As the afternoon sun spills across the floor, I think about everything that brought us here—the danger, the pain, the unspoken promises, the moments of joy snatched from the jaws of chaos. I know whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.
Trust doesn’t scare me anymore. I let myself fall into it completely, surrendering to the love that binds us, fierce and protective. The world outside can wait.
***
The afternoon drifts into evening with a hush that feels sacred. Sunlight slants through the windows, catching dust motes and painting gold across the soft gray of the living room. I move quietly, almost reverently, aware of Simon’s presence even when he’s in another room.
The echoes of our vows still cling to every corner of this place, making everything feel new.
Dinner is simple, the kind of meal you only share with someone you trust completely. Simon makes me tea, fussing gently as he arranges slices of apple and cheese on a plate.
He watches every bite, every sip, as if he can will away the nausea by sheer force of will. When my stomach turns, he doesn’t scold or sigh; he just sits beside me, rubbing circles over my back until I’m ready to try again.
It’s in these small things—the soft clatter of a spoon in a mug, the brush of his hand against mine as he clears the table, the way he tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear as if he’s memorizing every detail—that I find my peace.
It isn’t grand gestures or declarations that matter now. It’s the quiet, persistent comfort of being seen, and cared for, and claimed without reservation.
After the kitchen is cleaned and the apartment is settled into evening, we migrate to the couch. Simon draws me in close, pulling a heavy blanket over both of us. He settles himself into the corner, wide shoulders making the cushions dip, and opens his arms. I go willingly, curling into his side, letting my cheek rest on his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear, a low and certain drum.
He threads his fingers through my hair, slow and gentle. I can feel him breathing, slow and deep, grounding us both. There is nowhere else to be—nothing else but the soft sound of his breath and the warmth of his arms around me.
“Is it too much?” he murmurs, lips brushing my hair.
I shake my head, eyes drifting closed. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
He lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like relief, and I turn my face up to look at him. There’s a softness there, a vulnerability that I know he would never show to anyone else. He kisses my forehead, lingers for a long moment, and then leans back, resting his hand over my stomach.
We stay that way for a long while, just breathing together. My body melts against his, the tension I always carry in my shoulders slowly ebbing away.
With Simon’s palm splayed wide and gentle over my belly, I feel safer than I have ever felt in my life. The world outside might be full of threats and uncertainty, but here, in this small circle of light and warmth, there is only us.
He strokes his thumb in lazy circles, sometimes speaking softly, sometimes just humming a tune I don’t recognize. Everyonce in a while, he presses another kiss to my temple, or nuzzles his nose into my hair as if he can’t quite believe I’m real.
I realize, watching the way he looks at me, that I’ve stopped fighting the feeling. For so long, love felt dangerous—a surrender, a weakness.
Now, it feels like strength. Trust doesn’t scare me; it grounds me. I lean into him, let myself want everything he offers. His protection isn’t a cage. It’s a promise. His passion isn’t something I have to tame or fear. It’s a fire I can trust not to burn me.
After a while, I pull his hand to my lips and kiss his knuckles. He smiles, the kind of smile that’s just for me, softening the harsh lines of his face. He presses his forehead to mine, breath warm and even, and we just sit together, silent and whole.
Chapter Twenty-Six - Simon
The city never really sleeps, not in my world. Danger mutters at the edges of every night, threats flicker in every unguarded moment.
I move through it now with a singular purpose, every step more calculated, every risk more tightly controlled.
My marriage to Eden—her trust, her presence, the life growing inside her—has crystallized something in me. I’ve always been ruthless, always willing to burn what needed burning to survive. Now, that ruthlessness is harnessed for one cause: my family’s safety. There is nothing I won’t do.
I spend my mornings on the phone, hushed calls with old allies and colder adversaries. Every safe house in New York City and beyond is checked, reinforced, redeployed under new protocols. I send men I trust to the borders, to the docks, to the shadowy places where threats breed and fester.
Old rivalries are smothered beneath new alliances. I buy loyalty, demand silence, and leave quiet reminders for anyone tempted to look twice at what’s mine.
My reputation—always sharp, always bloody—becomes a shield now, not just a weapon. I want it known: anyone who comes for Eden, or our child, will not leave this city alive.
Power has always been my currency, but for the first time, I understand what it means to wield it for someone else. Not to conquer, not to dominate, but to protect. Every choice I make, every brutal calculation, bends around a single truth: I will never allow Eden or our child to be vulnerable again.
I will not have my family haunted by the ghosts that shaped me. I will not pass down the violence of my childhood. This, I swear.
Yet with the worst of the danger settling—for now—a strange softness threads its way into my life. I find myself slowing down, if only for moments at a time, just to watch my wife move through the apartment.
