. Just a plane ticket. First class. Destination: Florence.
Attached was a note:
“One last time. Let me show you what love could look like—if you let me change.” —K”
She stared at it for days.
And then… she boarded the plane.
---
Florence was warm and golden. A small villa waited for her. Art, books, peace.
And Kade.
He looked thinner. Sadder. But softer, too.
No guards. No gifts. No pressure.
Just him.
“I’ve been in therapy,” he told her.
“I don’t expect forgiveness. I just want you to see me try.”
They walked the city. Talked for hours. Didn’t touch.
Until one night, she took his hand.
“I don’t trust you,” she said.
“I don’t trust myself,” he replied.
“But maybe… we can try anyway.”
They kissed beneath a moon that didn’t need to burn.
And this time, when they fell into each other—it was soft. Slow. Healing.
No dominance.
No control.
Just two broken people learning how to love.
Even if it still hurt.
---
Love Me Harder Part 4: If Love Was Enough
Florence was sunlight and forgiveness. Layla stayed longer than she planned. One week became two. The villa became less foreign. Kade became less dangerous.
He didn’t touch her unless she reached first. He didn’t follow her when she needed space. He didn’t try to fix her—he listened.
It felt like starting over.
Some nights they shared a bottle of wine on the rooftop. Others, they sat in silence, reading, side by side. She caught him smiling at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.
But love wasn’t enough. Not yet.
Not when trust was still a battlefield.
---
Layla wandered Florence’s narrow alleys alone, watching the artists sketch, listening to street musicians. She tasted freedom again, but it wasn’t lonely like before. Because now, when she came home, he was there—waiting, but never chasing.
Kade had changed. That was clear.
But her scars hadn’t.
One night, over dinner, she said it aloud.
“You loved me the way fire loves air. But I nearly burned to death.”
Kade didn’t flinch. “And I’m still learning how not to be fire.”
She studied him. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want to consume you anymore. I want to deserve you.”
---
They took things slowly.
He introduced her to his sister over video call. Layla learned Kade had a father he never spoke to and a mother he lost too young.
She shared her own history—the years of pretending, the violence she’d endured, the strength she built from scraps.
They learned each other’s pain.
And in between, they built moments that felt like joy.
---
Then came the letter.
A white envelope, left on their doorstep.
Layla’s name. No return address.
She opened it and read three words:
“You can’t hide.”
---
Kade saw her face pale.
“What is it?”
She handed him the note.
Kade’s jaw clenched. His old fury, sharp and immediate, returned.
But this time, he didn’t explode.
Instead, he said, “Pack a bag. We’re leaving tonight.”
“No.”
He blinked. “Layla—”
“I won’t run, Kade. Not anymore. That man already stole years from me. I won’t give him more.”
Kade took a breath. Then nodded.
“Then we fight smart.”
---
He called his lawyer. His security. Quiet moves were made. Background checks. Surveillance. Protection.
But Layla still woke at night, breathing fast. Still checked over her shoulder.
Fear crept in again like a ghost.
Kade didn’t force comfort. He offered it, gently. And she leaned in.
---
A week later, a figure appeared at a market.
Tall. Familiar.
Layla froze.
The man who broke her before stood just feet away, sunglasses masking his eyes.
She panicked. Bolted.
Kade found her in their room, curled against the wall, shaking.
“I saw him,” she whispered. “Here.”
He didn’t ask questions. He wrapped his arms around her and whispered, “You’re not alone anymore.”
---
The next day, Kade left quietly.
He returned with bruised knuckles.
“I handled it,” he said.
Layla stared. “What did you do?”
“Nothing I’d undo.”
She didn’t ask more.
And part of her hated how safe she felt.
---
That night, they made love—not desperate, not violent.
Tender. Like hands learning each other for the first time.
He held her afterward. Traced circles into her back.
“I’m still afraid,” she said.
“So am I,” he admitted. “But I’ll never be the reason you run again.”
---
They stayed another month.
Then came the question:
“What if we went home?” he asked.
“Home?”
“Together.”
She looked at him, searching his face.
“You don’t want to hide anymore?”
He smiled. “No. I want to build.”
She nodded slowly.
“We go back. But on our terms.”
