My chest aches with the weight of it, with the quiet, unrelenting devotion of a man who never stopped loving me, even when loving me meant standing in the path of destruction. Even when loving me meant his end. His death.
Maybe it’s over with Johnathon.
Maybe that part of our life has been buried.
But Gideon will not let me go so easily.
He will come back. He will fight.
And Trey—Trey will be there.
Standing between me him.
Standing between me and everything that wants to take me away.
Two men moving toward the same inevitable end.
The water continues to fall, warm and endless, washing over my skin, carrying away the tears as quickly as they fall, and I close my eyes, letting myself exist inside this moment for as long as it will allow me.
I let myself pretend I am not something broken and remade.
That I am just Seraphina. That I am just…his.
I stand there for a long moment after the bathroom door closes behind me, my hand resting against the wood as though I need its solidity to anchor me, my pulse still unsteady beneath my skin, because even now, even wrapped in warmth and safety and new clothes, there is a part of my mind that does not fully trust this reality, a part of me that is waiting to wake up somewhere cold and cruel.
Get a grip Seraphina. For you, for him. For us.
The dress feels like a promise I am almost afraid to accept.
The khaki fabric clings to my body like a second skin, smoothing over my hips, down my legs to my bare feet, and when I look down at myself, I am struck by the strange, disorienting sensation of seeing someone I thought I had lost forever. My hair remains wrapped in the towel at the crown of my head, its damp weight a quiet reminder of the shower, of the warmth, of being allowed to care for my own body in my own time again. I find myself smoothing my palms down the front of the dress without thinking, as though reassuring both myself and it that I am real.
When I open the bedroom door, the living area unfolds before me in soft light, and the low murmur of voices reaches me almost immediately.
Trey and Chace are seated on the large leather sectional near the center of the suite, their bodies angled toward one another in easy conversation, and the simple, ordinary sight of them—alive, unhurt, here—loosens something tight inside me that I had not realized I was still holding.
Trey looks up first.
The moment his eyes find me, everything in him stills, his entire body going motionless in a way that makes the air between us feel suddenly charged.
He rises without hesitation, without looking away, drawn toward me with a kind of quiet inevitability that makes my breath catch before he has even reached me, his feet soundless against the floor, his expression open and unguarded in a way that lays his heart bare.
When his hands slide around my waist and pull me into him, the warmth of his body surrounds me completely, firm and certain and achingly familiar, and I feel the fragile, broken pieces of myself settle instinctively in response.
“Good mornin’, baby,” he murmurs, his voice roughened by sleep and emotion, his mouth already brushing mine before I can answer.
The kiss is slow and unhurried, his lips moving against mine with a devotion that makes my chest ache, and I cling to him without thinking, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as though he is the only thing holding me upright, because in so many ways, he is.
He kisses me like he has been waiting his entire life to be allowed to do so again, like this moment is something precious and irreplaceable, and when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests briefly against mine, his thumb brushing softly along my jaw in a gesture so tender it almost undoes me.
It is only then, as I open my eyes, that I realize we are not alone.
My gaze drifts past his shoulder, drawn by something I do not yet understand, and comes to rest on the far side of the suite, where two figures stand behind the large dining table near the windows.
A man and a woman, both immaculately dressed, their posture composed and patient, their presence quiet but unmistakable.
Between them, spread across the entire surface of the table, is a collection of jewelry, diamonds, so vast and brilliant that for a moment I cannot fully comprehend what I am seeing.
Rings.
