I'm Angel. These are my wings.

Your lashes fluttered open slowly and there he was, leaning over you beneath the pale morning light spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his bedroom. His hair was slightly messy from sleep, dark curls falling carelessly onto his forehead, his jaw still rough with the beginnings of stubble. Bare. Warm. One arm braced beside your head while the other stayed wrapped around your waist beneath the sheets, like even in sleep he hadn’t risked letting you drift too far away.

His mouth brushed yours again, warm and slow, carrying traces of whiskey from last night mixed with his cologne and yours still lingering faintly on his skin. Beneath it all was the unmistakable scent of sex still clinging to both of you — slept-in sheets, bare skin, sweat, tangled limbs, and hours spent wrapped around each other instead of sleeping.

Your breath caught softly against his lips, somewhere between a laugh and disbelief.

“Mm… good morning to you too, handsome,” you murmured sleepily, stretching slightly beneath him.

Harry’s eyes softened instantly at the sound of your voice. “Marry me,” he repeated, lower this time, his lips leaving yours to press slow kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck.

You let out a quiet breath at the sensation, fingers sliding lazily into his hair. “You’re very persistent this morning, Mr. Castillo.”

“Consistent,” he corrected smugly against your skin.

His mouth drifted lower, brushing over your collarbone now, lingering there just long enough to make your breathing deepen. You felt his smile against your skin when a small sigh escaped you.

You laughed softly under your breath. “Consistently trying to manipulate me while I’m half asleep, apparently.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully. “Worth trying.” His hand slid slowly along your bare thigh, his warm palm smoothing over soft skin as he pulled you closer against his naked body beneath the sheets, like there hadn’t been a single moment during the night where he hadn’t needed to touch you somehow. The lingering warmth between your thighs made you shift slightly, still sticky and oversensitive from hours earlier, the feeling clinging to your skin with every small movement beneath the blankets. Sleep still fogged your mind, but the faint reminder of him left against your body made your cheeks warm as you tucked yourself closer into his chest.

“Manipulation before breakfast. Impressive.”

“I prefer strategic persistence.”

Your stomach tightened instantly. “Harry,” you murmured, finally opening your eyes properly now.

Your hand pressed lightly against his chest, trying to push him back enough to look at him, but the moment his hand settled higher against your thigh, your breath caught again.

“Not wearing the ring yet is not the same thing as rejecting you.”

A slow smile pulled at his mouth. “Still sounded suspiciously close to rejection.”

You rolled your eyes lightly, fingers brushing through his curls before your gaze flicked toward the digital clock sitting on the nightstand beside the bed. “You proposed less than ten hours ago.”

“And I’m already prepared to ask again,” he murmured against your jaw. A kiss. “Repeatedly.” Another. “Until you say…” Then another, on the lips. “…yes.”

You laughed softly into the kiss this time, your arms slipping around his neck as you finally gave up trying to resist him entirely, letting yourself melt back into the sheets beneath him.

Eight hours earlier…

The Vestry— 8:17 p.m.

The Vestry had never looked like this before.

The restaurant still breathed with its usual elegance—low golden lighting, dark polished wood, the distant clink of crystal and silver somewhere far from the private section hidden deeper inside—but tonight, everything near your table had been transformed into something quieter. More intimate.

Every surrounding table had been cleared for the evening. Reserved. Untouched.

Deep red peonies bloomed across the room in low arrangements surrounded by candlelight, their petals scattered carefully along the dark floor leading toward the center table like someone had spent hours making sure every detail felt intentional.

And someone had.

Harry stood near the table in a black suit he very clearly had not worn all day. Everything about him looked deliberate tonight.

The sharp lines of the tailored jacket. The crisp black shirt beneath. The silver watch at his wrist. Even his curls had been styled back more carefully than usual, though a few strands had already fallen loose again from how many times he’d dragged his hand through them in the last twenty minutes alone.

Because Harry Castillo— was nervous. Actually nervous.

The small velvet ring box rested in his hand while he stared at it for what was probably the hundredth time tonight.

That ring.

Fresh from Harry Winston after being professionally restored only days ago, the diamond caught the candlelight in violent flashes every time he moved it.

Harry turned the ring slowly between his fingers, quiet for a moment as he imagined it where it belonged.

Back on your hand.

A faint smile pulled at his mouth before he could stop it.

Around him, the staff moved carefully, attentively, adjusting candles, straightening glasses, checking the flowers for what was probably the tenth time tonight. The Vestry had always treated the two of you differently. It was where you first met, where your first dinner turned into something neither of you had managed to walk away from afterward. Everyone here knew that.

And everyone in Manhattan knew Harry Castillo.

Some of the staff had watched your first marriage unfold in real time from these very tables. Some remembered the nights Harry used to come here alone after the divorce, sitting at the same table for hours with a whiskey in front of him he barely touched.

So the second the private reservations came in tonight, whispers had spread through the restaurant almost instantly.

Mr. Castillo is proposing again.

Which explained why every single detail tonight had been handled with almost ridiculous care. The red peonies. The candles. The completely cleared section of the restaurant surrounding your table. Even the musicians near the bar had been quietly instructed to hold At Last until the exact moment you arrived.

A few lingering guests near the main dining area had started noticing the atmosphere, especially the women openly watching Harry with varying levels of envy and emotional investment.

Because unfortunately for everyone involved— he looked devastating tonight.

One of the managers approached carefully.

“Mr. Castillo, the wine pairing has been prepared and the kitchen is ready whenever you are.”

Harry nodded once. “Thanks.”

“The flowers were refreshed twenty minutes ago as requested.”

Another nod.

“And the musicians have your timing.”

“Perfect.”

The manager smiled knowingly before stepping away again.

Harry exhaled slowly and pulled out his phone. Ron picked up almost immediately.

“Well?” Harry asked.

“She just left,” Ron said proudly. “Dana confirmed it herself.”

Harry’s stomach tightened instantly. “She’s on her way?”

“She’s on her way.”

Ron paused. Then—

“You okay?”

Harry looked down at the ring again. “…no.”

“Boss, relax. She’s going to say yes.”

“You sound very confident about that.”

“You’re wearing that suit. At this point saying no would qualify as a felony in at least three states.”

Harry laughed at that, then, before he could answer, one of the servers approached him quickly.

“Mr. Castillo,” he said softly, unable to hide his smile, “Ms. Queen just arrived.”

Everything inside Harry seemed to stop.

Then immediately start all over again twice as hard. His pulse slammed against his ribs. He swallowed. Adjusted his cuff. Straightened his jacket unnecessarily.

The server discreetly disappeared again while Harry reached for one of the untouched glasses of water on the table, taking a slow sip just to give his hands something to do besides shake.

Then— he turned toward the entrance.

And there you were.

The moment you stepped inside, the entire room seemed to narrow around you automatically.

The hostess greeted you softly while another employee carefully took your coat, but your attention had already drifted past them into the restaurant itself.

At first, all you noticed were the empty tables. The flowers. The candlelight. The scattered crimson petals across the floor.

Then your eyes lifted further.

And found him.

Harry stood waiting near the center table, one hand resting loosely near his pocket, the black suit fitting him so perfectly it almost knocked the breath from your lungs entirely.

No. Not almost. It did.

For one suspended second, you genuinely forgot how to breathe.

He looked— more handsome than you remembered. More handsome than your wedding day somehow.

And nervous.

That part hit you hardest.

His smile widened the second your eyes met, something vulnerable flickering behind all that composure so briefly most people would’ve missed it completely.

But you never missed things when it came to him.

Soft jazz drifted through the room around you.

At Last.

Without thinking, you started walking toward him. Drawn. Like your body already knew where it belonged.

Harry didn’t move either.

He just watched you approach him slowly, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made the entire room disappear piece by piece until it felt like only the two of you still existed inside it.

You stopped inches away from him. Close enough to feel his warmth. Close enough to smell the faint cedar and amber of his cologne.

Your lips parted slightly, but your thoughts had stopped functioning somewhere halfway across the restaurant.

“Harry…”

Your eyes flicked around the room once more before returning to him helplessly.

Harry smiled crookedly.

God. That smile.

“Welcome, baby.”

His voice gave him away immediately. Harry tilted his head slightly, wetting his lips once before extending one hand toward you.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

You automatically placed your hand in his.

His fingers closed around yours instantly before he lifted your hand and pressed a soft kiss against your knuckles.

And suddenly— you understood.

Really understood.

All of it.

The flowers. The empty room. The music. The way he looked at you.

Your heart climbed straight into your throat. Your eyes burned almost immediately, emotion crashing into you so fast it nearly made you dizzy. A small part of you—the part that still hated losing control, hated surprises, hated not being emotionally prepared—tried to panic for half a second.

But Harry’s thumb brushed slowly over your hand. And the panic disappeared beneath something louder. Something warmer.

Harry took one slow breath. Then another. Like he was steadying himself.

Finally— without letting go of your hand— he lowered himself onto one knee.

Your breath caught completely.

This felt nothing like the first proposal.

That one had been impulsive. Reckless. Like the two of you had collided into something inevitable too fast to stop yourselves from falling into it.

But this— this had been chosen. Thought about. Planned carefully. Earned through every mistake, every heartbreak, every impossible road that somehow led you back to each other anyway. Built carefully piece by piece by someone who knew exactly what this moment meant.

And because you knew him so well, you could see every emotion fighting behind his eyes all at once.

Hope. Fear. Love.

And something unbearably vulnerable underneath all of it.

Harry lifted your hand again, pressing another kiss against your skin before finally speaking.

“My love…”

Your tears spilled instantly at the way he said it.

“I wanted to do this here,” he said softly, glancing briefly around the restaurant. “At the place where I first held your hand. Where we had our very first dinner.” His gaze returned to yours. “It didn’t feel right anywhere else.”

Your lips trembled.

Harry smiled gently when you nodded through your tears.

Then he inhaled deeply and reached into his jacket pocket.

The moment you saw the black velvet box— your heart stopped.

Harry opened it carefully.

And there it was.

The same ring. The same one he had proposed with seven years ago. The same ring you wore for two years. The same ring you placed back into his hand on the courthouse steps the day your marriage ended.

The same ring he had apparently kept through every year apart.

Every what if. Every almost. Every version of losing you.

But now— it somehow looked different.

Not because the diamond had been restored.

Because you had.

Your vision blurred completely.

“Harry you--” you whispered shakily.

“Wait,” he said softly, smiling through his own emotion now. “Please let me ask properly.”

You nodded immediately despite the tears slipping endlessly down your cheeks.

Because suddenly you realized— he had probably spent all night thinking about this moment.

Harry looked at you for a long second before speaking again.

“Do you remember what I said the first time I asked you?”

You didn’t even have to think.

“‘I feel like I found something everyone spends their whole life looking for.’”

Your voice broke halfway through repeating the words.

The memory hit both of you instantly.

Harry smiled softly.

“When we... lost each other…” he admitted quietly, “I thought I lost that too.”

Your face crumpled immediately.

“Harry…”

He shook his head gently before you could stop him.

“But somehow…” His eyes held yours completely now. “Years later, you still chose me again.”

A tear slipped down his cheek this time too.

“You have no idea how lucky that makes me feel.”

Your hand covered your mouth as another sob escaped you.

Harry looked down briefly at the ring before lifting his gaze back to yours one final time. Completely open. Completely in love.

He held the ring toward you carefully.

“Will you marry me again, baby?”

Your hand covered your mouth as another shaky breath left you. Tears blurred your vision so badly you could barely see him anymore.

Harry stayed there in front of you, still holding the ring carefully between his fingers, his eyes locked on yours with so much hope it almost hurt to look at him.

For a second— you couldn’t speak.

Your heart was screaming yes.

God.

Every part of you wanted to say yes. Right now. Immediately.

But another feeling crashed into it just as hard.

Fear.

Not of him. Never him.

Of everything else.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out at first.

Harry’s smile faltered only slightly. Just enough for you to notice.

“Baby…” he said softly after a moment, his voice careful now. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head quickly, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“Harry…” You pressed a hand against your chest helplessly. “This is… this is everything.”

The tension in his face loosened a fraction.

But only a fraction.

“I...” you whispered instantly. “I love you. Harry, I love you so much.”

“Then say yes.”

You let out another uneven breath, looking down briefly as you tried to steady your thoughts enough to speak.

Harry waited.

Silent now.

Watching you carefully.

Still kneeling.

Still holding the ring.

Like he would’ve stayed there all night if that’s what you needed.

And slowly— the hope in his expression began to shift into something quieter.

“…is it the ring?”

You blinked. “What?”

A faint, almost teasing smile pulled weakly at the corner of his mouth despite the hurt still sitting underneath it.

“Did I make a mistake not getting a new one?”

“Harry, no,” you sighed. “Of course not.”

His thumb brushed slowly against your hand.

“Then what is it?” he asked gently.

“Because I don’t want this to happen in the middle of chaos,” you whispered.

Harry’s mouth twitched faintly despite the disappointment still lingering there.

“Baby,” he murmured softly, “our entire relationship has been chaos.”

“Exactly,” you sniffled. “And look how that turned out for us the first time.”

Somewhere behind you, a tray of untouched champagne glasses shifted softly.

The staff had still been waiting. Watching carefully from a respectful distance near the back of the private room, all clearly expecting the moment the ring slipped onto your finger.

A few of the younger servers had started leaning forward slightly, curiosity getting the better of them the longer the two of you stayed there talking quietly instead of celebrating.

The manager immediately shot them a look.

The staff scattered subtly after that, pretending very hard not to be emotionally invested while absolutely being emotionally invested.

You bent down, your hands finding his jaw gently as you pressed a soft kiss against his cheek. Then another against his lips.

Harry closed his eyes briefly at the contact.

“Don’t do that,” you murmured softly against his mouth. “Don’t look so heartbroken.”

A quiet laugh escaped him despite himself, eyes glassy now too.

“How exactly am I supposed to look right now, baby?”

Your chest tightened painfully.

You brushed your thumb gently beneath his eye before kissing him once more.

Then softer—

“Come here,” you whispered softly. “Let’s sit down and eat something while we talk, okay? I’m sttarving.”

A tiny smile pulled at your mouth through the tears.

“Apparently I’m eating for three now.”

That finally made Harry smile properly.

You took his hand carefully, helping him back to his feet.

The second he stood fully again, he pressed his lips together briefly, the faintest pout pulling at the corner of his mouth despite himself.

It was subtle. Small.

But devastatingly obvious to you anyway.

Your chest ached instantly.

“Harry…”

“I’m okay.”

Which unfortunately sounded very much like he was not okay at all.

You let out the smallest laugh through your tears and reached for his hand again before he could retreat further into himself.

“Harry, listen to me.”

He looked up quietly.

“Okay, look…” You glanced around the room helplessly. The candles. The flowers. The music still playing softly somewhere behind you. “This is beautiful.”

Your voice softened immediately.

“No, actually, it’s more than beautiful. I swear, I couldn’t have imagined something this perfect.”

Harry stayed quiet.

You squeezed his hand gently.

“And thank you,” you whispered honestly. “For all of this.”

Some of the tension in his shoulders eased slightly at that.

“But…” You exhaled shakily. “You deserve an explanation.”

Harry’s eyes stayed locked on yours.

“And if I say yes… if we get engaged again…” You shook your head slightly. “I need it to feel right this time.”

A quiet silence settled between you before you continued.

“Our lives are already constantly in front of cameras, Harry. Every relationship headline turns into a business headline too.”

You swallowed softly.

“And now with the company barely stabilizing after the scandal…”

Harry’s jaw tightened slightly.

“The board’s watching every move I make right now,” you continued quietly. “I just became executive chair. Investors are nervous. The press practically lives outside my building.”

You let out a weak breath.

“If we announce another engagement now, it becomes another spectacle. Another distraction. Another thing people use against us.”

“Baby,” Harry said softly, “the company is not more important than us.”

“I know it’s not.” Your voice caught slightly. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

You stepped closer again.

“I’m saying this matters too much for me to let it become part of all that noise.”

That landed.

You saw it immediately in his face.

Not anger. Not frustration.

Just hurt.

Quiet hurt.

“And now we’re having twins,” you whispered shakily. “Everything in my life changed overnight again.”

A weak laugh escaped you through the emotion.

“Which apparently is very on brand for us.”

That finally pulled the faintest breath of amusement from him.

But your eyes filled again almost immediately.

“I just got you back, Harry.” Your fingers tightened around his hand. “And I’m terrified of something ruining this again before we even get the chance to really live it.”

Harry swallowed once before speaking quietly.

“You think marrying me ruins this?”

“No,” you answered instantly, stepping closer again. “God, no.”

Your free hand moved gently against his chest.

“I’m saying this matters too much.”

The honesty in your voice softened something in his expression immediately.

“I’m happy,” you admitted shakily. “Too happy, actually.”

A weak laugh escaped you.

“That’s what scares me.”

Silence settled softly between you again.

Jazz music drifted through the restaurant quietly behind you while candlelight flickered against the empty tables around you.