“Yours,” he corrected. “Always yours.”
And she kissed him like it was the first time.
Because maybe… it was.
---
Back home, things didn’t feel the same.
She wasn’t the same.
Neither was he.
Their new apartment had sunlight, bookshelves, and two coffee mugs that never matched. They spent mornings wrapped in silence, not tension. Nights in conversation, not chaos.
Layla found work at a studio, teaching movement to survivors—women like her.
Kade began consulting instead of dominating. His empire was still vast, but he let go of control piece by piece.
One day, she found a ring tucked inside her art journal. No pressure. No demand.
Just a note: “Only when you’re ready. I already am.”
She cried in the kitchen, barefoot and messy-haired.
Because this time, love didn’t come with cages.
---
Months passed.
One summer evening, she found him on the balcony, lost in thought.
“Do you still dream of fire?” she asked.
Kade turned, eyes soft. “Not since you became my calm.”
She stepped into his arms.
“I’m ready,” she said.
“For what?” he teased.
She lifted the ring. “To build with you.”
He kissed her like the world stopped spinning.
And maybe, in that moment—it did.
---
Because if love wasn’t enough before…
Now, it finally was.
Love Me Harder Part 5: Yours in the Dark
The night air was heavy with summer heat, but Layla couldn’t sleep. Not with Kade beside her, restless, murmuring in his dreams.
She’d grown used to his breathing, the way he curled around her like a shield. But this night was different.
“Kade,” she whispered, brushing sweat from his brow.
He jerked awake, breath ragged. His eyes, unfocused at first, locked onto hers.
“Just a dream,” she said softly.
He shook his head. “No. A memory.”
She waited.
“I think it’s time I told you everything,” he said, voice hoarse. “About what I used to do. Who I used to be.”
And as the clock ticked past midnight, Kade began to unravel the parts of himself he’d buried.
---
“I wasn’t just in business, Layla,” he said. “I was in control. Of people. Of decisions. Of lives.”
She listened as he spoke of men who feared him, of favors paid in silence, of a world fueled by power and secrets. She saw the shame in his eyes, but also the man who had chosen to walk away.
“You never hurt anyone innocent,” she asked.
He hesitated. “Not knowingly.”
That was enough honesty to make her believe him.
But something in his voice warned her—someone from that world wasn’t done with him yet.
---
The next morning, a black car waited outside.
A man stepped out. Polished. Calm. Familiar to Kade.
“Milo,” Kade said, jaw tight.
The man smiled. “You’ve been hard to reach, old friend.”
“I’m not your friend anymore.”
Milo’s gaze flicked to Layla. “Then I’ll be quick. You left things undone, Kade. And not everyone’s forgotten.”
Layla stepped closer. “Is this a threat?”
“No, miss. A courtesy.”
Kade stepped in front of her. “Get off my property.”
Milo turned without argument, but his words lingered like smoke.
“You don’t get to live in the light forever, Kade. The dark remembers.”
---
Layla found Kade sitting on the floor that night, back against the wall, hands buried in his hair.
“You okay?” she asked gently.
He looked up. “I’ve tried so hard to be someone new. But I don’t get to choose who comes looking.”
She knelt beside him. “Then we fight together.”
He looked at her like she was his salvation.
“No more secrets,” he promised. “No more shadows between us.”
---
Milo didn’t disappear.
He made calls. Left messages. Invitations disguised as warnings. And then, a final one:
“Come see me. Or she’ll bleed for what you left behind.”
Kade showed it to Layla.
Her hands shook.
“I can handle this,” he said. “But you have to trust me.”
She gripped his face. “Don’t do this alone.”
---
Kade went to the meeting. Layla waited in silence, phone on her lap, breath shallow.
Hours passed.
Then the call.
“I’m okay,” Kade’s voice was rough. “But I had to make a choice.”
“What choice?” she whispered.
“A life for a life. Mine for yours. I’m walking away from all of it—but someone else will bleed.”
---
Layla met him at the door.
He was bruised, blood at his temple. But his eyes—those eyes—held only her.
“You’re free,” he said.
“No,” she whispered. “We’re free.”
He buried his face in her neck. And for once, the past didn’t pull them under.
