I bury my face in his neck, soaking up the warmth, the safety, the absolute rightness of this.
Because here, in the low light, in his arms, I am safe, claimed, and worshipped.
And I never want the night to end.
Even though my life is far from perfect—perhaps it never will be—there is one unshakable truth:
Elijah, the love of my life, my Daddy, will forever stand by my side.
He will lift me when I falter, and when I break, he will lie beside me, gathering the shattered pieces of my soul.
Always.Just me. Just him. Just us, intertwined in this fragile, fierce forever.
Epilogue 1 Ava
One year later
Istepoutofmy therapist’s office, the door clicking shut behind me like a soft punctuation mark at the end of another session. And there he is—Elijah. Leaning casually against a car that's parked in front of the building, sunglasses perched on his nose, exuding danger and devotion in equal measure. My heart does that familiar lurch at the sight of him. As always, he’s waiting for me.
“Hi, baby girl,” he says, voice low and rich like melted chocolate. “How are you?”
“Hi,” I breathe, already smiling. “I’m good. Happier now.” I stand on my toes to kiss him.
Elijah doesn’t waste a second. His hand finds my hip, the other curling possessively around my throat. The kiss deepens instantly—rough, greedy, with his tongue claiming mine like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth. I moan against his mouth as heat pools low in my belly, and just like that, I’m wrecked. One kiss, one hand on my throat, and my panties are ruined.
He breaks the kiss only to whisper against my lips, “I love how your body responds to mine.”
I catch my breath, eyes half-lidded. “She knows who it belongs to,” I whisper back, then give him one more kiss—soft, teasing. “So… where are we going?”
Elijah grins, wicked and affectionate. “Home first. I’ll cook something for you. You’ll be my dinner... and dessert.” His tone is thick with lust, my thighs clench.
“Then we can relax by the pool—if you want,” he adds, brushing his lips over my cheek. “You should rest. Tonight is the grand opening ofSotoVoce.”
I arch a brow, voice playful. “Why exactly do I need to be well-rested for that? You're planning something for me, Daddy?”
He chuckles, low and dark. “My naughty princess wants to play at the new BDSM club?” He taps my ass, gentle but firm. “You know we’ve got VIP access.”
“Whatever you want, Daddy,” I murmur, pressing against him. “You know I’m yours—whenever, however.”
“I love you, princess,” he says simply, taking my hand in his, leading me toward the waiting motorcycle. That one sentence settles everything inside me. No questions. No fears. Just love—raw, real, and relentless.
I slide onto the bike behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. I rest my cheek against his back as the engine rumbles to life.
The vibration of the machine, the rush of the wind, the man between my thighs—it’s the perfect kind of chaos.
It’s been a year since that day—theday. The day everything shattered. We still don’t know the full story, not really. Who was behind it, what they wanted. But after months of dead-end leads and dark alleys, Elijah and I made a choice: we won’t live in fear. We refuse to let the people who tried to destroy us win.
That doesn’t mean we’ve let our guard down. Far from it.
There’s a tracking device beneath my skin, nestled in a place only Elijah can see, can touch. He wears one too—I made sure of that. If something ever happens, I need to be able to find him. We’ve hired private security from Kingston Security. The store, our home, everywhere. It’s subtle but constant.
Home now means Elijah’s apartment. The transition felt natural, inevitable. It’s safer. He sleeps better knowing I’m beside him, and honestly, I can’t imagine another night without his arms around me.
Therapy is different now. I still go, maybe twice a month. It’s less about healing and more about checking in—like a deep breath I take just for myself. The PTSD is gone. The anxiety? Still a shadow, sometimes. But I’m at peace with the past... even with my mother.
She showed up weeks after the kidnapping. Told me George was missing. Said I should go to the police. I laughed. I laughed so hard I thought I might cry, then calmly told her to go ask them herself. I closed the door on her that day—and on everything she represented.
My therapist once suggested I write her a letter. Not to send it, just tosaywhat needed saying. I wrote it. I sent it anyway. She never responded. That silence was all the closure I needed.
