“I told you once that revenge was my religion,” he murmurs against my lips. “I was wrong. It’s you.”
My lips part, but he beats me to it.
“It’s always been you,” he says, voice cracking open. “I love you so much, Vivian.”
I gasp, the words hitting me harder than any confession ever has. “I love you so much too.”
He freezes. His breath stops. His eyes widen like he’s been shot point-blank.
“You…love me?” he whispers.
“Yes, you dummy!”
A stunned laugh bursts out of him—raw, disbelieving, boyish. Before I can blink, he grabs me by the waist, lifts me off my feet, and whirls me around, laughing into my neck. The sound is so wild, so full, I barely recognize it. He’s radiant. He’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him.
My laughter mixes with his, breathless and bright, echoing over the balcony like something holy.
When he finally sets me down, he presses his forehead to mine, still smiling but trembling just a little.
“I didn’t think you’d ever love me,” he admits, voice rough. “I was content to live forever knowing I love you this much.”
I cup his face, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. “Well…you don’t have to be content anymore.”
His eyes close, like the words physically overwhelm him. When they open again, he looks at me as if I’m the first good thing that has ever happened to him.
“Stay with me,” he breathes. “For the rest of my life—stay.”
I nod, unable to speak, my chest too full. He lifts me again, holding me against him like I’m fragile glass he’s afraid to shatter. Every heartbeat, every inhale, is synced with his.
We step inside the apartment, rain still drumming against the windows, the city lights flickering across the polished floors. He sets me down gently on the sofa, but his hands never leave me, tracing along my arms, my back, holding me as if he’s memorizing the shape of me.
“I’ve waited so long to hear you say that,” he murmurs, voice low, almost strangled. “So long to feel this…to know it’s real.”
I tilt my head, fingers tangling in his hair. “It is real,” I whisper. “Every bit of it.”
He leans down, capturing my lips again, slower this time, as if he’s trying to memorize the taste of me, the warmth of me, the weight of us finally being together. I moan softly, pressing closer, feeling the tension that’s haunted both of us these past months dissolve into something entirely different—something tender, something ours.
His hands slide down my sides, and he sighs against my mouth. “I don’t want to ever let go,” he admits, voice rough with need and relief.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes dark, shimmering with something fierce and soft at once. “I swear,” he says, gripping my face with both hands. “I’m yours. Completely. Forever.”
I rest my forehead against his, heart hammering in unison. The storm outside feels distant now—irrelevant. All that exists is us, here, at last, unbroken and unafraid.
Then he smiles, that quiet, dangerous smile that has haunted and healed me all at once. “Now,” he murmurs, “let me show you what being mine feels like.”
I laugh softly, breathless. “You don’t have to show me anything,” I say, but my hands tighten on his shirt anyway, craving him, needing him.
He shakes his head, lips curling into that feral grin I know too well. “Oh, I think I do.”
I arch a brow. “If you don’t want me to go faint while you’re inside me, I suggest we eat first.”
He actually gasps. “You haven’t eaten?”
“I was waiting for you!”
A disbelieving laugh rumbles out of him—warm, stunned, grateful—and he takes my hand, tugging me toward the table.
“Is this what happiness feels like?” he asks, sounding almost confused by it.