---
Weeks passed.
There were no more shadows at the door. No more strange cars.
Just quiet mornings. Shared coffee. Laughter. Love that didn’t demand.
They built something real.
Kade started a small foundation, one that helped young men leave the streets. Layla returned to dance. Therapy. Healing. Teaching others how to survive.
One morning, she woke up alone in bed, heart racing.
“Kade?” she called.
She found him in the kitchen, kneeling.
A ring in his hand.
“I wanted to wait,” he said. “But life’s too short. I want all of you. The bruises. The brilliance. The fire.”
Her hands trembled.
“I’m still afraid,” she whispered.
“So am I,” he said. “But let’s be afraid together.”
She smiled through tears. “Yes.”
He slipped the ring onto her finger.
And the darkness finally let them go.
-Love Me Harder Part 6: Where the Light Stays
The ring sparkled in the morning light, but Layla didn’t need gold to feel bound to Kade. It was in his eyes when he watched her pour coffee. It was in his touch—gentle now, never urgent. It was in the way he no longer clutched her, but held her like she was something sacred.
They were planning a wedding, yes. But more than that, they were building peace.
For the first time, their love wasn’t about survival.
It was about choice.
---
Layla hung windchimes by the kitchen window and Kade let her choose the wallpaper, even though he hated patterns. He took dance lessons with her on Sunday mornings, clumsy but smiling, and she learned how to cook his favorite meals—burning most of them the first few times.
He laughed through it all.
“You don’t have to be perfect for me,” he said, arms wrapping around her from behind. “Just real.”
She melted into his chest. “I didn’t know love could feel like home.”
“It’s not home without you.”
---
Her studio flourished. Women began showing up not just to move, but to heal. Layla found herself speaking about things she’d once buried deep: pain, trauma, control, survival. But also strength. Softness. Worth.
Kade never missed her showcases. He sat in the back, quiet, but his eyes were always fixed on her.
She’d never felt so seen.
---
One evening, as autumn painted the city gold, they sat on their balcony drinking wine.
“Do you ever think about the beginning?” Layla asked.
“All the time,” Kade replied. “I think about the mistakes. The fear. How close I came to losing you.”
“You were a storm,” she said.
“I still am. But now, I know how to rain gently.”
She reached for his hand.
“And I’m not afraid of thunderstorms anymore.”
---
A letter arrived days later.
From a girl in Layla’s class. Young. Shy. Scarred.
Thank you, it said. For reminding me I’m not broken.
Layla wept when she read it.
Kade held her.
“This is what your love does,” he whispered. “It rebuilds.”
She kissed him. “So does yours.”
---
The wedding was simple.
A small garden. Close friends. Sunlight and laughter.
Layla wore ivory. Kade wore black.
Their vows weren’t scripted.
“I once thought I had to possess you to keep you,” Kade said. “Now I know love isn’t about holding tighter. It’s about letting you breathe beside me.”
Layla wiped tears before speaking. “I once feared love would destroy me. But you showed me that when it’s real, it rebuilds instead.”
They kissed before anyone told them to.
The world didn’t explode. It just got quieter.
Softer.
More whole.
---
They honeymooned in Greece. No security. No shadows.
Just stars, wine, the sea, and each other.
Kade wrote poetry in a notebook he never let her read. Layla painted shells and sent postcards to the women back home.
One night, she looked at him over candlelight.
“Would you still have chosen me, if I’d never come back that day?”
“I would’ve chased the world until I found you again,” he said.
She believed him.
Because now, he didn’t have to chase.
They were walking side by side.
---
When they returned home, life settled into a rhythm. There were grocery lists on the fridge, laundry folded together, kisses left on collars and cheeks. But even in the quiet, there were sparks.
Kade took up sketching—terrible at first, but Layla framed every page. Layla started journaling again, not to escape, but to remember.
They hosted dinners. Laughed with new friends. Danced in the living room in socks.
There was no drama, no fear. Just the honest work of love.
---
One rainy night, Layla awoke to find Kade sitting at the edge of the bed, staring out the window.
She touched his back. “Nightmare?”
He shook his head. “No. Just... thinking.”
“About?”
He turned to her, eyes softer than she’d ever seen.