Harry looked down briefly at the ring still sitting in his hand before lifting his eyes back to yours.

“You’re not saying no,” he said softly.

Your answer came immediately.

“No.”

Relief flickered across his face so fast it almost hurt to look at.

You stepped even closer then, your voice gentler now.

“I want you to ask me again.”

Harry’s brows lifted slightly.

“When all of this settles down a little,” you whispered. “When I can actually breathe long enough to enjoy it properly.”

Your eyes dropped briefly toward the ring.

“Because when I wear that ring again…” Your throat tightened softly. “I don’t want it to feel tied to scandals or headlines or board meetings.”

You looked back up at him.

“I just want it to mean you and me.”

Harry stared at you quietly.

So you smiled through your tears and squeezed his hand again.

“So…” Your voice softened almost shyly now. “Give me a little more time.”

A tiny smile pulled weakly at your mouth.

“Then ask me again.”

Back to now.

Honestly, you still weren’t entirely sure how you had ended up back in his bed after not saying yes the night before.

Not that you regretted it.

Because, in your defense— Harry had looked unfairly good last night.

By the end of dinner, every time he glanced at you with those dark brown eyes and that heartbreakingly soft expression, heat had curled lower and lower in your stomach until simply sitting across from him had started feeling impossible.

And the worst part?

The sad puppy look had somehow made him even more attractive.

Which felt deeply unfair to your hormonal state.

So maybe— maybe that was why, the second you got into the limousine, you had looked over at him and quietly told him how devastatingly handsome he looked tonight.

Harry had blinked at you at first. Surprised.

Then slowly smiled.

And once your hand slid across his thigh beneath the dim lights of the car— everything after that had completely unraveled.

Because Harry had touched you back immediately.

And the second your mouths found each other— logic disappeared.

After that there had only been heat. Need. Hunger.

One kiss turned into another. Then hands. Then desperate grabbing and breathless laughter somewhere between kisses while the driver very professionally pretended not to notice anything happening in the backseat.

By the time you’d stumbled into Harry’s apartment, you were already pulling at the buttons of his shirt impatiently while he kissed down your neck hard enough to make you gasp.

Clothes disappeared somewhere between the hallway and the bedroom.

And sometime later— after being pulled apart and put back together by his hands and mouth more times than you could count— you found yourself completely naked beneath him, his tongue roaming all over your skin, his hips snapping against yours as you both moaned in pleasure over and over. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with your cries of his name echoing shamelessly through the penthouse, while Harry whispered against your skin like he planned to spend the rest of his life memorizing every sound you made.

The night blurred beautifully out of focus.

Until eventually—it became morning.

Again.

“Be my wife again,” Harry murmured, trailing kisses down your body, stopping to suck your nipples and dip his tongue into your belly button. He parted your thighs wider as he settled between your legs, his eyes staring intently at your pussy.

“Harry…” you breathed weakly.

His lips brushed the inside of your thigh, his mustache grazing your skin so deliciously.

“I want this every morning. Waking up with you.” Another kiss. “Starting my day exactly like this.”

A shaky breath escaped you.

“You do realize marriage isn’t technically required for that,” you managed, trying and failing to sound unaffected.

Harry lifted his head slightly to look up at you.

His curls were completely ruined now, his jaw rough with stubble, his mouth swollen from kissing you for most of the night.

And somehow— that only made him hotter.

“Is that so?” he asked, licking his thumb. “Then move in.”

His damp thumb grazed your folds, drawing a sharp breath from you.

Your thighs trembled as his thumbs spread your folds, revealing glistening pink flesh, and he didn’t hesitate—he dragged his tongue through your slit in one long, filthy stroke, savoring the tang of your arousal. You gasped, your fingers knotting in his hair as your back arched off the bed.

“Harr—rrgghhh...”

“What was that, baby? Couldn’t hear you,” Harry asked playfully, lifting his head to look up at your face from between your legs.

You pushed his head.

“That’s not fair and you know it.”

“Maybe,” he said huskily, his eyes darkening, “I need to be more convincing.”

Your pulse jumped violently.

Harry’s gaze stayed locked on yours as his fingers slid inside you, curving to caress the front of your mound, increasing the pressure as your loud moans turned into screams.

Suddenly— your phone started ringing loudly against the nightstand.

The pressure of his suction continued as he moved his tongue, trailing it along your lips. You groaned in both frustration and pleasure.

“Oh my God.”

Harry barely reacted.

In fact, if anything, the faint amusement at the corner of his mouth only deepened.

You grabbed your phone quickly and glanced at the screen.

Gerard.

“Harry, wait,” you whispered immediately. “I actually need to answer this.”

Harry hummed against your folds without looking up.

“Answer it.”

Your eyes widened.

“But... ugh... you are unbelievable. Please. Behave,” you warned weakly.

That only earned you a completely unapologetic smirk against your skin.

You swallowed hard before finally answering the call, forcing your voice into something resembling professionalism.

“Good morning,” you said carefully, looking at Harry’s head between your thighs, making your heart jump. “Yes, I’m awake.”

Eventually releasing you from his mouth, you thought he would behave, but instead he raised his hand to part your labia, licking across your slit and pausing to pay special attention to your clit. Another slow hum vibrated against your skin and you nearly lost your train of thought completely.

Your eyes flew shut instantly.

“Oh—”

You caught yourself at the last second, pressing your lips together hard.

On the other end, Gerard continued talking casually, thankfully oblivious.

You glared downward immediately.

Harry looked entirely unbothered.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured softly. “Still talking business while I’m trying to ruin your morning.”

“Yes,” you managed shakily into the phone, Harry’s praise made your head spin, only arousing you even more. “I’ll probably come in a little later today.” A sigh and pause. “Mmhm.”

Your free hand flew over your mouth suddenly as Harry’s arm wrapped around your waist, stilling your hips and holding you in place. He increased the pressure of the hand inside you, rubbing intently against your walls as he sucked harder on your clit.

“Oh,” you breathed out automatically before quickly correcting yourself.

Your eyes flew to Harry, silently mouthing ‘Fuck, oh my fucking God’ at him, lips moving without a sound as you fought to keep your composure. Gerard kept talking about business, and you had no IQ left to understand what he was saying. Thanks to Harry’s amazing mouth and what it was doing to you, your brain was completely gone; all you wanted now was to cum, hard.

“Oh—yes. Perfect. That’s fine.”

The slight stubble on his chin rubbed against your clit when he pushed his tongue inside you deeper. Worse, you felt his nose nestle into the curve of ass next and you bit down hard on your finger immediately to stop the sound threatening to escape.

“I’m listening,” you lied shakily.

Gerard asked if you were okay because you probably sounded like you were in pain.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, pressing your fingers against your forehead as heat flooded your entire face. “Morning brain.”

You felt Harry chuckle against your wet pussy lips.

“Easy, baby,” he hummed. “Breathe. Answer him properly.”

You shot him a warning look instantly.

He only looked entertained.

“Actually,” you said quickly, your voice shaky and thinner now. You felt your orgasm approaching, legs shaking, and there was no way you could stay silent from now on. “We can discuss the board updates after lunch… Yes.” Too fast. You swallowed quickly. “Yes. I just—” your breath caught again before you forced the sentence out, “I need coffee before I can think properly.”

That, at least, sounded believable.

“Perfect,” you whispered desperately. “Thank you.”

The second the call disconnected, you tossed your phone somewhere across the bed before collapsing back against the pillows with a shaky exhale.

Harry barely gave you a second to recover.

“Mm, good girl,” he murmured against your inner thigh, his voice low with satisfaction. “Knew I could make you forget all about that call.”

“Ungh— Harry—”

Your back arched instantly as his tongue slid through your folds again, slow at first, like he was savoring every sound you made for him. The wet sounds of his mouth filled the room alongside your breathless cries, and the realization of how quickly he unraveled you only made you wetter.

One hand slid up your body, squeezing your breast while the other kept you steady against the mattress as he worked you apart with devastating patience. Every flick of his tongue dragged another broken sound from your lips until you were squirming beneath him, thighs trembling around his shoulders.

He held your thighs firmly, completely unbothered by the way you kept squirming against him.

“Stay still for me, baby,” he murmured before diving back into your pussy, twisting his tongue around your tight, wet hole.

You groaned and grinded your hips on his face, riding his tongue. Your fingers tangled in his hair as your hips rolled helplessly against his mouth while he groaned softly like he enjoyed this just as much as you did.

Harry loved taking care of you. Loved watching you fall apart. Loved pulling every trembling sound from your throat until you couldn’t think about anything except him.

For five years, he’d tried to force himself to want someone else. Tried to lose himself in different faces, different touches, different women. But every time, something felt missing—like his body refused to forget you even when his mind begged it to.

Now he finally understood.

It had never been about them. It had always been about your absence.

And now that you were here, beneath his hands and in his arms, everything in him felt terrifyingly, perfectly right.

“Oh my God—”

“That’s it, my queen,” he said smoothly, one hand sliding up your stomach before curling around your breast. “There you go.”

The pressure building inside you snapped tight so fast it almost made you dizzy. You buried your face against the pillow, trying and failing to muffle your moan as your thighs shook around him.

Harry didn’t stop.

He kept licking into you through every tremor, dragging out the aftershocks until you were breathless and oversensitive beneath him.

Only then did he finally pull back.

His lips were swollen, his expression smug, and the sight alone nearly made you groan again.

He leaned down and kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

You melted into it immediately, kissing him back harder, your fingers sliding into his hair.

When he finally pulled away, you stared at him for a second before letting out a disbelieving laugh.

“Harry Castillo,” you breathed, still dazed, “you are an actual menace.”

“Menace?” he repeated softly, raising an eyebrow. “Baby, I was simply being supportive.”

You rolled your hips against his cock, your hand slides between your bodies and covers his erection, squeezing and stroking, your voice dripping with teasing impatience.

“If you really wanna support me, you can start by fucking me with this perfect CEO cock of yours.”

Harry groaned as you both felt his cock twitch inside your palm.

“That’s not CEO cock, baby.”

He pushed your hand aside and grabbed your ass with both hands.

“That’s your future husband’s cock.”

A loud moan escaped you as he slid deep inside you in one smooth thrust.

“Ohhhh!?” you teased softly between moans and breaths. “Sounds like someone’s trying to get a confession out of me under pressure.”

“Baby, this cock got you pregnant with twins.” Harry smirked against your skin. “Don’t you think it deserves to be worshipped?”

Harry chuckled quietly when your response dissolved into another broken moan.

“Use your words, baby. Tell me you love it.”

“I—” you gasped helplessly, nails digging into his shoulders. “Fuck, Harry—I love your cock.”

The sound that left him was somewhere between a groan and a smug laugh.

“Yeah...” he murmured. “I know you do.”

After that, you could barely say anything at all, completely overstimulated by everything he was doing to you. He kissed and bit at your neck, sucking marks into your skin while his hands gripped your hips tightly as he fucked you.

Even then, he forced himself to stay gentle, constantly reminding himself that you were pregnant with his babies now.

His babies.

That thought alone made him shudder, arousal curling even tighter in his stomach, his thrusts growing deeper, more desperate despite his restraint.

His breathing turned ragged against your neck, and you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer either.

You clutched at his shoulders, burning at the feeling of being fucked by him first thing in the morning. Deep down, you realized you wanted to wake up like this every day for the rest of your life.

A soft cry slipped from your lips as he moved inside you, filling you so perfectly it almost hurt.

Your thoughts scattered helplessly—Harry, your twins, everything the two of you had survived together—until pleasure drowned all coherent thought completely.

Your body suddenly shuddered hard beneath him as your orgasm crashed through you fast and overwhelming. You cried out his name over and over, hips bucking against his thrusts as wave after wave of pleasure tore through your exhausted body.

Harry came with you, your walls tightening around him and dragging the orgasm out of him with a rough groan.

Breathless, trembling, he finally collapsed beside you, careful not to put too much weight on you as he pulled you against his chest.

“So,” he murmured, voice rough with amusement and exhaustion, “after all those orgasms…”

He tilted his head just enough to look at you with a smug little smile.

“Any chance you’re finally thinking about marrying me?”

Before you could answer, another shaky breath left your lips, your body still trembling faintly beneath his.

“Hey.”

His entire expression changed as he pushed himself up, one hand cupping your face while the other slid protectively over your stomach.

“Baby, look at me.”

“I’m okay,” you whispered breathlessly, trying to steady your breathing.

His brows stayed furrowed anyway, concern written all over his face.

“You sure?”

You nodded softly, smiling lazily at him.

“Well, this is what happens when you overstimulate your pregnant girlfriend before breakfast.”

Harry exhaled quietly, still not fully convinced.

He brushed your hair away from your damp forehead before pressing a lingering kiss there.

“Come here,” he murmured gently, climbing out of bed first before reaching for your hand.

You blinked up at him.

“Harry—”

“Nope.” His tone turned softly stubborn. “You’re carrying my babies. I’m allowed to worry about you.”

A weak laugh escaped you as he carefully helped you sit up.

“Come on,” he said quietly, keeping one arm securely around your waist once you were standing. “Let’s get you into the shower.”

You stepped out of the shower wrapped in steam and warmth, toweling your hair dry as you wandered back into Harry’s bedroom.

That was when you noticed your clothes scattered across the hallway floor.

Wrinkled. Ruined.

And absolutely impossible to wear to work twice in a row—especially not as the executive chair of a company currently surviving off public image and fragile investor confidence.

You let out a long sigh. “Fantastic.”

After staring at the disaster for another second, you finally gave up and crossed toward Harry’s closet instead. Your fingers brushed over rows of dark fabrics before you pulled out one of his black t-shirts and slipped it over your bare skin.

It swallowed you whole.

And somehow smelled exactly like him.

By the time you reached the kitchen, the smell of breakfast had already wrapped around the penthouse. Butter, coffee, maple syrup, something warm and savory all at once.

Your stomach growled instantly, hunger hitting you so hard it almost made you dizzy.

Pregnancy was brutal.

Harry stood by the island pouring orange juice into a glass when he looked up—and immediately froze.

His eyes dragged slowly over you in his shirt. A slow grin spread across his face. “Well,” he murmured approvingly, “that looks dangerously good on you.”

You rolled your eyes automatically, but heat still crept up your neck.

Mostly because you knew exactly why he looked so pleased.

Harry loved seeing you like this.

Barefoot in his kitchen. Wearing his clothes. Looking like you belonged there.

Like old times.

Like the first few months after your engagement, when you used to steal his shirts and he’d act personally victimized every single time you tried giving them back.

You slid into one of the chairs at the island before finally looking down at the table properly—

—and blinked.

“Harry.”

The table was covered.

Fluffy scrambled eggs with herbs. Pancakes stacked high with fresh berries. Buttered toast. Avocado slices. Greek yogurt bowls. Fruit. Fresh juice. Coffee. Tea.

And sitting beside Harry’s plate was a folded piece of paper absolutely covered in notes.

Your brows lifted slowly. “…is that my pregnancy diet list?”

Harry glanced down casually. “Doctor’s recommendations,” he corrected while checking something off with complete seriousness. “Very different.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You made all of this?”

“Yeah,” he said simply.

You looked over the table again before narrowing your eyes slightly. “No bacon?” you mumbled in disappointment.

Harry sat beside you, already reaching for the paper again. “No,” he said firmly after rereading a line. “Too risky.”

“But the doctor said I can eat it if it’s cooked properly.”

“Mm.” He didn’t even look guilty. “We’re still choosing the zero-risk option.”

You pouted immediately. “But I want bacon.”

Without missing a beat, Harry cut off a piece of omelet with his fork and held it toward your mouth instead. “But look at this,” he coaxed smoothly. “Way better. C’mon, open up.”

You stared at him. “…are you seriously airplane-feeding me right now?”

“Yes.”

The confidence in his answer made you snort softly.

Not wanting to hurt his feelings after all this effort, you finally sighed dramatically and opened your mouth. “…fine.”

Harry looked unbearably satisfied as he fed you the bite.

And annoyingly enough? It was delicious.

Every single thing on the table was.

You watched in disbelief as he kept trying to pile more food onto your plate afterward, stopping you from reaching for the jam just to hand it to you himself a second later.

It was ridiculous. Completely over the top. And if you were being honest, the intensity of his care was starting to overwhelm you a little.

Still…

After everything that had happened, maybe it made sense.

Maybe this was temporary.

Maybe in a few days Harry would calm down.

…right?

After finishing your plate, you glanced toward the clock and sighed.

“Harry, I need to go home.”

You wiped your mouth carefully before standing.

“I don’t have anything to wear here, and I still need to get my hair done.”

Harry stood immediately after you, catching your waist before you could fully walk away.

“Well…” he started carefully.

You narrowed your eyes instantly.

“Wait—did you handle that too? What’s next? You bought me a dress? Scheduled my glam team?”

Harry smiled faintly.

But the look in his eyes stayed strangely serious.

“Come here. There’s something I wanna show you.”

Curiosity flickered through you as he guided you through the quieter side of the penthouse until he stopped in front of a closed door you’d never paid much attention to before.

