At first she doesn’t react, instead she does a sweep the room before she deems it safe enough to move. Just a fraction, a slight shuffle of her sock clad feet.
“Yes. I’m alive. Not broken. Still standing,” she says, clipped and controlled, but I swear I can see a flicker of warmth behind the steel.
Alex takes a cautious step closer. “I… I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he admits, voice shaking with something I can’t name—relief? Regret? Hope?
Alice tilts her head, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. “You probably weren’t supposed to,” she says, sharp, teasing, but with warmth underneath.
Cora furrows her brow, glancing between them. “Wait… how do you two know each other?”
Alex swallows hard, gaze still locked on where Alice lingers in the doorway. “She… she’s my sister. I thought…it’s been so long, I was positive they—”
Alice’s smirk softens, just a touch, her sharp edges giving way to something quieter, warmer. “I never thought I’d see you again, either.”
Alex and Alice stay locked in that moment, a fragile, unspoken understanding threading between them. She tilts her head, a little cautious, a little defiant, and he just exhales, a sound that seems to carry away years of fear and uncertainty as he approaches his sister for the first time in a decade, one small step at a time.
And in that moment I know—truly know—that for Alice, for Niamh, for Alex, for Vera and Gianna, and for every girl now living here, this is just the beginning.
The beginning of healing. The beginning of learning to laugh without fear, to trust without doubt, to be happy without apology.
And somehow, watching it all, I can’t help but think… maybe this is what home really feels like.
Epilogue
Being with Matt and living with him are two very different things, I’m learning.
While he’s hands down the biggest supporter of my streaming, he’s also so obsessed with me that watching from the sidelines feels like a form of torture for him. I catch him hovering in the doorway, jaw tight, green eyes flicking between me and the camera, like he’s trying to memorise every twitch, every glance, every tiny reaction.
“Matt,” I sigh, swatting at his arm, “I’m not going to fall off the couch or set the laptop on fire. You can breathe.”
“I am breathing,” he grumbles, though the slight quiver in his jaw as he takes in the still from last night’s stream saysotherwise. “It’s just… seeing you like this—it’s maddening. I wish you’d let me join every stream.”
I tilt my head, smiling, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Maddening? Really? Because it looks like you’re loving every second. And we’ve been through this. Special guest? Absolutely. Regular co-star? Not happening.”
He groans, pressing his forehead to mine, voice low, teasing, and a little unhinged. “I hate you. And yes. I love you. But mostly I hate you.”
“Good. That’s the emotional spectrum I like my boyfriend to cover,” I tease. “You’ll need to be on your toes if you’re joining me next time, though. I have… ideas.”
Matt freezes, eyebrows shooting up. “Ideas?”
“Oh, yes,” I purr, leaning closer so my lips brush the shell of his ear. “Very naughty ideas. But also… a little humiliating foryou. Don’t get too cocky.”
He growls, grabbing my wrist, holding my hand against his chest. “You are literally impossible.”
“And you love it,” I whisper, smirking. “Every torturous second of.”
He huffs, shaking his head, but I can feel the heat of his laugh against me. “Maybe. But only because I know at the end of the day, you’re mine.”
I press my forehead to his, smiling, heart full. “Good. Because I plan to be here a long, long time. Streaming, laughing, making you suffer… forever.”
“And I’ll be right here, ready to suffer for you.” He rasps, voice low with need and adoration. “Always.”
I shift in front of the mirror, tugging the sleek leather of my bodysuit into place, the way it hugs every curve making me feel dangerous, untouchable, and completely, utterlyme. The cutouts where my breasts spill over and the slit between my legs just add to the steady pulse of need building inside me.
The cat mask settles over my eyes, and suddenly the reflection staring back at me isn’t just Lily—it’s the woman behind Lily’s Loves, a little wicked, and in full control.
Matt’s behind me, shirtless, leather trousers tight, a blindfold covering his eyes. I can see his hands flexing at his sides as if he’s already anticipating every move I might make.
“Turn around,” I murmur, voice low, teasing, and my fingers trail down the zipper of my bodysuit for effect.