“I didn’t think I’d live to see this version of my life,” he said. “I never thought I deserved it.”
Layla crawled onto his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck.
“You don’t earn love, Kade. You grow into it. And you’ve grown beautifully.”
He buried his face in her shoulder, a quiet sound escaping his throat.
She held him like a lighthouse. Steady. Warm. Unmoving.
---
A year later, they bought a house with too many windows and a garden Layla insisted on filling with lavender. Kade built her a dance studio out back, filled with mirrors and light.
“You gave me a future,” she whispered when he surprised her with it.
“No,” he said, brushing hair from her face. “You gave it to yourself. I just made space for it.”
---
When the baby came—unexpected, soft, and full of life—they both cried.
A girl. Born on a quiet Thursday. Layla named her Hope.
Kade stood in awe, holding their daughter like she was made of stars.
“You’re going to be a good father,” Layla said through tears.
“I’m going to be better,” he whispered.
And he was.
---
Their home became loud with joy. Crayons on the walls. Giggles in the halls. Midnight feedings and lullabies sung in low, scratchy voices.
Kade stopped checking locks obsessively. Layla stopped jumping at the sound of footsteps.
Hope grew surrounded by love, but more importantly—by safety.
---
Years passed.
They grew into each other deeper than skin, deeper than vows.
Love aged with them.
Softened them.
He still called her his miracle.
She still called him her storm turned calm.
---
One evening, with silver in his beard and laugh lines at her eyes, Kade found her in the garden.
She was barefoot, covered in soil, humming.
He watched her for a long time before saying, “You were always the bravest one.”
She looked up, grinning. “You were always the stubborn one.”
“Still am.”
“And I still love you for it.”
---
Their love didn’t end with passion—it grew into something rarer.
Peace.
Not perfect. But real.
The kind that survives dark days. That rebuilds broken bones. That stays, even in the quiet.
That doesn’t burn—but warms.
Because when everything else faded, when time had softened every edge—
they were still each other’s light.Love Me Harder Part 7: Beneath the Surface
The lavender in Layla’s garden had just started to bloom when the letter arrived.
Not handwritten. Not elegant. A plain envelope slid under their door, like a whisper in the night.
Kade stared at it in silence.
Layla came up behind him, her arms wrapped loosely around his waist. “What is it?”
He didn’t answer at first. Just opened it.
Inside: a photograph. A younger Kade. Blood on his hands. A man unconscious behind him.
And a single line scribbled in red ink:
“Thought you buried the past?”
---
Layla read it over his shoulder.
Her fingers gripped his shirt. “Who would send this?”
Kade’s jaw tightened. “Someone who wants to remind me that peace is temporary.”
He set the photo down, walked to the window, and stared into the dark street.
“Kade…” she whispered.
He turned, eyes unreadable. “I knew this would happen someday. I just didn’t think it would be now. Not with her…”
He glanced toward the hallway. Hope’s room.
“I’ll handle it,” he said. “But I won’t keep secrets. Not anymore.”
---
They called a private investigator the next morning.
While Layla took Hope to school, Kade met with a contact he hadn’t spoken to in years. The man slid the photo back across the table.
“This wasn’t leaked online,” he said. “It was personal. Hand-delivered. Whoever sent it wants you to sweat—not fall.”
“Can they bury me with this?”
“Maybe not in court. But they can tear your peace apart.”
Kade nodded once. “Then I find them first.”
---
At home, Layla watered her lavender, heart uneasy.
Kade hadn’t spoken much since last night. But she felt the storm behind his silence.
He returned late, eyes shadowed. She met him at the door.
“Did you find anything?”
He nodded. “Someone from Milo’s circle. A man I cut ties with before I left that world. He lost power when I walked away.”
“Does he want revenge?”
Kade hesitated. “He wants chaos. And he knows I’ve built something worth destroying.”
---
The next threat came a week later.
Hope’s school received an anonymous tip. Police showed up. Questions were asked.
Layla’s heart nearly gave out.
“She’s five,” she sobbed into Kade’s chest. “Why would they go after her?”
Kade held her tighter than ever. “Because they can’t touch me directly—not yet.”