Harry rested his hand on the handle but didn’t open it immediately.

Instead, he looked at you. “If you’d said yes to me last night…” He exhaled slowly, tried again. “You would’ve woken up this morning as my fiancée.”

You raised your eyebrows. Harry swallowed once before continuing. “And this would’ve been your present.”

Then finally, he opened the door.

You stopped completely.

Because the room—

God.

The room was unmistakably yours.

Soft cream tones mixed with dark wood accents. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Warm lighting. A marble vanity already covered with your skincare products arranged exactly the way you liked them. A closet section filled with clothes in your exact style.

Not random designer pieces.

You.

Elegant silhouettes. Cashmere sets. Soft silk dresses. Structured coats. Evening gowns in shades you always gravitated toward. Casual pieces for mornings at home. Sleek heels lined beneath custom shelves. Jewelry trays. Satin robes.

Even your favorite perfume sat beside the mirror.

And tucked farther inside—

Your favorite candle from Paris. The one you thought had sold out years ago.

Your chest tightened painfully.

Because this wasn’t some extravagant billionaire gesture.

It was personal.

It looked painfully similar to the dressing room in your old house together—the one where you used to start your mornings and end your nights while Harry sat nearby pretending not to watch you get ready.

This version was smaller yet warmer.

More intimate.

A soft place carved into the middle of his minimalist penthouse solely for you.

Like the space you still occupied in his heart.

Your fingers drifted slowly across the vanity before your gaze caught something else.

Your initials.

Pressed subtly into the leather jewelry case near the mirror.

You blinked once. Then again.

“…you built me a dressing room?”

“I figured if life’s finally decided to give us something back instead of taking from us…” He said. “You probably missed your dressing room too.”

Then leaned casually against the doorway, watching you instead of the room itself.

“Well? Do you like it?”

Your vision blurred before you even realized tears had filled your eyes.

One slipped down your cheek, making you laugh softly in disbelief as you turned toward him.

“Harry…” Your voice cracked slightly. “I love it.”

You looked around again, overwhelmed by how perfectly everything reflected you.

“There are things here I would’ve picked myself,” you whispered. “You remembered everything.”

Harry’s mouth twitched slightly.

“I may have asked Mikey to send me photos of your room.”

You turned toward him immediately.

“You what?”

“In my defense,” Harry said calmly, “your brother took the assignment very seriously.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

“That idiot.”

Harry actually looked mildly traumatized for a second.

“He sent me a lot of voice notes,” he admitted carefully.

Your smile widened instantly.

“Of course he did.”

“I know more about your preferred closet lighting than any man ever should.”

“Ugh, Mikey talks too much. And when it comes to illegally sneaking into my room, apparently he sees it as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“Mm.” Harry stepped closer slowly. “But he was right about one thing.”

Your breath caught slightly.

“What?”

His gaze moved around the room once before settling back on you, softer now.

“You deserve to have a place that feels like you in this house.”

The words hit somewhere deep in your chest.

Harry reached for your hand gently, lifting it to his lips without breaking eye contact as he pressed a slow kiss against your knuckles. Then his arms slid around your waist, pulling you closer until the front of your body rested against his. One hand moving up to smooth your still-damp hair back from your face, your eyes lifted to his instantly.

It wasn’t even the room.

It was the fact that he remembered.

Remembered the tiny rituals of your old life together. The mornings spent in front of the vanity while he sat nearby drinking coffee. The nights you’d end there together after galas and charity dinners, exhausted and still tangled up in each other.

Harry had remembered all of it.

Your throat tightened painfully.

“Thank you, Harry,” you murmured and kissed him softly. “Really.”

Harry smiled against your lips, his hands settling naturally on your waist.

“You know,” he murmured casually, “if you wanted to call yourself my fiancée after this, I probably wouldn’t stop you.”

“Shut up.”

“That’s not a no.”

You tried to hide your smile.

“Maybe yes.”

“Wait.” Harry tilted his head slightly. “Was that a yes yes?”

You turned away before he could fully see your smile, pretending to inspect the dresses instead.

“Mhmm.”

“Hold on. What kind of mhmm was that?”

You looked back at him innocently.

“Harry. No pressure, remember?”

“Right, right.” He nodded seriously, walking closer. “I’m just saying the option still exists.”

He held up one finger.

“Option A: yes.”

Then another.

“Option B…” His mouth curved slowly. “Also yes.”

You laughed and smacked his shoulder lightly.

“Oh my God, go get dressed already, Castillo. We’re gonna be late for work.”

Castillo Capital… 09:34 a.m.

Harry stepped out of the elevator looking too happy. Not subtle happy either. Actually happy.

The kind that made people immediately suspicious.

Ron looked up from the tablet in his hands the second Harry walked onto the executive floor and nearly dropped the damn thing.

“…good morning, boss,” he said, already grinning.

Harry barely glanced at him as he walked past.

“Morning.”

Ron’s grin widened instantly.

Oh, something definitely happened.

He followed Harry straight into the office.

“I prepared all the reports and presentation files for the meeting,” Ron said, falling into step behind him. “Also—good news from London.”

Harry loosened his scarf slightly as he moved toward his desk.

“The investors liked the revised presentation package. Looks like you won’t need to fly back anytime soon.”

Harry paused halfway through removing his coat.

“…really?”

“Mhm.” Ron watched him carefully. “Apparently John handled it.”

That got Harry’s attention immediately.

He looked over.

“John’s back?”

“He landed this morning.”

Harry leaned briefly against the desk, processing that quietly.

Things with John had changed recently.

Not perfectly.

But better.

Ever since you turned John down and he moved back to London to work as CFO at Castillo Capital’s European headquarters, something between the two men had slowly started repairing itself.

Carefully. Awkwardly.

A few weeks ago, they could barely get through a conversation without tension creeping in somewhere.

Now there were occasional phone calls. Business discussions that didn’t immediately turn hostile.

Tiny improvements.

But for Harry, even that felt like progress.

And handling the London situation without being asked— that meant something.

Harry exhaled quietly. “I’ll call him later.”

Ron nodded once before slowly approaching the desk with very obvious curiosity written all over his face.

Then—

“So…”

Harry looked up already annoyed. “What.”

Ron clasped his hands dramatically. “When exactly are we celebrating?”

Harry blinked once. “…celebrating what?”

Ron stared at him in disbelief. “The engagement?”

Silence.

Harry rubbed a hand across his jaw. “…there is no engagement, Ron.”

Ron froze. Completely.

“I’m sorry,” he said carefully. “I think perhaps I misheard that because it sounded incredibly odd.”

Harry opened his laptop. “She didn’t say yes.”

Ron’s mouth fell open. “YOU GOT REJECTED?”

“I did not get rejected.”

“Harry—”

“She said she needs time.”

Ron paused. Then grimaced slightly. “…that somehow feels emotionally worse.”

Harry leaned back in the chair, exhaling through his nose while rubbing tiredly at his forehead. “It’s not like that.”

Ron’s expression softened a little.

“Well…” he admitted carefully, “to be fair, her entire life exploded in less than a month.”

Harry’s eyes lifted back toward him immediately. “I know. I’m giving her time.” Then his mouth curved slightly. “But I’m changing her mind.”

Ron blinked. “…How?”

“She’s going to say yes eventually.”

Ron leaned against the edge of the desk, folding his arms. “Okay but—respectfully—she already did not say yes. So what exactly changes now?”

Harry smiled faintly. “First of all,” he said calmly, “I’m going to become an extremely good husband candidate.”

Ron stared at him. “…you already are one.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“I’m serious. You’re rich, attractive, emotionally obsessed with her which women weirdly love, and somehow still polite. Frankly, if I looked like you I’d be unbearable.”

Harry huffed.

“Thanks, I guess. Well...That’s not-.”

“Every other woman in Manhattan would’ve said yes before you even opened the ring box.”

“She’s not every other woman, Ron.”

“Well, obviously,” he said. “She’s Queen.”

Harry leaned back in his chair again, quieter this time. “I just need to remove the things she’s scared about.”

Ron narrowed his eyes immediately. “And how exactly are you planning to do that?”

A smug look slowly appeared on Harry’s face. “Already started this morning.”

Ron looked concerned instantly. “…should I be worried?”

“I made breakfast,” Harry said simply.

Not even slightly humble about it. “A very good breakfast.”

Ron blinked once. “…okay…”

Harry ignored the reaction entirely.

“I got the full dietary list from her doctor,” he continued casually. “Adjusted the temperature in the penthouse. Replaced half the kitchen. Checked every ingredient expiration date myself.”

Ron stared.

Harry kept going. “Less caffeine. Less stress. More sleep. More water. More iron.” He shrugged once like this was all perfectly normal billionaire behavior. “From now on she gets the most thoughtful version of me possible.”

Silence.

Ron slowly lowered the tablet in his hands. “…boss?”

Harry glanced up.

“That strategy feels…” Ron searched carefully for the right wording. “…a little dangerous for Ms. Queen.”

Harry frowned slightly. “Dangerous?”

“Pressure,” Ron corrected carefully. “Like… emotional pressure.”

Harry immediately looked offended. “I’m not pressuring her.”

Ron gave him a long look. “Would you like me to pull up the dictionary definition of pressure?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

Ron pointed dramatically.

“See? That right there? That’s the face of a man one scented candle away from becoming somebody’s husband again.”

Harry looked entirely unimpressed. “She likes me because I’m reliable.”

“No,” Ron corrected. “She likes you because you’re emotionally constipated in a very expensive way.”

Harry stared at him. Ron gestured vaguely with the tablet. “If you suddenly become aggressively attentive twenty-four hours a day, she might flee the country.”

Harry rolled his eyes again. “That’s ridiculous.”

Ron studied him for another second. Then— “…you know,” he said cautiously, “I could probably schedule an emergency therapy session for you.”

Harry looked up slowly.

Ron shrugged. “I’m just saying. This is exactly how it starts, by the way. First breakfast. Then matching pajamas. Then suddenly you own decorative hand towels.”

“Get out.”

“I’m leaving. I’m leaving.”

3 days earlier. Le Bernardin — Private Dining Room 9:21 p.m.

Warm amber lighting reflected softly against crystal glasses and polished silver while the muted sounds of the restaurant drifted faintly through the private room doors.

Harry sat beside you at the curved velvet booth, one arm stretched comfortably along the back of your seat behind you, his fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder absentmindedly whenever he spoke.

Across from you, Ron looked one bite away from a spiritual experience.

He pointed dramatically at his steak with his fork.

“Okay,” he declared after another bite, “this is genuinely the best steak I’ve ever had in my life.”

Dana nudged him immediately beneath the table.

“Ron,” she whispered sharply, “could you maybe try sounding slightly more sophisticated? Our bosses are sitting right there.”

You and Harry exchanged amused looks instantly.

Ron looked deeply offended.

“But, honey…” He gestured vaguely with the knife. “We’re off the clock.”

Dana gave Harry an apologetic smile.

Harry just shrugged calmly.

“He’s right,” he said. “Tonight we’re here as friends.”

Ron grinned triumphantly.

“Mmph—double date,” he mumbled proudly through another bite.

You giggled as Dana immediately kicked him under the table.

“Ow—Jesus Christ.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Ah yes,” he drawled dryly. “Double date.”

Then he looked over at you, his gaze immediately softening.

“You should eat a little more, baby.”

You sighed quietly, already knowing exactly where this was going.

“Harry,” you murmured, leaning back slightly against the booth. “I’m full.”

And honestly?

You were.

The fitted black dress you wore tonight wasn’t maternity wear—couldn’t be, not yet. Not when half of Manhattan was still watching Queen Financial like vultures circling a wounded animal. The soft fabric still hid the slight curve of your stomach for now, but after an entire dinner, you could already feel the tightness around your waist becoming uncomfortable.

Harry’s eyes flicked downward instantly anyway, concern already forming on his face.

“You barely ate.”

“I ate plenty.”

“Then at least drink your juice. Vitamin C.”

You narrowed your eyes immediately.

“Yes, because what I really need tonight is a vitamin C overdose.”

Ron leaned back with a grin.

“You two genuinely sound like somebody’s married aunt and uncle.”

Dana laughed softly into her wine.

“No,” Ron corrected immediately. “Actually worse. You sound like a couple that owns matching vitamins.”

“Yeah, well…” You glanced briefly toward Harry before swirling your juice lightly. “I don’t think Manhattan’s emotionally prepared for us to start acting married again.”

A softer pause.

“Especially considering the pregnancy.”

Harry looked like he was about to say something—

—but Dana cut in first.

“You have no idea how many interview requests I declined today,” she muttered while reaching for her wine. “Forbes Women. Vanity Fair. The Financial Times. One podcast literally called you ‘the face of modern feminine capitalism.’”

You buried your face briefly in your hand.

“God.”

Ron looked genuinely impressed.

“…okay wow.”

Dana pointed at him immediately.

“One magazine referred to her as ‘the unattainable queen of Wall Street.’”

Ron blinked.

“…okay wait, that one’s actually kinda cool.”

You sighed dramatically.

“Until they find out I’m pregnant with twins from my ex-husband.”

Harry’s thumb brushed quietly against your knee beneath the table.

“Well,” he murmured smoothly, “technically I could solve the ex-husband part.”

You looked over at him instantly.

“We still need to stabilize the company first,” you said more quietly, taking another sip of your juice. “And considering this whole ‘powerful independent woman’ image is apparently helping the company and the market right now… maybe the word marriage shouldn’t be floating around Manhattan just yet.”

Harry’s expression barely changed.

But something calmer settled into his eyes.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, reaching for your hand beneath the table before lifting it slowly to his mouth, “you’re not staying away from me because of a few investors and gossip columns.”

His lips brushed gently against your knuckles.

“We’ll survive all of it together. Like we always do.”

The heat that rushed to your face was immediate.

Across the table, Ron sighed dramatically.

“See?” he muttered. “Marriage is beautiful. Love is real. I support this completely.”

Dana turned toward him slowly.

“Oh?” she asked pleasantly.

Ron immediately sensed danger.

Dana tilted her head slightly.

“I didn’t realize your thoughts on marriage had suddenly become so positive,” she said sweetly. “Especially considering how creatively you’ve been avoiding dinner with my parents for three weeks.”

Harry quietly leaned closer to your ear.

“…oops,” he murmured.

You bit your lower lip trying not to grin.

Dana set her wine glass down carefully without looking away from Ron.

“Good to know,” she continued sweetly. “Very enlightening, actually.”

“Dana, baby—”

“No, no,” she interrupted calmly while standing from the table. “Please continue your passionate pro-marriage speech.”

Ron looked horrified. “Wait—I didn’t mean—”

“Excuse me, Mr. Castillo. Ms. Queen.”

Dana smiled politely before walking toward the restroom.

Ron watched her leave in genuine panic. “…how did this become about me?”

You gave him a look over the rim of your glass. “Women don’t usually enjoy being kept waiting, Ron.”

Beside you, Harry nodded in agreement without hesitation.

Ron looked betrayed. “Oh God.”

You laughed softly before standing. “I should probably go save you.”

“Please do,” Ron whispered desperately. “Thank you.”

As you followed Dana toward the hallway, Harry watched you disappear around the corner before slowly leaning back in his chair.

Ron rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m fucked... Sorry, boss.”

Harry smirked faintly into his whiskey. “No,” he said calmly. “You’re right. You’re fucked.”

Ron groaned quietly while Harry’s gaze drifted toward the hallway again, the ghost of your words still lingering in his head.

Women don’t usually enjoy being kept waiting.

Harry was almost completely certain you hadn’t meant him at all.

Back to now…

You and Dana looked at each other simultaneously across the office.

Realization hit both of you at the exact same time. “…oh my God,” Dana muttered first.

Your eyes widened slightly.

“That’s why he proposed last night.”

“And Ron immediately started defending marriage which immediately backfired on him.”

You both stared at each other for one long second—

—before bursting into laughter.

Dana shook her head slowly, still laughing under her breath.

“Men.”

You sighed deeply, leaning back in your chair.

“It’s amazing they’ve survived this long.”

Chez Akiko… 1:14 p.m.

“I’m telling you, Emily, Harry’s being absurdly attentive right now,” you complained, leaning back dramatically in your chair. “Like… concerningly attentive. How am I supposed to survive nine months of this?”

Your voice came out slightly louder than intended.

Emily only smiled knowingly as she slid the warm cup of sakura tea toward you before sitting down across from you.

“Well,” she said carefully, “to be fair… Harry is trying very hard right now.” You stared at her. “I’m serious,” you complained, taking the tea. “He monitors everything now. What I eat, what I drink, how long I sleep.” You narrowed your eyes. “This morning he adjusted the temperature in his apartment because apparently my feet were cold.”

Emily placed a hand dramatically over her heart. “That’s actually adorable.”

“He turned my office into Poison Ivy’s apartment.”

Emily immediately burst out laughing. “Okay, first of all,” she said between laughs, “she’s my favorite DC character, so that sounds cute.”

You groaned quietly, resting your forehead briefly against your hand.

