“You’re the only good thing I ever wanted,” he whispered. “And the only thing I never thought I could have.”
My chest expanded—air, real air—rushing in for the first time since Blake started suffocating me piece by piece. The weight ofhim slipped off me like wet sand. The pressure dissolved. Just…gone.
I exhaled a long, trembling breath.
For the first time in years, it didn’t hurt to breathe.
Dane pulled the blanket higher around me, his arm tightening protectively.
I felt small.
Safe.
Held.
Mine.
And his.
“I’m so tired Dane. I need sleep,” I murmured, exhaustion finally claiming me.
“Stay,” he whispered, like a prayer.
And I did.
My eyes closed. The sea rocked us gently, as if keeping its promise.
I didn’t remember drifting off, only the feeling of being lifted—strong arms sliding under me, my cheek pressed against his shoulder. The world swayed around us as he carried me down the soft cabin steps. The air inside was warm, scented with cedar, polished wood, and salt drifting through the open portholes.
He laid me down on the bed—pillows soft, sheets cool, a sanctuary carved out of ocean and moonlight.
Outside the door I heard his low, steady voice:
“Peter, head back. Go home to your wife. Bonus on me.”
Peter’s quiet gratitude, the hum of the engine pulling away, then silence.
Dane stayed.
He always stayed.
I cracked my eyes open long enough to see him sink into one of the plush cabin chairs, the lamplight touching the edges of his shoulders. He poured himself a small glass of whiskey, squeezing lime into it before taking a slow, steady sip.
Through the windows, the water glittered, soft and black, stars dancing across the surface like a universe shattered and spilled around us.
Dane stared out at it—out at the life he built, the empire he carved with scarred hands, with rage and beauty and stubborn hope.
He thought of Blake. Of the venom. Of the messages meant to break me.
Even after everything, it cut him—sharp, unfair, wrong. Not because he doubted me. But because Blake had once been someone he tried to trust. Because he knew exactly what it felt like to be used, twisted, weaponized.
He set the glass down, jaw tight.
But then he looked at me—soft, asleep, safe in the bed he carried me to—and something inside him finally loosened.
Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow was a new day. A new chapter.
For me.