That night, he installed new cameras. Called in favors. Hired extra security.
But Layla could see the change in him. The walls returning. The cold edge sharpening.
She stopped him at the doorway. “Don’t become him again.”
“I won’t,” he said. “Not unless it protects you both.”
---
The tension grew.
Kade stopped sleeping. Layla started reliving old fears. Their conversations turned short, clipped.
Then one night, she found him staring at a gun he hadn’t touched in years.
“Kade,” she said quietly. “What are you planning?”
He looked at her, guilt in his eyes. “I don’t want you to worry.”
“I’m already worried. You promised me peace, not silence.”
He sighed. “Then come with me tomorrow. I want you to see what I’m walking into.”
---
They met the man in an underground bar. Smoke. Whiskey. Sharp suits.
The enemy’s name was Vincent.
He smiled at Layla like she was a prize.
“You’re the reason our little prince here traded his crown,” Vincent said. “Touching.”
Kade kept his voice steady. “What do you want?”
Vincent leaned forward. “To remind you that I can still reach you. That your perfect life? It rests on sand.”
Layla stood. “No. It rests on love. And you can’t touch that.”
Vincent’s smile faded.
Kade stood too. “This is your last chance. Walk away. Or I’ll bury everything you’ve built.”
There was a pause.
Then Vincent nodded slowly. “You still have bite. I missed that.”
---
They walked out together.
In the car, Layla broke the silence. “He’ll come back.”
“I know,” Kade said. “But we’ll be ready.”
---
When they got home, Hope was asleep. Layla tucked her in, then joined Kade in bed.
He held her. Tighter than usual.
“I’m afraid of losing this,” he whispered.
She kissed his temple. “Then fight for it. But not with fists. With honesty. With us.”
Kade nodded. “I will. Always.”
And somewhere beneath the fear, beneath the threat—love still bloomed.
Unshakable. Unbreakable.
Even beneath the surface.
Love Me Harder Part 8: To Burn for You
Rain poured like a warning. Layla stood by the window, watching lightning split the sky.
Kade was pacing.
Vincent had made another move—someone had broken into Kade’s foundation office. Nothing was stolen. Just a message carved into the desk:
“I can still reach you.”
“I should’ve ended him when I had the chance,” Kade muttered.
“No,” Layla said, firm. “Then you’d lose everything you became for us.”
He stopped. Looked at her.
“I’d burn the world to keep you safe.”
She walked to him. Placed her hand over his heart.
“Then burn only what tries to steal our peace. Nothing more.”
---
They filed a report. Hired extra security. But both knew this wasn’t over.
Vincent wanted fear. Wanted control. Wanted the version of Kade that no longer existed.
Layla wasn’t afraid of Kade’s darkness anymore. But she was terrified of losing the man he’d fought to become.
---
Hope’s school went on lockdown the next week.
A suspicious man lingered outside. Sunglasses. Leather gloves. Gone before police arrived.
Layla didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She sat down with Kade, face pale.
“We’re not reacting anymore,” she said. “We act. Together.”
Kade nodded.
The plan began that night.
---
They moved Hope to her godparents’ for safety. Layla insisted.
“I won’t let her live in fear,” she told Kade. “Not like we did.”
Kade agreed. But part of him broke when he kissed Hope goodbye.
“Come back soon,” she whispered.
“I will, little star. Promise.”
---
Vincent sent an invitation.
One word. Location coordinates. A time.
Kade looked at Layla. “It’s a trap.”
She nodded. “Then let’s walk in with fire.”
---
The warehouse was empty. Echoing. Cold.
Vincent waited, suit immaculate, drink in hand.
“Ah,” he smiled. “Beauty and the beast.”
“No more games,” Kade said.
Vincent raised an eyebrow. “But games are the only thing that kept you interesting.”
“You want to destroy me?” Layla said, stepping forward. “Then look me in the eye. Because I’m the one you’re really afraid of.”
Vincent laughed. “You think love makes you powerful?”
“No,” she said. “It makes me dangerous.”
---
Vincent pulled a gun.
Kade moved instantly, but not before the shot echoed.
Layla screamed.
Blood.
Kade fell to his knees, breath stolen.
Layla caught him, tears blinding.