“And my mother keeps calling every two hours. I swear she’s tracking my breathing remotely somehow.” You lifted your head again. “This was her fifth call today.”

Emily laughed softly before reaching across the table to squeeze your hand.

“Hon… all of them went through a huge loss with you two. I genuinely don’t think they expected to ever see this again.”

Your expression softened slightly.

Emily smiled gently.

“They’re excited. Probably too excited. But they’ll calm down eventually.” A beat. “Harry included.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “You really think so?”

“No,” Emily admitted honestly. “But I think he’ll become easier to manage once you marry him.”

You blinked once. “…excuse me?”

Emily gave you an incredulous look. “Oh please. Why did you even reject him?”

“I did not reject him.”

“You emotionally delayed him. Same thing.”

You stared at her in betrayal. “Em.”

“What?” She shrugged unapologetically. “You’ve literally been waiting for that man to propose to you again.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. “…that is not the point.”

Emily sipped her drink calmly. “Then explain the point.”

You exhaled slowly, fingers tracing around the edge of your cup.

“I’m not the same person I was back then.” Your voice quieted slightly. “Everything’s different now. The company, the board, the scandal…”

You shook your head.

“I became executive chair less than a week ago. I can’t just immediately announce I’m engaged to Harry Castillo on top of all that.”

Emily sighed dramatically. “You people genuinely never rest, huh?”

You laughed softly despite yourself.

“No seriously.” She leaned back in the booth. “When exactly are you two planning to experience love like normal people?”

You snorted.

“We are normal people.”

Emily stared at you flatly. “You own private jets.”

“Okay fair.”

Emily pointed at you. “Everything with you two sounds emotionally expensive.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Sometimes being completely ordinary sounds amazing.”

“You could never survive being ordinary.”

“Rude.”

“You cried once because a hotel suite in Milan had bad lighting.”

“That happened one time.”

“Twice.”

You narrowed your eyes.

Emily grinned proudly.

Before you could answer, the entrance door opened, the small bell above it ringing softly through the restaurant.

Emily glanced up first.

“Oh—wait, isn’t that…”

You turned slightly in your seat.

And immediately froze.

John.

Your eyes widened in surprise.

He spotted you almost instantly too, that familiar crooked smile appearing on his face as he started walking toward the table.

You stood automatically.

“Hey,” he said warmly. “How are you?”

“Good,” you laughed softly, pulling him into a quick hug. “You’re back already?”

“Landed this morning.” He stepped back, looking at you properly now. “Dana told me you were here.” His brows lifted slightly. “Thought I should come see Manhattan’s newest public executioner.”

You groaned. “Oh God.”

“No seriously,” John continued, pulling out the chair beside you. “That speech was everywhere in London. People were talking about it at breakfast.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Well… someone needed to be humbled publicly.”

John laughed under his breath. “That was one hell of a way to do it.”

You gestured toward the seat beside you. “Sit. I was about to order lunch anyway.”

John glanced toward Emily politely. “Hey.”

Emily smiled instantly. “Hi.” Then, already grabbing the menu: “So,” she asked brightly, “what are we feeding the international businessman today?”

At the same time—

The executive meeting had finally ended. Which meant half of Castillo Capital immediately flooded toward elevators, coffee carts, lunch reservations, and emotional survival mechanisms.

Harry walked beside Ron down the hallway, loosening his tie slightly while scanning through emails on his phone. “So,” he said casually, “if John landed this morning, why didn’t he come upstairs?”

Ron shrugged. “Maybe he’s sleeping.”

Harry gave him a look. “At one in the afternoon?”

“Jet lag affects people differently.”

Harry hummed absently. Still suspicious.

Before he could say anything else, Ron’s phone buzzed loudly in his hand. His entire expression softened immediately.

Harry looked over slowly. “…Dana?”

Ron smiled shamelessly while answering. “Hi, baby.”

Harry pulled out his own phone and called you while they continued toward the office.

The line rang once. No answer. His brows furrowed immediately. He tried again. Still nothing. Harry slowed his steps slightly. “…Ron.”

“Mm?”

“Ask Dana where she is.”

Ron blinked. “Who?”

Harry stared at him.

“Right. Right.” Ron quickly covered the speaker with his hand. “Baby, where’s Ms. Queen right now?” A pause. Then Ron’s expression shifted. “…oh.”

Harry narrowed his eyes instantly. “What.”

Ron slowly pulled the phone away from his ear. “She’s at lunch.”

“Where?”

Ron visibly hesitated. “…Chez Akiko.”

Silence.

Harry stopped walking entirely. Then slowly turned toward him. “Emily’s restaurant?” His brows pulled together instantly. “She can’t eat half the menu there.”

“In fairness, they also serve cooked foo—”

“Ron.” Harry was already turning around. “My coat.”

Ron sighed dramatically but grabbed it from the office chair anyway before hurrying after him.

“Protective daddy mode activated,” he muttered under his breath.

Ten minutes later—they were in the back of the limousine heading downtown.

Ron looked over cautiously. “You know…” he started carefully, “this does feel a little stalker-adjacent.”

Harry didn’t even look up from his phone, already sending you multiple texts in a row. “They’re my babies too, Ron.”

Ron opened his mouth. Closed it again. “…fair.”

The car slowed near the restaurant windows.

Then Ron suddenly leaned forward. “Oh my God.”

Harry looked up immediately. And froze.

Inside the restaurant—you were laughing. John sat beside you. Too close beside you.

Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Ron stared through the window in disbelief. “Okay,” he said slowly, “Mr. Pitts returning from London and immediately ending up at lunch with your future fiancée does feel narratively suspicious.”

Harry didn’t answer. He was too busy staring at the way John leaned behind your chair casually, resting an arm along the back of the booth while talking to you.

Ron glanced sideways at Harry’s expression and immediately swallowed. “…oh boy.”

The limousine stopped. Harry stepped out first. Fast. Behind him, Ron’s phone buzzed again.

Dana.

Ron answered quickly while jogging to keep up. “Yes, baby?” A pause. “…sweetheart, I think you’re calling about this a little too late.” Another pause. Ron glanced toward Harry. “…yeah no, he saw John. I’m hanging up.” He ended the call immediately before hurrying after him. “Apparently,” Ron continued cautiously, “John stopped by the office first and asked Dana where Ms. Queen was—”

“Yes, Ron,” Harry said coolly without slowing down. “I gathered that from the part where he’s currently halfway inside her booth.”

Ron wisely stopped talking. Then looked through the restaurant windows again. “…did he change his hair?” Harry slowly turned his head. Ron immediately raised both hands. “I’m just saying—it looks annoyingly good.”

Harry stared at him blankly.

“But not as good as yours,” Ron added quickly. “Obviously.”

Ron pointed vaguely at him while still walking. “Honestly, you kinda look like Pedro Pascal if he slept eight hours a night, owned Manhattan, and had a private equity portfolio.”

Harry kept walking. “Ron.”

“No listen,” Ron insisted immediately. “Pedro Pascal never even accepted the Sexiest Man Alive title when they wanted him to do it. Which is honestly very you. Humble. Mysterious. Emotionally repressed.”

Harry looked deeply exhausted now.

“And if you ever saw his Tumblr fanbase,” Ron added seriously, “you’d understand this is an elite compliment.”

Harry pointed at him without even looking. “Stop talking.”

“Understood.” Ron dramatically zipped his lips.

The bell above the restaurant door chimed the second Harry pushed it open.

Emily looked up first. “Oh, shit,” she said slowly. “Well. This lunch just became a live-action soap opera.”

You turned at the familiar voice before she even finished.

“Baby.”

Your head snapped toward the entrance instantly. “Harry?”

Behind him, Ron gave you a tiny apologetic smile.

John looked up too before standing from his seat. “Harry,” he greeted evenly.

“John.”

The two men shook hands. And didn’t let go. At all.

You sighed immediately.

Harry smiled politely without taking his eyes off him. “Good to see you back,” he said smoothly. “Though I have to admit, I expected to see you at today’s executive meeting first. Especially considering I was waiting for the London reports.”

His grip tightened slightly.

John smiled pleasantly right back, matching the pressure instantly. “Funny,” he replied casually. “I figured the office would still be there later. Checking on her felt more important.”

“Oh?” Harry’s smile never faltered. “Immediately after landing? How thoughtful of you.”

Their smiles somehow got tighter.

Ron immediately stepped between them with corporate-level panic management instincts.

“Gentlemen,” he announced brightly while physically separating their hands, “let’s remember Castillo Capital remains deeply committed to workplace brotherhood.”

Neither of them looked at him.

Ron continued anyway. “And Mr. Pitts, we are all extremely grateful for your work handling the London investors.”

Harry finally looked away from John then. “Yes,” he said calmly.

Then stepped directly toward you.

His arm slid around your waist naturally before he pressed a kiss against your temple. “I’m especially grateful,” he added smoothly, “because it means I get more time with my girl.”

John smiled politely.

But there was tension behind it now.

You narrowed your eyes immediately. “Harry, what are you—”

“Baby,” Harry interrupted gently, glancing down at the table. “Why are you eating here?”

Emily blinked. “Uh…”

Harry pointed lightly toward the sushi menu. “The doctor literally gave us a list of things you can’t eat.”

You crossed your arms instantly. “She also said I need omega-3.”

Harry opened his mouth.

Emily beat him to it. “She’s eating grilled salmon and rice,” Emily informed him dryly. “I’m not poisoning your offspring, relax.”

Ron muttered under his breath: “Offspring is such an aggressive word.”

"Well,” she said dryly, “if you storm into my restaurant and start criticizing my menu, I’d suggest being grateful aggressive is the only word involved.”

You giggled. “Fair.”

John looked between all of you with visible confusion.

Harry noticed immediately. “Oh,” he said casually. “Right. You didn’t know.”

You closed your eyes briefly. “Harry—”

“She’s pregnant,” Harry finished proudly anyway. “We’re having twins.”

John blinked once in genuine shock.

You elbowed Harry immediately. “We are trying to keep that private.”

“Right.” Harry nodded once. “Temporarily private.”

John’s expression softened almost instantly as he looked back at you. “…wow.” A small smile appeared on his face. “That’s…” He exhaled quietly. “Honestly, I’m really happy for you both.”

Something about the sincerity in his voice made you soften too.

“You deserve another chance after everything.”

You smiled faintly. “Thanks, John.”

He grabbed his coat slowly. “I should probably head out anyway.”

Your brows lifted slightly. “You don’t have to leave.”

John glanced briefly toward Harry. “No,” he said lightly. “I think I do.”

He leaned down slightly beside you. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

You nodded softly.

Then John looked toward Harry again. “I’ll see you at the office.”

Harry gave a short nod. “See you there.”

The second John walked out—Ron winced dramatically. “Ouch.”

Emily crossed her arms, looking between all of you with deep disappointment. “Oh, this is absolutely becoming a circus.” Then her eyes landed on Harry. “So,” she said dryly, “would Mr. Castillo perhaps like to retract his earlier comments about my restaurant?”

Harry blinked once before the faintest hint of amusement touched his face. “My apologies, Emily.”

Harry sat beside you briefly before looking back at her. “Maybe I can redeem myself by having lunch here after all.”

Emily narrowed her eyes. “…go on.”

Harry picked up the menu calmly. “I’ll take the grilled miso black cod. Steamed rice. And whatever soup she’s allowed to eat.” You rolled your eyes instantly. “And green tea,” he added smoothly without looking up.

Emily’s expression softened despite herself. “Okay,” she admitted. “That’s actually a respectable order.”

Ron immediately slid into the booth across from you. “Perfect,” he announced. “Because all this television-level emotional warfare made me hungry.”

Harry finally looked up from the menu. “We’ll also be leaving an extremely generous tip.”

“Okay,” she grinned. “Your orders will be out shortly. And the customer is always right.”

You turned slowly toward Harry. “…are you following me now?”

“No,” Harry said simply. “I’m caring about you aggressively.” You stared at him. He gently pushed your plate slightly closer toward you. “Eat before it gets cold,” Harry murmured, holding a bite toward your mouth. “Cold food lowers body temperature.”

With your mouth still full, you rolled your eyes. “My body temperature is currently very high, actually.”

Behind you, Emily slowly leaned toward Ron. “…okay,” she whispered. “She was not exaggerating.”

Ron nodded gravely. “You have no idea.”

Later That Night… Queen Residence. 9:41 p.m.

The kitchen was quiet except for the soft clink of your spoon against the ceramic mug in your hands. You stared down at the swirl of melted chocolate absentmindedly, barely noticing the steam curling upward anymore. Somewhere behind you— “Sweetheart?” You blinked slowly. “Hm?” You finally looked up. “What?” Lara frowned slightly as she stepped closer into the kitchen. “I asked you three times if you were alright.” Her brows softened. “Bad day at work?” You shook your head immediately. “No, everything’s fine, I just…” You exhaled quietly, leaning your hip against the marble counter. “I think I hurt Harry’s feelings.” “What happened?” You looked back down into your mug. “I told him a few days ago I was moving into his place. But tonight before we left, I told him maybe I needed to think about it again. He didn’t say anything,” you continued quickly. “Not really. But I think it hurt him.” “Why did you change your mind?” You sighed heavily. “He’s just…” You rubbed tiredly at your forehead. “He’s become so overprotective lately. About the pregnancy, about me, about everything.” You let out a frustrated breath. “I know he means well but sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe.” “That’s probably normal.” “Yeah. I just feel overwhelmed all the time lately.” Lara stepped closer, gently lifting your chin between her fingers. “Harry loves you,” she said softly. “That’s all this is.” “I know.” “And trust me,” she added warmly, “that man is not capable of staying upset with you for longer than five minutes.” A weak smile pulled at your mouth. But guilt still sat heavily in your chest. You looked back down again. “He already thinks I rejected him,” you admitted quietly. "Oh." That hurt to say out loud. You covered your face briefly with both hands. “God, I’m awful,” you groaned. “I finally get the love of my life back and somehow I’m still hurting him.” Lara looked ready to speak again—but Scarlet stopped her gently with one look; apparently, she heard your conversation. “Lara,” she said softly, “give us a minute?” Lara hesitated only briefly before nodding. As she passed, she squeezed your cheek affectionately. “Don’t upset yourself over this honey… a love like yours isn’t going to fall apart over something like this.” Then she disappeared quietly from the kitchen. Scarlet waited until the room settled again before speaking. “Come sit with me.” You blinked slightly at her tone. Soft. Almost careful. That alone surprised you enough to obey immediately. You pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down slowly while Scarlet took the seat beside you. Usually when your mother said we need to talk, it meant discussions about business decisions, press appearances, wardrobe disasters, assistants quitting unexpectedly, or family reputation. Not this. Never this. Scarlet looked at you quietly for a long moment before finally speaking. “You know…” she murmured slowly, “I think I may have raised you a little too harshly.” Your brows lifted slightly. “…a little?” A small laugh escaped her despite herself. “I taught you to survive,” she admitted. “To think logically. To never let emotions cloud your judgment.” Her eyes softened as they held yours. “And you became extraordinary because of it.” Your throat tightened slightly. “I’m proud of you, baby,” she whispered. “More proud than you’ll ever understand.” “Mom…” “Wait.” She shook her head gently. “Let me finish.” You nodded slowly. Scarlet rarely talked about feelings like this. Rarely talked about old pain at all. To her, heartbreak had always been something you survived privately and learned from quietly. Weakness was corrected. Mistakes were buried.

Emotions were controlled. And she had taught you the same thing. Until Harry. Scarlet looked down briefly before continuing. “But do you know something I learned too late?” You stayed quiet. Her eyes lifted back to yours. “Logic keeps you alive.” A faint smile touched her lips. “But love…” Her voice softened. “Love is what makes life worth living.” Your chest tightened instantly. “There are people who spend their entire lives never feeling what you feel for that man,” she continued quietly. “Do you understand how lucky that makes you?” Tears burned suddenly behind your eyes. Scarlet smiled gently this time. “Although,” she added, “Harry is probably the luckier one.” A watery laugh escaped you immediately. “He is.” She reached over, brushing your hair back softly. You felt your vision blur completely now. Scarlet held out her hand toward you slowly. “Give me your hand.” You did without hesitation.

She took it carefully and lifted it toward her lips, pressing a soft kiss against your knuckles. Something about that nearly broke you entirely. “Your mother, Scarlet Queen exaggerates sometimes and she does have a tendency to dramatize things,” she murmured lightly. “But this time,” she continued softly, placing your hand gently over your own heart, “don’t listen to your logic.” Your breath caught. “Listen to this instead.” Her hand stayed over yours for a second longer. “The company will survive scandals. The board will survive gossip. The world will survive headlines.” Her eyes filled slightly now too. “But life is very short, baby. You found your way back to each other after everything.” Her thumb brushed gently over your hand. “Don’t lose it again.” You stared at her completely stunned. Because this— this version of your mother— was something you had almost never seen before. Not with you. Not about Harry. Not about love. You moved suddenly, wrapping your arms tightly around her. “Do you really think so?” you whispered shakily against her shoulder. Scarlet held you immediately, one hand smoothing slowly through your hair exactly the way she used to when you were little. “No,” she whispered softly. You pulled back slightly. A tiny smile touched her lips. “I don’t think.” She tapped lightly over your heart again. “Love does.” A quiet breath left her. “That’s love speaking. Maybe it’s time you stopped listening to your logic… and started listening to this instead.”

“Wow.” You and Scarlet turned simultaneously toward the doorway. Mikey stood there holding a bottle of water, staring at the two of you in disbelief. “Scarlet Queen giving emotional mother speeches?” he said slowly. “Somebody alert the media immediately.” Scarlet closed her eyes briefly. “Michael.” “No seriously,” he continued while walking farther into the kitchen, “I think Manhattan just experienced a seismic event.” You laughed softly despite the tears still clinging to your lashes. Mikey placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “Maybe I should start listening to my heart too. Ah yes…” he sighed dreamily toward the ceiling. “My heart is saying Sienna… Sienna…” Scarlet pointed at him coldly. “No. Your heart says ridiculous things.” “And it sounds like a seventeen-year-old frat boy,” you added. “You two can mock me all you want,” he declared confidently, “but Sienna invited me to her gallery opening.” You blinked. “…she did?” Mikey looked unbearably smug now. “Mhm.” He pointed between both of you proudly. “You’ll see. Soon enough, I’m gonna win her heart.” A dangerous silence followed that statement. Scarlet stared at him for a long second before slowly looking back at you. Then back at him. “…I cannot believe you’re both my children."

Saturday Evening Castillo Estate — Rhineback. 7:17 p.m. The entire estate felt warmer tonight. Softer somehow. Golden light spilled across the sitting room while the fireplace crackled quietly nearby, the scent of fresh espresso and vanilla lingering faintly in the air after dinner. Eloise sat between you and Harry on the large cream-colored sofa, still holding the ultrasound photos carefully in her hands like they were something sacred. The second you had shown them to her after dinner, she had burst into tears immediately. Now she kept looking down at the tiny blurry images every few seconds like she still couldn’t quite believe they were real. “Dios mío…” she whispered emotionally, pressing a hand over her chest. “Dos bebés…” Harry smiled softly beside her while one of his arms rested around your shoulders. “Twins,” he corrected gently. Eloise looked up at both of you, eyes shining. “Double blessing,” she murmured in Spanish-accented English. “Two little angels…” Her voice trembled slightly. “Ay, gracias a Dios. I have never been this happy in all my life. Seeing you together like this…” Her eyes filled again. “Now I can die peacefully.” “Eloise,” you groaned immediately. Harry sighed. “Mama…” Vivienne murmured. “What?” she defended herself innocently. “I’m old.” You laughed softly and leaned closer to squeeze her arm. “You’re literally healthier than half of Manhattan,” you told her. “Exactly,” Harry added dryly. “You yelled at a gardener for touching your roses yesterday. You’re clearly surviving another twenty years minimum.” “He deserved it.” You and Harry laughed together while she continued clutching the ultrasound photos possessively against her chest. “Besides,” she added smugly now, patting your hand, “I need to meet my great-grandbabies properly before I go anywhere.” Harry’s entire expression softened at that word. Great-grandbabies.

You felt his fingers tighten slightly around yours. — Later that evening, after dinner had settled and the house grew quieter, you stepped out onto the back veranda with your phone pressed between your shoulder and ear. “…No, Dana, if one more magazine calls me ‘the feminine face of corporate resilience,’ I’m actually going to commit crimes.” Dana laughed loudly through the speaker. “You say that now, but your approval ratings are terrifyingly high.” You rolled your eyes fondly, pacing slowly beneath the soft terrace lights. The evening air had turned cooler outside, enough to send a small shiver through you. “…okay, email me the revised board schedule tomorrow,” you murmured. “And tell Ron to stop sending me engagement ring memes.” You sighed before ending the call. The second you lowered your phone, a soft warmth settled over your shoulders. You turned slightly. Vivienne stood behind you holding the edges of a cashmere shawl gently around you.

“There, ” she murmured warmly. “Better.” “Thank you.” Vivienne smiled faintly. “Do you have a minute?” “Of course.” She nodded toward the garden seating area, and the two of you slowly sat down together beneath the soft glow of the terrace lights. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then Vivienne smiled quietly to herself. “You made Eloise very happy tonight,” she said softly. “She fell asleep smiling.” A small laugh escaped her. “She was mumbling about twins in Spanish ten minutes ago.” You smiled down at your hands. “She deserved to know.” “She did.” Vivienne’s eyes softened. “And honestly?” She exhaled quietly. “I think all of us needed something joyful again.” A silence settled between you. Gentle. Comfortable. Then Vivienne looked over at you fully. “You bring light into this family,” she said softly. “Especially for Harry.” Your chest tightened instantly. You stayed quiet. Vivienne’s gaze drifted somewhere distant now.

“When you left…” she admitted quietly, “he thought he lost that light forever.” You blinked slowly. “He tried not to show it to me.” A sad smile touched her lips. “But mothers know.” Her eyes glistened slightly now. “I used to hear him come home and sit in silence for hours. Sometimes I’d call him and immediately know he’d been crying before he answered.” Pain twisted sharply in your chest. Vivienne reached over then, taking your hand gently into hers. “I was terrified,” she admitted honestly. “Terrified that his heart would never fully heal.” Your eyes burned immediately. “But now?” Her expression softened beautifully. “Whenever he visits me… or even when I hear his voice on the phone…” She smiled through the emotion gathering in her eyes. “I always know when he’s just been with you.” A weak smile pulled at your lips. Vivienne laughed softly. “He gets this ridiculous smile on his face.” She shook her head affectionately. “Even his voice changes.” Your throat tightened painfully. “And when you become a mother,” Vivienne continued gently, squeezing your hand, “you’ll understand exactly what I mean. How deeply you learn someone. How a single expression or change in tone can tell you everything.” You looked down briefly, trying to steady yourself. Vivienne waited patiently before speaking again. “I suppose what I’m trying to say is…” She smiled softly now. “There are things in this world money can never buy.” Her thumb brushed gently over your hand. “Love. Peace. Belonging.” Her eyes held yours carefully. “Those feelings are what make life worth living.” Your vision blurred slightly. “So don’t lose them,” she whispered. “And don’t lose each other.” A tiny breath left her afterward before she added carefully: “And I hope this doesn’t sound selfish…” You looked at her immediately. “…but I do hope you marry my son again someday. A watery laugh escaped as you wiped quickly beneath your eyes. “Vivienne,” you whispered shakily, “are you trying to make me cry? Because my pregnancy hormones are already dangerously unstable right now.” Vivienne laughed softly through her own tears before immediately pulling you into her arms. “Come here, honey.” You held onto her tightly. And for the first time in a very long time, it didn’t feel like you were being held by Harry’s mother. It felt like family. Vivienne kissed the side of your head gently. “Thank you,” she whispered emotionally. “For everything.” Your chest tightened painfully again. “You gave me my son back.” A tear slipped down your cheek. Vivienne only held you tighter. “And I hope the two of you spend the rest of your lives making each other happy.

Later That Night… The bedroom was quiet except for the faint sound of rain tapping softly against the windows. Warm lamplight spilled across the room in golden shadows while Harry sat against the headboard, sleeves rolled up slightly, distracted by something on his laptop. You stood alone in the bathroom staring at yourself in the mirror one last time. Your heart wouldn’t stop pounding. The silk babydoll Harry had bought for you in London draped softly against your skin, the deep shade of violet making your flushed cheeks even warmer somehow. Delicate lace traced over your chest and thighs, the matching set beneath it expensive enough to make you nervous all over again. For a second, you almost laughed at yourself. You had negotiated billion-dollar deals without blinking. But this? This terrified you. Not because of the lingerie. Because of what you were about to say. Out in the bedroom, you heard Harry shift slightly before the sound of his laptop finally closing. “Baby? Everything okay in there?” A tiny beat passed. “You’re not getting sick again, are you?” Your chest tightened painfully at the concern in his voice. God. You loved him so much. Slowly, you opened the bathroom door. And Harry froze. Completely. His eyes lifted from the bed— then stayed there. On you. The expression on his face changed instantly, somewhere between awe and complete devastation. “…fuck,” he breathed quietly. You walked toward him slowly, pulse thundering in your ears beneath the soft fabric brushing your thighs. Harry watched every step like he physically couldn’t look away. “Do you,” he asked hoarsely, eyes dragging slowly over your body, “have any idea how dangerous you are?” A nervous smile tugged softly at your lips. Then you climbed carefully onto the bed and settled into his lap, your arms sliding around his neck while his hands instinctively found your waist. Warm. Safe. Home.

“Harry…” you whispered softly against his lips. He swallowed hard immediately. Your fingers brushed lightly against his cheek before you slowly lifted your left hand between you. The ring still sat there. His ring. Your eyes met his again. “I was thinking…” you murmured quietly. “I don’t think I ever want to take this off again.” Harry’s breath caught instantly. You smiled faintly through the emotion rising in your chest. “Pretending we were married again for Eloise, only made me realize something.” Your thumb brushed over the diamond carefully. “This was always mine anyway.” Your voice softened even more. “Whether I wore it or not.” Harry stared at you silently now, his arms tightening around your waist almost unconsciously. “And my heart…” you whispered shakily, “was always yours too.” “Baby,” Harry breathed, visibly overwhelmed now as his forehead pressed briefly against yours.

You closed your eyes for one second before continuing softly: “I think I spent so much time being afraid of losing everything again…” Your fingers curled slightly against his shoulder. “That I forgot losing you would hurt so much more.” Harry’s entire expression broke open at that. “So…” you whispered, finally meeting his eyes again, “if that offer still stands…” Harry sat up straighter so fast it almost made you laugh through your nerves. “…yeah?” he asked immediately, voice rough with hope. A watery smile touched your lips. “I’m ready to be your wife again.” Silence. For one breathtaking second, Harry just stared at you. Like he couldn’t believe this was real. Then his hands suddenly cupped your face and he kissed you hard. Desperately. Relieved. Happy. The force of it stole the breath from your lungs instantly as he pulled you closer against him, kissing you again and again like he physically couldn’t stop. “Baby,” he whispered breathlessly between kisses. “Jesus Christ—” Another kiss. Then another. His forehead rested against yours for half a second before he looked at you again, smiling so widely it almost looked boyish. “Do you have any idea what you just did to me?” You laughed softly through the emotion burning behind your eyes. Harry kissed you again before you could answer. Slow this time. Deep. Full of everything the two of you had survived to get back here. “I love you,” he whispered against your mouth. “So fucking much.” Your heart melted instantly. “I love you too, Harry.” He kissed the corner of your mouth again, smiling against your skin while his hands slid along your waist beneath the silk. “Now,” you murmured softly, brushing your nose against his, “considering we’re officially engaged again…” Harry’s eyes warmed immediately. “I think you should kiss me one more time.” “Only one?” Then he kissed you again— slowly pushing you back against the pillows while the rain continued falling softly outside the windows.

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Whatever happens they always go back to each other, it’s destiny and true love calling, which is so beautiful 🥹

Loved the proposal and the way Harry became overprotective - I know she already lost a baby and I know that’s probably why he’s acting like that but also… dude, calm down, we don’t need for you to have a stroke or something, okay? 😂

Ron is honestly the best as always, protect him at all costs, the joke about Pedro was so hilarious 🤣

Both their moms are so sweet, awww I knew Scarlet was a softie underneath and I loved to see that 🙂‍↕️

I’m so happy they’re finally so near to their happy ending, they only deserve the best and their babies too, of course! ♥️

Also loved the dressing room! So pretty 😍

And smut 🥵🥵🥵 jeez, he’s a menace, I need him so bad 🫠

A tear falls down your cheeks. You don’t answer, but your hand squeezes Joel’s hand tightly.

“Listen to me,” Joel says, leaning into your ear.

“If you marry another man and forget our past, my soul won’t rest. I will come back from my grave in the middle of the night, not to scare you but to hold you. I will be the wind that blows at your window because not even death itself can put out the fire I feel for you.”

Joel pulls you to his chest, staying in silence as the last rays of the sun hid on the horizon, and the orange color turns into a clear darkness settling around you.

Neither of you moves. The distant lights of Jackson glow faintly below, scattered over the earth as if the world had turned upside down.

Joel's thumb brushes across your knuckles, back and forth as if looking for a bit of warmth in his friction with your skin.

It is a habit he had developed with you and he had carried for years.

You are the safe place he needs to go to every time he craved it.

"Do remember that cabin?" he asks suddenly.

You laugh softly. "The one with the broken roof?"

"The one with the broken roof." He repeats.

"It collapsed while we were sleeping." You add, a sad smile appears on your face.

You turn to look at him, and the same smile lingers on his face, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"We nearly froze to death that night," he says, smiling at the memory, letting out a quiet chuckle that ends up fading as quickly as it came.

For a moment, he seems lost in the memory, and you study his profile in the fading light of the moon now.

The scar near his temple, the lines beside his eyes, and the silver beginning to spread through his hair. Years ago, those things would have frightened you. They were reminders that time was moving forward.

Now, they're reminders that time had chosen to spare him.

Joel notices you staring. "What?"

"Nothing,” You shrug, smiling “just looking at you."

His gaze softens and silence follows. It feels different.

Charged.

"You know what I regret?" he asks, breaking the silence again.

You raise an eyebrow. "Only one thing?"

A quiet laugh escapes from his lips, "No. Just the one that's bothering me tonight."

The smile on your face fades. Joel rarely talks about regrets. He rarely talks about his feelings.

Most of the time he has been a reserved man that has spent years burying regrets beneath silence.

"What is it?"

He looks down at your joined hands, and for a moment, you think he won't answer.

"All the time I wasted."

You frown. "Wasted?"

"Before you."

The words catch your breath.

"I’m not talking about us meeting." Joel says when he notices your expression.

"Then what are you talking about?"

His jaw tightens. "The years after."

"The years after what?"

He doesn't answer immediately, and the darkness embraces you as you look at Jackson from afar.

A place built from second chances, a place neither of you ever expected to find and settle.

"The years I spent believing I had nothing left to lose." His voice is nothing but a whisper at this point.

You stare at him because Joel never talks about himself like this.

"You had plenty to lose."

"Yeah, I know.” The answer comes too quickly as he had thought.

His thumb continues its slow path across your knuckles. "And I didn't realize it until it was already mine."

Your chest tightens, Joel finally turns toward you, and there is something strange in his expression.

There is no sadness beneath his eyes, not even fear, but something soft that made your heart hurt.

"If I got another twenty years with you, I'd still complain it wasn't enough."

You let out a shaky laugh. "Twenty years?"

"Fifty, then."

"Now you're dreaming." You say, voice breaking.

"Maybe."

His smile appears again, it’s barely a smirk. That kind of smirk that vanishes if you look at it too closely.

You reach up and brush a strand of gray hair away from his forehead.

"Are you planning on turning into an old man?"

Joel's eyes linger on yours, longer than they should, and it makes your stomach twist.

"I wanted to."

So, you lean forward and press your forehead against his, to feel his breath on your face.

And the world continues moving around you, time continues stealing your breath.

Life goes on as if it always will.

Joel's hand finds the back of your neck, the calluses on his palm and fingers scrape gently against your skin.

A familiar touch, the same one that has followed you through years of winters and summers, in the middle of gunfire and storms, through every version of yourself that existed before and right now in this very moment.

You close your eyes.

"You know what your problem is?" you whisper, on his face.

"What?" Joel says and lets out a low hum.

"You think too much." A laugh escapes him.

And for a second, it sounds like the Joel only you know.

The one who insists he'll be fine when he is bleeding, the one who is always strong.

"I learned from the best." You shake your head.

Joel smiles, but the smile fades.

Not suddenly, slowly and it hurts.

"Are you scared?" he asks.

The question catches you off guard. His eyes remain on yours, and you stare right back at him, too close your nose still brushes, and your throat tightens.

"I am so scared.”

"Me too." He confesses.

The confession breaks you because who they are coming from.

Joel has always carried fear differently, locked behind clenched teeth and silent.

You can't remember the last time he admitted it aloud.

"What scares you?" you ask softly.

His gaze drifts toward the horizon. Toward the darkness stretching beyond Jackson.

Toward something only, he can see.

"Leaving things unfinished."

Your heart shatters.

Joel swallows, and then he looks back at you. "And leaving people behind."

You want to tell him he's being ridiculous, that neither of you is going anywhere, and that you'll both be sitting on this hill twenty years from now arguing about whose knees hurt worse.

The words reach your tongue.

But they stay there because something in his eyes stops you, and you realized there’s nothing you can do to fool death.

You take his face in your hands and you hold him as if you can anchor him in here with you.

As if love alone can keep the world from taking what it always takes.

Joel closes his eyes and leans into your touch. A sigh comes out of him when he opens them again and looks at you with such tenderness that it hurts.

"There you are," he murmurs.

You frown. "What?"