“You’re not allowed to leave me,” she whispered.
“I’m not,” he gritted. “I’m... not done yet.”
He rose. Bleeding. Furious.
He walked through the pain.
Vincent backed up, surprised.
“You should’ve killed me years ago,” Kade said, voice like gravel. “But now... now I’m stronger because I’ve known peace. Because I’ve known her.”
Vincent raised the gun again—
A shot fired.
Not his.
Layla stood, smoking gun in hand. Hands shaking. Eyes steel.
Vincent collapsed.
---
Police arrived minutes later. Layla had called them before entering. Self-defense. Witnesses. Clear.
Kade was rushed to the hospital.
Layla never left his side.
“You burned for me,” she whispered one night, holding his hand. “Now rest. I’ve got you.”
---
Recovery was slow.
But Kade healed.
With every scar, Layla kissed the pain away.
“You were always my fire,” she said. “But now, you’re my warmth.”
He smiled. “And you’re my light.”
---
The threats ended. Vincent’s allies scattered. The past no longer chased them.
Their life began again.
Not from ashes—but from strength.
Together, they had survived everything.
And in each other—they burned brighter than ever.
-Love Me Harder Part 9: Where Love Rests
There was no fanfare when peace finally arrived. No grand announcement. Just morning light slipping through curtains, and the soft breath of the man beside her.
Layla woke before Kade.
She watched him for a while—his chest rising, his fingers twitching in some gentle dream. The scars across his shoulder caught the sunlight, a map of everything they’d survived.
She touched one.
He stirred.
“Hey,” he whispered.
“Hey,” she whispered back.
He smiled, slow. “You’re staring.”
“I get to. You’re mine.”
He pulled her close. “Always.”
---
It had been six months since the last shot was fired. Since Vincent’s name disappeared from headlines and police reports. Since Layla had fired the weapon that saved them both.
Since Kade had almost died.
Now, every moment felt like a borrowed miracle.
They moved again. This time, not out of fear—but by choice.
A small house by the sea. Windows that sang with the wind. Hope had her own room painted lavender, filled with books and sun.
Layla taught dance on a wooden porch that faced the waves. Kade wrote again. Not about violence—but poetry. Life. Love.
Sometimes, when the tide rolled in, they would sit silently holding hands, letting the world pass without rush.
---
One afternoon, Hope came home from school with paint on her face.
“I drew you, Mommy,” she said proudly.
Layla took the paper.
It was a wild sketch. A big red heart in the center. Her, Kade, and Hope drawn as stick figures—but each one surrounded by tiny stars.
“What are the stars?” Kade asked.
“They protect us,” Hope whispered. “Like angels.”
Layla couldn’t stop the tears.
Kade kissed the top of Hope’s head.
“You’re my angel,” he said.
---
Nights became a gentle hum. Dinners. Baths. Stories in bed. Sometimes laughter so loud, Layla had to press her face into a pillow to stop.
They danced under moonlight.
Made love without desperation—only devotion.
Layla didn’t fear touch anymore. Kade didn’t flinch in his sleep. Their ghosts had learned to quiet.
---
One night, Layla asked, “Do you ever miss it? The fire, the chaos?”
Kade shook his head. “That fire burned me. But this...” He looked at her. “You warm me.”
---
A year passed.
Then two.
They adopted a dog. A clumsy mutt named Buttons. Hope started ballet. Layla began writing a memoir. Kade helped her edit it.
She called it To Love a Storm.
---
One anniversary, they walked the beach barefoot.
Layla stopped. Looked at him.
“I don’t know how we got here,” she said. “But I’m so glad we did.”
Kade touched her cheek. “We earned this. Every scar. Every tear. Every fight. It brought us home.”
She kissed him.
The wind didn’t howl that night.
It sighed.
---
In the end, their love wasn’t remembered for the battles.
It was remembered for the way they rebuilt. Soft. Unshakable.
Layla and Kade never promised perfection.
Only truth.
Only presence.
Only each other.
And in that quiet, enduring promise...
love finally got to rest.
---
End
Follow, like comment and read my other works, you will like it 🥰🥰🥰 Especially "Trapped in the book with the villain and "A forbidden love with my father's best friend"