A weak smile touches his lips. "Just wanted to see you."

He reaches for your hand, bringing it to his lips and he presses a kiss on your knuckles.

And an unbearable feeling grows inside you.

Because time is slipping through your fingers and this moment is becoming a memory even as it happens.

And Joel pulls you closer, his forehead resting on your temple and his lips on your cheeks.

You close your eyes at the feeling, at the weight of him, at his scent.

At his colder skin.

And when you open your eyes, the cold bits your face.

It seems like the world around you is blurred, and the stars are suddenly gone. The sky above you is pale and colorless, carrying the first hints of dawn.

The grass beneath your cheek is damp with humidity. Your neck aches, so you sit up, and the blanket over your shoulders slides down your shoulders.

For one foolish, fleeting second, you reach beside you expecting to find warm and Joel’s sleepy sigh in the morning.

But your hand finds nothing but flat grass under your touch, and the morning greets you with silence.

A sharp breath catches in your throat, and your gaze lifts up to the stone behind you.

Joel Miller.

A loving father.

A loving brother.

Joel died.

Joel lived once. Yes, in the past tense. Everything he was, everything he did was written in carved fragments over a stone.

And yet they held an entire universe for you.

For one foolish, fleeting second, you reached beside you, expecting to find warmth and Joel's sleepy sigh greeting the morning.

But your hand found nothing except flattened grass beneath your fingertips.

The morning greeted you with silence.

A sharp breath caught in your throat, and your gaze lifted toward the stone behind you.

Joel Miller.

A loving father.

A loving brother.

Joel died.

Joel lived once.

Yes, in the past tense.

Everything he was, everything he did, had been reduced to carved fragments upon a stone.

And yet they held an entire universe for you.

Your eyes remained fixed on his name.

Joel Miller.

The letters blurred as the tears gathered in your eyes.

You remembered the first time he told you his name because now, reading it felt sacred.

A name that had once belonged to a strange man with brown eyes who looked for you when nightmares woke him in the dark.

And the stone did not tell any of those stories. It did not mention the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at the people he loved.

Your fingers brushed against the engraved letters.

Cold, Joel had never been still.

A broken laugh escaped from your lips. The sound startled you; you had forgotten what laughter sounded like after he was gone.

You still remembered the feeling of his arms around you and his beard scrapping on your face.

And you still remembered how he used to look at you, as if loving you had been the easiest thing he had ever done.

You let your forehead rest on the cold stone, letting his name press into your skin like deep cuts

“If you can hear me,” you whispered into the silent morning, “please, don't leave me alone out here.”

But there was no answer, just the sigh of the wind.

But you also knew him. You knew the fierce and stubborn soul of Joel Miller. He wouldn't just stay carved in stone. If love could cross the border of the dead, you knew his ghost would be standing right here in the shadows, arms open, refusing to ever let you go.

From the very first lines I knew this was going to hurt, but I was NOT prepared for where you took it.

"If I got another twenty years with you, I'd still complain it wasn't enough."

Yeah... I already had tears in my eyes here.

And then—

"Leaving things unfinished. And leaving people behind."

That broke my heart because it feels so Joel. He's never afraid for himself; he's afraid of leaving the people he loves.

But NOTHING prepared me for the reveal.

"For one foolish, fleeting second, you reached beside you expecting to find warmth."

That line absolutely shattered me.

I genuinely forgot we were reading a memory until the gravestone appeared. The way she instinctively reaches for him before reality crashes back... that's grief in one of its rawest forms.

And then ending it with the idea that if love could cross death, Joel would still be there, refusing to leave her...

I'm unwell.

It was a sound you had never known, one you could not have imagined possible. It spoke both into your ears and into your very mind, slipping through your veins like ice. It carried something ancient, something eternal, a resonance that was not meant for mortals to hear.

Every hair on your body stood on end.

It was fleeting, no longer than a heartbeat—

And yet it lingered, echoing within you like the aftershocks of thunder.

You froze, paralyzed. Your reason failed you. All that remained was the memory of that voice, too powerful, too immense.

And then, slowly, the world returned.

The good news: you were hearing sound again, with your ears, and you were waking.

The bad news: you remembered.

You remembered where you were—Ancient Rome.

The memory came back before your eyes even opened: Folliero’s terrible death—or disappearance. The shock of Marcus’s arms around you, telling you you had crossed back into this world. The sight of Julius, alive before you.

Too much, too fast.

Your body had betrayed you—blood rushing from your nose, your sanity slipping away with it.

And then, nothing but darkness.

Yes… you must have fainted.

But just before it claimed you, you remember something else, something real.

A touch. A warmth.

Marcus’s strong hand against your cheek, the other cradling the back of your head. His voice breaking through the storm of gods and shadows. His pleas, desperate, insistent.

"No! Rosa, stay with me! Open your eyes!"

Then you heard Julius’s voice. “Brother—she is bleeding! She does not wake!”

Then, with a tremor that hinted at anger and desperation, Marcus’s voice rose, almost a growl: “Gods… no. Do not leave me, anima mea. Not now, not ever…”

Hearing his anguished cry tugged at you mercilessly. You knew the only way you’d feel better is if you could hear his voice again.

Before you even opened your eyes, you sensed you were in a confined space, indoor, lying down. The bed beneath you wasn’t bouncy, yet it cradled you comfortably. As memories intertwined with reality, you blinked your eyes open. Yes, you were exactly where you expected, though the surprise still gripped you. You’d thought you were finally free -from Folliero and all that chaos-, convinced you’d never find yourself back here—why would you, right?

Marcus hadn’t considered returning either, even if he once wanted to, yet here you were.

In that very room, lying in that bed where you’d spent your first night as his unwilling bride, and those weird, agonizing subsequent nights. This was the place that ignited feelings that blossomed into love for him. The room where you had patiently waited to go back home.

In his room.

This time, as his real wife, not a mere pretender.

The gods or fate must be laughing at you.

In this Rome, the atmosphere was so serene that the chirping of crickets outside and the gentle rustle of the oil lamp felt incredibly clear to your ears, a striking contrast to the noise of the modern one. Astonishingly, you realized you had missed this tranquil ambiance. You felt a sense of peace creeping in.

Almost.

Almost, until anxiety crept back in as thoughts of Lizzie, Victoria, and Katie filled your mind. You sat up slowly, focusing on the direction of Marcus’s voice. The room was dim—it wasn’t surprising, given the oil lamps and absence of electricity—but it was hard to ignore the change you felt within yourself.

You were wearing a long white tunic with a gown over it.

How long had you been unconscious for god’s sake?

Marcus was behind the satin curtain; his voice floated neither close nor far.

“I cannot fathom why she would act so.”

“She is a woman of cunning. I deem this was her design from the first.”

“I must confront her—speak with her...”

“What the fuck—” As you swung your legs over the bed to get up, your foot knocked into a pitcher of water, sending it crashing to the floor.

How could you see it in the dark anyway?

Both men turned to you, startled by the sound of your voice. “Rosa! You awake… What are you doing?” Frowning, Marcus rushed over, gripping your shoulders and gently but firmly urging you back onto the bed.

You couldn’t tear your gaze away from him, noticing he wore one of his burgundy tunics. “Getting up,” you muttered.

“The Medicus said you shouldn’t strain yourself,” Marcus commanded with authority.

Julius lingered there, hesitating.

“Okay, but I really need to get up,” you insisted, yet his strong hands kept you firmly in place.

“Please rest. Just tell me what you need.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “Marcus. I need to pee.”

Marcus froze, and Julius unsuccessfully stifled a chuckle, the sound escaping through his lips. “Rosa... You’re just as I remembered.”

Ignoring Marcus's narrowed stare, you stepped over to Julius and wrapped your arms around him. He stiffened, while Marcus stood still, hands clenching at his sides as he adjusted to the moment.

“You too,” you said, looking at Julius. “I’m going to pee and come right back, if you’ll excuse me.” As you started toward the door, Marcus caught your arm and pulled you back. “This way. Or did you forget?”

“I did, believe me,” you muttered as you walked to the latrina. Glancing down from the balcony, confusion filled your mind. “But how did we get here? When did you change? And... when did you change me?”

You stepped inside and closed the door behind you.

Marcus leaned against the wall beside the door, patiently waiting for you. “Would you prefer that the Medicus notices our outfits and spreads gossip about it?”

"Hmm. Right."

Ugh, the latrina...

You quickly realized how much you missed your own bathroom.

This was... not ideal, inconvenient.

You swished the water around your hands, grimacing at your reflection in the bowl. If you made that face every time you visited here, you'd probably end up with premature wrinkles.

When you finally opened the door, you were surprised to find Marcus still waiting. His concerned eyes met yours as he touched your face gently. You took his hand, pressing it down from your cheek and squeezing it tightly. “I’m fine. But did you really call the Medicus?”

He continued to study your face as you walked back into your chamber together.

“You bled so much. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Yeah? Well, stress will do that…” You let out a resigned sigh. “What could the Medicus really do, anyway?”

You needed those pills Folliero mentioned; you knew precisely what was causing the bleeding. But Marcus didn’t know, though he wasn’t clueless.

"The portal... It must be what’s causing this effect on you, correct? Is this not what Katie referenced earlier?"

Damn, he was sharp and intuitive, of course.

“Maybe, maybe,” you mumbled.

Julius lingered at the corner, watching you with curiosity. He was relieved to see his brother alive, and witnessing the bond between you two had both surprised and delighted him, but he still had questions that needed answers.

“Why do you think he… Folliero,” you said, your voice trembling. You could still hear his scream echoing in your ears.

Marcus shook his head. “I am not certain.”

“Could this be a warning? Perhaps stepping through the portal isn’t for everyone. He had malevolent intentions, that much is clear. But we meant no harm; we didn't even plan to return, after all.”

Marcus glanced at his brother. Julius offered a weak smile, but it seemed tinged with something else—offense, perhaps.

You sat on the bed, unaware of his feelings, covering your face with one hand as your head throbbed painfully. “Marcus…By any chance... My bag..."

You hadn’t thought about your bag when you last rushed to him, desperate for saving his life. It must have fallen off your shoulder; that much was certain. Just as anxiety began to creep in about what you would do without it, Marcus returned with your bag in hand. You grinned, reached out to grab it, and hugged it as if it were still alive.

“Your bag always your faithful companion, I presume,” he said softly, sitting next to you on the bed.

“I guess the Gods felt sorry for me since I’m so attached to what’s inside,” you murmured, rummaging through the bag for the sun and moon dial. You found the dial and smiled at Marcus. “Let’s go back before sunrise,” you said, preparing to get up.

But he remained seated, his expression blank.

You raised your eyebrows, taken aback by his reaction. Glancing at Julius, who stood behind the curtain with a similar look, you wondered what they had discussed. Could it be the reason for his current behavior? “You have crossed the veil of time, Rosa. Your body is weary; you need to rest.”

“Rest? But... they think you’re dead, don’t they? Every second you stay here is risky and dangerous. All of Rome must have heard that you were shot by the Praetorians." You turned to Julius. "Am I wrong? Has Emperor Severus regained consciousness? Is he back to health?”

Julius sighed, troubled. “Would that it were so. Nay,” he said, shaking his head. “He's gone. Geta and Caracalla have declared themselves emperors in your absence and are ruling together.”

You turned back to Marcus. “Then you have no reason to stay here!” you exclaimed. “Weren’t they the ones who wanted you dead and succeeded? For heaven’s sake, Marcus…” You let out a shaky sigh, your heart racing.

He stood up and came to you, his hands finding their comforting place on your shoulders. “Calm yourself. Your anxiety will increase.”

Julius stepped closer. “When tidings of Marcus’s death swept the streets, all Rome shook. The people rioted as though the gods themselves had been betrayed. For seven nights, Palatine Hill became a fortress. Geta and Caracalla hid like frightened boys, while the Praetorians kept sleepless watch. Yet I held faith. I knew the Fates had spared him,” he said, smiling softly and sincerely at his brother. “I noticed the arrows and trails of blood on the temple stones which began to vanish at one specific spot. That’s when it struck me that something was amiss. Oh, and I also stumbled upon an item belonging to Rosa, and that solidified my certainty.”

“Or was it my Bluetooth headset? I was wondering where I lost it,” you said, relaxing. "It must have dropped from my bag in that chaos, damn..." The seriousness of the matter suddenly seemed humorous, and it made you smile. “I’m still paying for it, you know?” you teased, Marcus smirked lazily. “But the people,” you started, your smile fading. “They think you’re dead, and we came here to the villa. Balbina, Lydia, the slaves… everyone will hear.”

Marcus gently clasped your hands in his. “Be at ease,” he reassured you with a steady tone. “I didn’t leave behind a lifeless body. To Geta, my survival may be perceived as a failure; my presence could potentially disturb his sense of control.”

You raised your eyebrows, your eyes widening. “Are you really going to confront him? Who’s to say he won’t try to kill you on the spot?”

He tightened his grip on your hands.

Julius replied. “He cannot dare it, not with Rome’s streets still burning with anger. To slay Marcus openly would rouse the city to civil war.”

You narrowed your eyes at both of them. “You obviously have something planned.”

Marcus leaned in and kissed the back of your hand. “It’s nearly dawn, my love. You need to rest. I insist.”

You frowned as he pulled back the sheets for you. “And what about you?” He looked away for a moment, glancing at Julius, and then back at you.

Your eyes landed on the black cloak draped over the chair in the corner. “What the—are you going somewhere?”

Julius quickly averted his gaze and exited the room. Marcus locked eyes with you, and for a moment, a heavy silence lingered between you as his footsteps faded away. "I need to see Lady Lucilla," he said softly yet firmly.

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but your teeth clenched involuntarily. "You do? Why do you 'need' to see her? I just don’t get why this is necessary, especially after we've just gone through such a tragic, devastating, and frankly 'unexpected' return!" He opened his mouth to respond, but it seemed he didn't realize you weren't done yet—he should have known by now. "Have you forgotten that sneaky bitch was plotting against you?" Marcus clenched his lips when you dropped the word 'bitch.' "Perhaps she was even behind your assassination! Yeah, it must be! I told you about that conversation I overheard with Geta and Caracalla. You said you saw her meeting secretly with the senators, didn't you? Then why the hell do you—"

He reached out, brushing your cheek with his fingers and pressing his thumb to your lips, effectively silencing you. Delighted by how he halted your tirade, he smiled, his fingertip brushing against your skin. But instead of returning his smile, you pursed your lips.

"You look so beautiful when you’re being defiant; it always amazes me that I’m not angry, but rather enchanted,” he murmured in his velvety voice. “You’re the only woman who can do that.”

You swallowed hard. When he spoke in that tone, gazing at you with those eyes, it melted your defenses.

You were about to tell him not to change the fucking subject, but then he leaned down to kiss you, and everything else faded away—where you were, why you were angry, your anxiety, even your own name seemed to vanish for a moment.

He sometimes joked that you’d cast a spell on him, but he was truly captivating in ways you never realized.

Damn.

Yet, as overwhelming as it was, it wouldn’t change your mind. Watching him don his cloak, all you could think about was how safe he seemed in this modern world, leaving you to worry.

"Marcus...please don’t go."

He tied his cloak and turned to you, and you could see in his eyes that he had already made up his mind. Stubbornness kicked in. "Okay, I’m coming with you," you declared, swinging your legs off the bed.

"No, Rosa, you're not," he stated firmly while tying his sandals.

You crossed your arms, stubbornly watching him. "Why not? Aren’t I your wife? I'm going too."

Marcus gave you a stern look. "Remember, we’re in my time," he said, his tone softening as he noticed your frown. "It’s safer here." He gently guided you back to the bed. "Now, please rest. I’ll return before sunrise."

You sat back down, feeling a mix of worry and frustration. "Promise me."

He smiled. "I promise."

"Not like that. Promise me in the way a Roman general would."

His smile widened, and then he met your gaze with a serious expression. "By Jupiter, by Mars, by every god above—I swear upon my blood and my soul, I will return to you, my wife. For if I do not, then I am no longer Acacius.”

Ah, he had quickly adapted to the atmosphere.

Cute.

This was definitely not a wild dream; you were truly back. He kissed you one last time before leaving, and you sank into bed with a sulking face. You trusted him, but thoughts of Lucilla unnerved you. Since you last saw her at the wedding, when she wore a disgusted expression as you walked towards Marcus in your wedding dress, you remember that, now you couldn’t shake your worry because Marcus hardly talked about her. You sensed there was a history between him and Lucilla that had never been addressed. As sleep overtook you, you wondered if you’d ever met her as Rhea, drifting into the silent night.

The villa—or prison, as Lucilla bitterly named it—lay silent beneath the weight of midnight. Only the weary flame of oil lamps clung to the marble columns. Lucilla sat in her chamber, the empire’s burden pressing heavy upon her, or rather, the ruin wrought by her twin emperors. Her vigil was broken by the sound of hurried steps; a young slave entered, trembling, and knelt low.

“Domina, forgive me.”

Lucilla cast upon her a weary glance, her patience worn thin. She could not endure another plea at this hour.

“Speak quickly, girl, or begone.”

“I didn't mean to disturb you, but... He... He's here. T-the g-general… Acacius.”

“Do not mock me with shadows. Acacius is dead.”

The girl’s eyes went wide with fear. “By all the gods, I would not dare deceive you. I saw him with my own eyes—standing below, in flesh, as though returned from Pluto’s realm.”

With a sweep of her palla, Lucilla descended the marble stairs into the atrium. The torches hissed as if to echo her steps.

There, in the threshold, a tall figure cloaked in darkness stood. When he raised his head, the firelight revealed a scarred, weary, yet handsome face—stern, yet unmistakably alive.

“Marcus.... It cannot be,” she gasped, struggling to comprehend the sight before her. “They claimed you fell—your body pierced, lifeless, they said. And yet… you stand before me…” She scanned him from head to toe, still in disbelief, lips twitching.

“The gods mock me—or perhaps they grant me another chance. Arrows pierced me, it’s true… I bled, yet I live.”

Lucilla stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as they searched his face.

“Not even Hercules bore such wounds. You walk as one summoned from death itself. Tell me—how?”

His voice cut like iron. “Or is it disappointment I see? Would it have pleased you more had I perished? After all, you’re the one who wished for my death, conspiring with senators."

Her awe hardened into anger. “I acted as I must!”

Marcus didn't even blink. “You acted as traitor.”

She sighed with a half smile, moving toward the table to pour herself a glass of wine from the decanter. She then returned to her chair and faced him. “Since you believe so… you must think I poisoned Severus too…” She took a sip of her wine.

Marcus approached her cautiously. “Weren't you? You spoke to him last… and then came the news of poison. The Praetorians hunted me the very hour I fled the palace. Was it your hand behind it? You conspired with Geta, Caracalla, and the senators, did you not, Lucilla?”

She regarded him with a mocking glare. “What happened to 'my lady'? No more honor for my name?”

His reply was cold. “My respect for you was never owed to your name.”

Her hand stilled on the goblet. “Then you must honor me yet more. For I am mother to emperors.”

Marcus circled her with a dark gaze. “Adopted emperors, granted your dignitas by stolen decree, while Rome burns in rebellion. Tell me—what profit have you?”

“I am to be addressed as Empress,” she replied proudly.

He gestured around atrium. “And yet your imperial sons leave you here—still a captive in your own house. What honor lies in that, Augusta?” He pronounced that title with almost disgust.

Lucilla gripped the arms of her chair tightly, frustration rising.

“Did you genuinely believe that you would be granted freedom? Did you truly consider that you would be permitted to leave this palace? You are a clever woman. How could you not realize? Is this not a disgrace to your father’s name?”

Lucilla sprang to her feet, her jewels clinking angrily as her eyes burned with fury, locking onto Marcus's. “You presume to judge me, Acacius? Do not feign innocence. This ruin is yours as well as mine! Had you taken my hand when I offered it, all would be different. I would have given you all—heart, throne, empire. Yet you—fallen soldier—you turned from me, drowning in your grief, enslaved to a dead woman’s memory!”

She stood so near her breath touched his.

“Do you forget what I endured for you—for Lucius? I may never gave you my heart, but I kept your life safe, and his, as I swore to him.”

Her laughter was sharp, bitter, almost mad. “You speak of protection? While I rotted here, my son became a stranger. And you—always the Emperor’s hound—tore him from my arms!”

“He was safe. I swore to guard him, and I did. I brought him back, as I promised.”

She inclined her head, her voice low and venomous. “You kept your promises, Acacius… except one.”

His eyes narrowed.

“The one you made to yourself,” she whispered. “You told me of that vow you made to the dead priestess—your first, your only love—that never again would you suffer another into your heart. You told me that, remember? The very day I was forced to send Lucius away… the day I spoke of my intent to wed you.”

Marcus’s throat tightened, but Lucilla, blind to the truth, mistook his silence.

“You could not hold to that vow. You broke the oath you would not break even for me—for her. A girl of no name, no crown, no Roman blood. Instead of binding yourself to Marcus Aurelius’s daughter, you give your hand to a foreign woman? Why? Is that woman greater than Rome? Greater than me? You could have risen higher than any man in this empire—my hand, my throne, my bloodline. Yet you bind yourself to her. Why, Acacius? Why her, and not me? WHY?”

Marcus straightened, torchlight glinting along the scar at his cheekbone. His voice, when it came, was not the voice of the soldier but of the man beneath.

“She is the reason I yet draw breath. In the shadow of death, it was not Rome I saw, nor the throne, nor the promise of glory. It was her face, her voice, her love. The gods filled my lungs again, not for empire—but for her. She is my anima mea. My very soul.”

Lucilla faltered.

For a heartbeat, her mask cracked, grief surfacing before she veiled it in coldness.

“So… arrows cannot pierce you, Acacius. But love can. Then let the Fates guard her well—for she has conquered what I could not.”

“It is not Fate that will shield her,” Marcus answered darkly, “but I—as her husband.”

Lucilla’s gaze hardened, a serpent’s hiss escaping her lips.

“For years,” Marcus pressed, “I held to my oath to Maximus as best I could. But you—you bid me betray him, to wed you. Even had I not grieved, even had another not dwelt in my heart, I could never have done so. I could not look on you that way. Yet still I guarded you—from Severus, from Rome, even from your brother once. You know I did. But Severus… though not a good emperor, he was a wise man. He served Rome.”

“You think you knew him?” Lucilla snapped. “I endured his rule whilst you marched at war. That man destroyed what my father built. He deserved his death—just as Commodus did. He was evil.”

Marcus inclined his head. “And so, to preserve yourself, you joined hands with Geta and Caracalla, poisoned him, and made yourself their mother. But did you think of your own blood, Lucius? What becomes of him?”

At his words, Lucilla seemed to age before his eyes. “Why do you think I adopted them?”

Marcus’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Her sigh was weary, almost defeated. “They saw him that night. The night he fled Rome—before your wedding.”

“Why did you not tell me?”

“You could not have stopped him, and you know it. Do not speak as though you do not know his nature.”

“I would have tried.”

A cruel smile curved her lips. “Strange… the slaves whisper your wife was the last to see Lucius. Or did she fail to tell you? Your anima mea.”

His jaw clenched, fury burning beneath his silence.

“She keeps secrets from you,” Lucilla taunted. “Is that trust? You should know… If Lucius abandoned Rome for her, then she has stolen not only my son—but my legacy. And I will reclaim it, Acacius… even if I must destroy her.”

The air grew taut, sharp as drawn steel. Marcus’s hand twitched toward his sword, his voice low and thunderous: “Careful, Lucilla. You blame Rosa because it is easier than confessing the truth. But perhaps Lucius fled not for her—but for you.”

Her bitter smile returned, but her eyes betrayed the wound his words had struck.

“Speak her name as a threat again,” Marcus warned, his voice like iron, “and no god, no emperor, not Rome itself will shield you from me.”

For a long breath, their eyes locked—steel against fire.

Then Marcus, drained of all pity, turned on his heel and stormed from the atrium.

Lucilla stood unmoving. When her mask of composure returned, a faint smile curved her lips—dark, triumphant.

“Very well,” she whispered. “Then we shall see how long love may defy an empire.”

The first light of dawn spilled softly through the villa’s high windows, turning the marble floor to gold and brushing the edges of the bed with warmth. You still slept, your breathing steady, face turned toward the sun. Beside you, Marcus lay on his side, propped on one elbow, watching you as though you were the only truth in a world full of lies.

His black cloak was gone now; he was dressed only in his tunic, which he had longed to wear during his time away. One calloused hand lay near your face, not quite touching, just hovering in patience. He took great pleasure in watching you sleep, particularly now that he was in his villa, with you nestled in his bed.

You stirred.

Your lashes fluttered, and at last your eyes opened, hazy with sleep. The first thing you saw was him—his intense gaze fixed on you, intense yet softened by the light.

“Morning,” you said, rubbing your eyes, let out a light yawn and added, “Were you watching me?”

Marcus smiled at your effortless charm.

As you reached out to touch the bare skin of his neck that peeked out from under his tunic, you couldn't help but appreciate the contrast. While it was refreshing to see him in modern attire, this felt like something entirely different.

He was captivating in every way.

You squinted against the bright light streaming in from behind the curtain. “So… you actually came before sunrise. Just as you promised.”

As you turned your gaze back to him, you noticed the faint lines under his eyes had deepened, revealing the toll of time as you studied his face closely. You brushed your thumb over his skin where those lines formed. “Oh boy. You… didn’t sleep at all?”

He caught your hand and pressed a kiss to your thumb, his voice low and tender. “How could I, when the gods placed eternity in my arms? To sleep would be to steal from this moment… I chose to guard the dawn on your face instead.”

Your heart tightened. “But you need your strength… We just had a wild night.” You opened your arms on the pillow, gesturing for him to come closer. “Come on, sleep here. You really should rest.”

He hesitated for a moment, and you frowned. “C’mon, Marcus.”

At last, he relented, leaning in until his head found its place on the pillow beside you. He nestled against your embrace, his nose brushing playfully against your breasts, drawing a quiet giggle from you. Your fingers combed gently through his hair, slow and tender, as if memorizing him by touch.

“I wish,” he murmured against your skin, “that we could stay like this… for all eternity.”

“Me too,” you whispered into his hair, savoring his scent.

As you gently drifted back to sleep, he wrapped his arm around you, and the last thing you felt was his comforting warmth against you. When you opened your eyes again, a wave of panic washed over you as you realized that touch was gone; the other side of the bed was empty. Your anxiety started to creep in as you pulled yourself out of slumber. You hadn’t had the chance to ask him what he discussed with Lucilla, and now he was nowhere to be found. Why had he left? Could he have gone back to his duties as a general? Wasn’t that risky?

Suddenly, Balbina’s loud voice startled you out of your thoughts, prompting you to jump out of bed.

Of course.

The famous scene was happening downstairs, with Balbina really going overboard about how happy she was to see her son Marcus alive. She just kept rambling on and on about it... “By the gods, my son lives! Jupiter himself has preserved him!” blah, blah, blah.

But you had to catch Marcus before he left.

As you left the room, a young slave lifted his hands to halt you, his eyes wide with alarm. “My lady, wait—!” But you brushed him off, your bare feet light upon the marble. Another slave, older, caught sight of you and too hurried after you, dread carved upon her brow.

You did not know why they were chasing you, yet you were still a long way from realizing your mistake.

As Balbina spoke to Marcus, Lydia was beside her, both smiling at him. Marcus and Julius stood with their backs to you, but just as you spotted Marcus in his red sagum over his armour and froze.

You realized you had caught him just as he was getting ready to leave.

You called out his name without thought:

“Marcus!”

Every head turned. Balbina’s eyes widened as if struck by thunderbolts. She clutched her chest and cried, “Di immortales! What shame is this?” Lydia stifled a laugh behind her hand, eyes glittering with malice. Julius turned aside, lips pressed thin.

As soon as Marcus turned to look at you, his hands quickly began undoing his sagum, and he stared at you with a mixture of anger and shock. He reached you faster than the slave who had chased after you from behind, carrying the gown you were supposed to wear.

At that moment, you realized what had happened.

The tunic must have been completely see-through, and dashing down the hallway and into the courtyard while wearing it was utterly inappropriate. Marcus pulled his sagum around you with urgency, his frustration clear as he glared at you intently. "Rosa, you shouldn’t be here like this. What were you thinking?" he demanded in a low, intense whisper, wrapping the fabric around you more firmly.

"You're the one who made me wear this. Why the hell did you have to take off my bra and panties?"

A slave at the edge of the crowd nearly laughed, but at Marcus’s sudden glare—a look that could have felled an enemy—he bent double in silence, as did the rest, their foreheads lowered as though they themselves had sinned.

Marcus’s arm held you tight as he swept you into the side chamber, away from Balbina’s outraged gasps. He snapped his fingers, voice cutting through the air:

“Bring garments—stola, palla—at once!”

Two slave girls rushed forward, bowing low. “Forgive us, Dominus, we hasten now.”

The rustle of fabric filled the chamber as they dressed you. You rolled your eyes, tugging impatiently at the stola’s folds, while Marcus refastened his sagum upon his shoulders.

“Where are you going?” you demanded.

“The castra. The men await me.”

“You cannot!” Your cry broke free, high and fierce, making the slaves freeze mid-knot. She cast Marcus a sideways glance, quickly veiling a sly smile, then busied herself again.

Marcus sighed, the sound heavy with a soldier’s patience worn thin. He reached out, his hand grazing your cheek, his tone low, commanding yet tender: “Rosa… anima mea… must you raise your voice so? You are my wife—my honor. Speak softly. I beg you.”

But you ignored him.

"You're seriously going out there? After the entire city spent a month mourning you? Don’t you think showing up alive in broad daylight will… I don’t know… give someone a heart attack?”

The younger slave girl stifled a laugh, but the older one nudged her sharply to keep silent. Marcus glanced at you with a mixture of exasperation and tenderness.

“Rumor will spread with or without my presence, mea vita. Better I show myself to the men, lest whispers become poison.”

You frowned, still trying to understand the challenges of ancient Rome and its unique way of speaking. The reality of Marcus being the general of Rome and his duties was significant here.

It took some time to consider this, and you weren’t quite prepared yet.

“It is precisely because they believe me dead that I must appear. My legions already whisper. Rome cannot afford a leader who lives only as rumor. If I do not correct this falsehood, others will seize upon it—ambition feeds on corpses, Rosa.”

You blinked at him, incredulous. “So let me get this straight—you’ve been dead for a month, everyone’s moved on, and now you think waltzing into the barracks -or castra whatever- like, ‘surprise, still alive!’ is a good idea? Really?”

One of the girls giggled again, louder this time, quickly covering her mouth. Marcus’ lips twitched as though fighting back a smile, though his eyes softened with worry at your trembling hands.

“Rosa,” he said gently, reaching to touch your cheek, “this is my duty. Besides, it is not a choice. It is necessity. The south must know their general lives. Otherwise, they will turn their loyalty to another. And when loyalty scatters, empires crumble.”

“And I’m your wife. My duty is making sure you don’t get yourself killed—again. Do you have any idea what it feels like to hold someone, watch them bleed out, and then—” You broke off,  eyes shining. “I can’t do that twice, Marcus. I just… can’t.”

The younger slave girl went to the wardrobe and took out the jewelry, and the other brought a chair for you, and Marcus sat you in it.

The slave girl wove their fingers through your hair, setting it into delicate braids. But Marcus raised a hand to stop her sharply.

“You may finish later. Leave us alone.”

They bowed low and slipped from the chamber, the door closing softly behind them.

You turned to him, voice trembling.“You speak endlessly of your legions, your Rome, your soldiers. But what about us, Marcus? When the sun sets, we could go back—back to 2025. Don’t you want that?”

“Of course I want to.” His hand brushed gently over the loose strands the slaves had left undone. “I crave it more than the air in my lungs. To walk with you again through that land of glass towers and cars without horses, where light conquers darkness. To dwell with you in that humble dwelling you call home. To visit the movie set every day....”

He knelt beside you to take your hands, pressing them to his chest.

“But as you bore duties in that world, so am I bound in this one. Already Rome whispers of my return. If I were to vanish now, leaving the city drowning in rumor and doubt—what would remain of me? Nothing but a shade, a coward who chose flight over duty. Tell me, Rosa—would you have me stand at your side as a man… or linger as a ghost?”

“Marcus… you’re impossible.” You poked his chest with your finger. “I didn’t fall in love with some marble statue of ‘duty.’ I fell in love with you. To the man who brought me daisies with his hard-earned euros in a world that was unfamiliar to him, to the man who wanted to take care of me in that strange place, to the man who tinkered with a device he had no clue about until dawn broke—Rome can wait a day. You need some rest today. And frankly? I’m not dragging your exhausted ass through another time portal if you pass out halfway.”

Marcus let out the faintest chuckle, resting his forehead against yours.

“Gods… only you could speak thus to a Roman general.”

“Damn right,” you whispered, smiling through the threat of tears.

"But Rosa… I must go. Forgive me," he said, rising to his feet.

You let out a long, weary sigh. Marcus’s gaze lingered on you, heavy with hesitation, before he finally spoke again.

"Tell me—did you see Lucius? Before the wedding?"

Your breath caught in your throat. His words struck you like a blade, freezing you in place. Lucius—his name had nearly faded from your memory, buried under everything that had happened. But how could Marcus know? That night had been only the two of you… no one else.

Your lips pressed together, your silence betraying you.

Marcus’s voice grew quieter, sharper. "Am I to take your silence as an answer?"

"Marcus," you whispered, hesitating. "That night... I was angry with you. We got married, and you had been struck by arrows. Then—then we were torn back to 2025. Everything was in chaos. I thought it was just a fleeting moment, a detail best forgotten. I never believed we would return here again, so I didn't mention it."

He studied you for a long moment, then gave a slow, deliberate nod. "I see. And what did Lucius say to you?"

You forced yourself to remember, even as the memory stung. "He said... that he had to run away..." You hesitated, swallowing the rest—there was no need to mention the kiss, right? He would probably be upset if he found out; you knew him well enough to understand that.

Marcus's jaw clenched. "That boy..." he muttered under his breath.

You asked cautiously, "Has something bad happened to him?" You were concerned for him. Though he could be a jerk, he was still a good man at heart.

His hand instinctively reached for the hilt of his sword, his eyes dark and resolute as they locked onto yours. "I hope not. I shall find him—before it is too late."

The news traveled faster than the Tiber’s current—General Acacius lives.

By the time the message reached the Palatine, the air in the imperial halls grew thick with disbelief.

Geta's voice sliced through the air like a whip as he burst into the chamber. The Praetorians—the same ones who had shot Marcus with arrows before—standing before him, trembling under the weight of his fierce gaze.

"Explain this!" he thundered. "You told me he was struck down!" he roared, his voice echoing off the marble walls. "Pierced with arrows—dozens of them! You swore the life had fled from his body. And now the streets murmur that Acacius walks again, as if death itself bent the knee to him. Was Rome deceived, or am I surrounded by incompetents?"

With the signal of their commander, guards knelt, their eyes fixed to the floor. "Caesar, we saw him fall. His armor was soaked in blood. No man could survive such a storm of iron."

Caracalla lounged lazily on his throne, a crooked smile creeping across his lips as he tossed nuts to his monkey. "And yet… he did." He leaned forward, voice dripping with mockery. "Perhaps Acacius is no man at all, but Mars in mortal flesh. Arrows could not pierce him, and Hades spat him back to us."

Geta shot him a dark look, but Caracalla only chuckled, shaking his head. "Or maybe," he sneered, "our brave Praetorians missed their mark. Imagine it—an entire cohort loosing shafts at one man, and still he breathes. Tell me, which is more shameful: that Rome’s enemies fear him as a god, or that her guards cannot kill him as a man?"

"By the gods, spare us!"

Geta paused, eyes blazing.

"Spare you? You are already dead men." He looked at the guards. "Take them out! Strike off their heads! Let their blood remind Rome what failure earns."

The Praetorians cried out in horror as gards seized them. "Mercy! Caesar, mercy!"

Their desperate voices filled the hall until the heavy doors slammed shut behind them.

Silence lingered, broken only by the sound of Geta’s ragged breath. He turned to his brother with fire in his eyes.

"The Senate will laugh at us! Rome will call us fools who cannot tell the living from the dead. How can we rule when our word means nothing?"

Caracalla looked at him lazily, like sleepy. "Their blunder makes Acacius more than a man—he becomes a legend. If Rome believes him invincible, we are made fools..."

Geta shook his head, his brow furrowing as he surveyed the bright marble hall, the gold and crimson banners swaying faintly above. The grandeur of the chamber seemed hollow under the weight of his unease.

"We must strike first—end him before he turns Rome’s loyalty against us," Caracalla murmured, sinking back into his seat as though it were a soldier’s cot rather than the throne of emperors.

Geta leaned forward, lowering his voice until it was barely more than breath. "No… patience, brother. We have Lucilla. She will tilt the scales for us."

Caracalla’s gaze snapped to him, sharp and disdainful, his mouth curling in contempt. "Lucilla? Another failed promise. Another disappointment dressed as hope."

Geta exhaled slowly, rolling his eyes as though weary of carrying both the empire and his brother’s doubt -or rather nonsense-. The weight of their predicament pressed down on him heavier than the marble dome above.

"Brother, you see disgrace where I see triumph. Think—our legions whisper of Acacius risen from the grave. The people speak his name with awe. Would you silence that, when Rome is hungry for heroes?"

Caracalla frowned, his jaw tight. "You would turn treachery into spectacle?"

"Spectacle is power," Geta replied, stepping closer, his eyes gleaming with calculation. "If the people believe Mars himself walks among our legions, then they will believe the gods smile upon our reign. Let them marvel, let them tremble. Acacius’ survival can serve Rome—can serve us."

Caracalla frowned. "Or it can overshadow us. Today they whisper his name; tomorrow they may cry for him instead of their emperors."

Geta smirked. "Then we keep him close, brother. A living myth is a useful weapon—so long as it belongs to the throne, and not to himself.”

"Caesars," The cubicularius announced softly from the doorway, “A slave from Lady Lucilla’s villa awaits, begging audience.”

Geta’s eyes lit up with sudden delight. They exchanged a similar look with Caracalla. “Lucilla? Now this… this could be interesting. Let her in.”

A few hours had passed since Marcus left, and it felt like your head was about to burst from thinking about Lizzie and the others. Aviana and her crew were on guard, probably having rescued them—or so you hoped. The last time they’d called your name was just before you jumped into the portal, and once you left that world behind, all the noise fell silent. Thankfully, Folliero was out of the picture, and with that threat gone, their only worry now was whether you would ever find your way back.

Feeling frustrated, you pushed yourself up from the chair after what felt like an eternity. You decided it was time to step out and give your legs a stretch while clearing your mind. Tugging your palla about your shoulders, you muttered under your breath—half curses, half complaints that would have sounded strange to Roman ears. “Unbelievable… stuck here like some bored extra on a bad soap opera…”

You strode from the chamber, sandals clicking against the marble, until voices from below forced you to halt. Fingers tightened on the cold railing. Balbina’s voice, sharp and imperious; Lydia’s, raised in defiance.

A slave-girl passed you, burdened with folded linens. You caught her wrist. “What are they yelling about now?” you whispered.

She bowed her head nervously. “Domina seeks to have the young lady Lydia betrothed, my lady.”

Your brows lifted.

Seventeen—barely more. Of course, in Rome (205 A.D.), girls were wedded before their childhood had even withered.

You did not care for her, and she had shown you no fondness. Yet for a fleeting heartbeat, pity stirred—strange, unwelcome, almost enough to make you forget what she had done to you.

The faint whip scar on your back is still there, and you remember the pain like it was just yesterday.

As you stepped into the atrium, your gaze first landed on Balbina. Draped in richly textured silks adorned with deep purple trim, she stood imperiously, resembling a statue of disdain, her eyes wrinkled at the corners locked onto her daughter. Lydia's hands quivered at her sides, yet her jaw remained set in a display of defiance.

"Lydia, once more you lift your tongue against me, and I swear by the Lares of this house, I shall deliver you to that man’s villa this very hour. A daughter does not barter with her mother. Rome expects daughters to obey," she said icily, her voice cutting like a blade.

"In Rome, are daughters no more than wares, to be sold for their mother’s pride? I am not a slave to be led by the hand, mother. I am your child!”

Both women turned to face you as recognition settled in. Balbina's expression twisted further with disgust.

You raised your hand casually. "Hey, did you miss me?" They both averted their gazes. "Guess not," you muttered as you strolled toward the fountain.

"And here's another disrespect. Strangers in this house can't just walk in and out of the atrium. Who gave you permission?"

You shrugged. "Didn’t realize I needed a passport to enter the atrium.”

“Your tongue betrays you every time. No Roman woman speaks with such insolence. You flaunt yourself like a barbarian in silks.”

Lydia was still fuming. "Perhaps, Mother, instead of guarding the honor of your house like a miser counts his coins, you might consider your daughter’s life. I will not be bound in chains of marriage to please your ambition."

"Silence! You shame yourself with every word." Balbina pointed towards the stairs. "Discipline in the House of Acacius is mine to command, and you will submit! Now, return to your chamber—at once!”

Watching Lydia steps out of the atrium and makes her way towards the stairs, then you settle down at one of the nearby lectuses.

Balbina and the slaves watch you in disbelief, but you’re too dazed to pay them any mind; your thoughts still struggle to adjust to the ancient Roman ambiance.

All you crave is a moment of relaxation and tranquility until nightfall.

Starving, you glance at the slaves, almost pleading with them for some food, yet Balbina shows no intention of granting you that peace.

“How bold. She takes her ease where Domina stands. Do you mistake this place for your tavern, girl?”

You crossed one leg over the other, resting an elbow on the arm of the lectus as if you were born to it. Your gaze slid lazily to Balbina, lips curling into the faintest smile.

"A tavern? If only! At least in taverns, the wine flows freely, food is served up and the company knows how to laugh.”

Gasps rippled among the slave girls; a few clutched their veils tighter to stifle their shock. Balbina’s eyes widened, then narrowed into daggers, her rings clinking as her fists tightened.

“Insolent wretch!” she spat, startling you. “Do you think yourself untouchable because my son tolerates you? You are nothing but a passing shadow in this house!”

Balbina’s voice rose sharply, her words cracking like a whip against the marble walls. The echoes carried beyond the atrium, piercing the quiet of the villa.

For some reason, after that dream, her overly protective attitude toward Marcus struck you as rather comical and disingenuous. You hadn’t meant to upset or rattle her, but you weren't about to apologize when the possibility of betrayal loomed large. After all, you were the wife of the master of this house, weren’t you?

Moments later, the heavy tread of caligae struck the mosaic floor. Two soldiers burst into the atrium, their bronze helmets catching the fading light. The slave girls gasped, some scattering back like startled birds, others protesting in hurried whispers, but they were brushed aside.

All eyes turned toward the intruders.

Balbina wheeled on them, her face a mask of outrage.

“Who gave you leave to storm in, as if this were a common castra?”

The taller soldier slammed the butt of his spear against the floor, the sound ringing like a challenge. His voice was firm, measured, yet carried the weight of command.

“General entrusted us with the safeguarding of his wife, Rosa. Where her safety is threatened—even by raised voices and threats—we answer. His orders are our law.”

Balbina's lips quivered with anger, but she made herself take a seat next to the lectus, determined to keep her composure. "Very well. Then chain yourselves to her heel, like hounds, since you claim such noble orders,” she murmured before addressing her favorite slave. "Cicero, have them prepare my tea and bring it here at once.”

He nodded and gave you a stink eye before heading out. You rolled your eyes, not so much as flinching.

Without granting Balbina another glance, you stood up and crossed the atrium, your steps calm and deliberate, until you stood before the two soldiers.

“Tell me,” you asked softly, almost conspiratorially, “when do you expect your general to return? This evening? Night? Or do you even know?”

The men shifted uneasily, exchanging a glance. One opened his mouth, then shut it again, realizing he had no answer to give.

You tilted your head, lips curling ever so slightly.

“I see… as I expected.”

Realizing that lingering in the atrium wasn't the best choice, you decided to have the slaves bring you something to eat and retreated to your room. As you attempted to calm yourself and reconnect with your comrades from your world, a sudden realization struck you: "The sun and moon dial." It was missing from your bag, and you were certain you had placed it there.

Yes, you distinctly remembered putting it in, yet now it was gone. Panic set in as you began searching every nook and cranny of the room. Nearly an hour passed, and just as you were losing hope, one of the slave girls brought in your food. You enlisted her help, asking her to search alongside you, and soon all the other slaves joined in, combing the villa—despite Balbina's eye rolls and grumbles.

Eventually, you returned to your room, deciding to wait there until Marcus arrived.

As night fell, Marcus stepped into the chamber, the door creaking softly, taking a moment to fully appreciate the enchanting scene awaiting him.

You lay face down on the bed, your hair cascading in waves over the pillows, while your phone, notebook, and pens were scattered haphazardly around you. Absorbed in your writing, murmuring yourself, you hadn’t noticed him yet. Your palla had slipped loosely from your shoulders, subtly revealing the gentle curve of your neck, which made him sigh deeply.

“Rosa,” he said softly, his voice low and warm, “even the gods would envy what I see now. My love lying in my bed like a weary goddess.”

The moment you heard his voice, you turned your head and sat up. “Marcus!” you gasped, jumping out of bed. Your hands stumbled, nearly sending you sprawling until he caught you, steadying your fall.

Damn this outfit.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, murmuring softly, eyes tightly shut, savoring the warmth of his embrace. “Oh, you’re finally here. It’s been such a terrible day.”

His hands rested on your back, gently gripping your shoulders as he pulled you back to meet his gaze. “Did Balbina say something to upset you?”

“That’s part of it,” you admitted with a troubled sigh. “But it’s not the main issue. The sun and moon dial—it's missing. I searched everywhere, but I can’t find it. I was sure it was in the bag but...” You pressed a hand to your forehead in frustration. “What are we going to do? What if we can’t get back without it?”

His expression turned serious, a flicker of fear underlying his steady gaze—the haunting memory of your previous condition, the blood staining your nose, eyes closed, hardly breathing in his arms, almost lifeless. “Enough,” he said softly, his voice both commanding and tender. “Please. Enough.”You open your eyes wide, shocked with his sudden changing.

“I can not…”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been thinking about it all day… You’re not the only one who fears losing someone you love.”

“M-Marcus.”

“After we stepped through… here, you were pale and bleeding, I thought the gods had stolen you from me. Rosa, I was afraid in a way I have never known. If it happens again—if you suffer more grievously this time—” His voice faltered, breaking upon the weight of his fear. His hands slid down, encircling your waist, pulling you nearer until you could feel his breath against your lips. His gaze shifted, no longer merely worried, but charged with a hunger barely restrained.

“Tell me—does it truly matter where you are, when you are here with me? In this villa, in this bed, in my arms?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words faltered, you never expect him to react this way.

It felt as though you were being selfish.

His eyes held you captive—dark, intent, full of a longing that silenced your protests. The warmth of his breath ghosted across your skin, and your heart thundered against your ribs.

“Marcus…” your voice was a whisper, half a plea, half a surrender.

His hands traced up your sides, slow, reverent, as though rediscovering every line of you after an exile too long endured. “I feared I would never hold you again,” he confessed, his voice rough, unguarded. “Through battles, through blood, having lost you once, I endured—if it happens again, Rosa, I am undone.”

You felt your knees weaken, and instinctively clung tighter to him. His forehead came to rest against yours, his breath mingling with your own, as though he could drink strength from the closeness.

Then, gently, as if giving you one last chance to turn away, his lips brushed your temple. A touch so fleeting it could have been imagined—yet it set fire to your skin. You shivered, not from fear, but from the aching need that rushed through you.

He smiled faintly against your hair. “This bed has known our solitude… but never our union. Should it not, at last, bear witness to us?”

Your breath caught.

You searched his eyes, found not command, but devotion—a fierce tenderness that begged as much as it desired. Your fingers lifted to trace his jaw, rough with the shadow of the day, and he kissed your palm with a fervor that left you trembling.

And then—slowly, irresistibly—his mouth found yours. It felt like the hurried claim of a soldier returning from war, yet also the lingering, inexorable vow of a man who had ached too long in silence, the contrast made you tremble and left you yearning for more. His kiss deepened, each breath stolen, until the world beyond the chamber ceased to exist.

The oil lamp’s light flickered, shadows danced across the walls, and as he drew you down with him upon the bed, your laughter broke once between kisses—soft, breathless, full of the joy of rediscovery.

For the first time, the chamber knew not fear nor sorrow, but the unyielding fire of two souls who, at last, had nowhere to be but in each other.

He took off your tunic, and you removed his with equal roughness.

The kiss grew deeper, hungrier, as though each moment apart had only sharpened the ache between you. His hands slid from your waist to the curve of your hips, pulling you against him with a force that stole your breath. You gasped softly into his mouth, your fingers clutching at his shoulders, desperate to keep him near.

“Rosa…” His voice broke between kisses, low and hoarse, as though even speaking your name burned him. “By the gods, woman. You ignite a fire in me that will never fade, my ravenous hunger for you knows no bounds."

He pressed you back onto the bed, the cool linen beneath you a sharp contrast to the heat of his body above. His lips wandered down your throat, lingering at the hollow, tasting, claiming, until you arched beneath him, your breath uneven, your heart racing.

Your hands roamed his chest, the hard planes of muscle earned through years of battle. You felt the scars beneath your touch, reminders of his mortal fragility, and yet tonight he seemed unbreakable—unyielding in his devotion, unstoppable in his desire, making you want him even more.

Fuck the dial, fuck the portal.

You fucking need him.

Need him inside you.

Now.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and cradled his face in your hands, drawing him in closer, whispering in his ear, lips brushing lightly which sending shivers down his spine, making his eyes roll back with the delicate touch. "You're not the only one who's got 'ravenous hunger' general.”

He growled as response, one of his hands slips between your thighs, his fingers slotting between your folds before he indolently begins stroking them. Instantly, your wetness douses his hand, another growl rose from his chest. “So wet. So in need,” he commented. "Confirms your claim, my love." Sliding his thick finger over your sodden sex, he pressed the tip at your quivering hole. “Your sweet cunt’s begging to be filled, isn’t it?”

“Y-yes. Yes. P-please,” you breathlessly implored, almost sobbing.

He smirked against your skin as he took your clit between the knuckles of his middle and forefinger, playing with it before digging both fingers deep inside you making you bit your lip-hard. Meanwhile, his warm tongue toyed with your hardened nipples as his fingers slid in and out. Howling, your back arched, your head dug into the pillows and your legs stiffened.

He loved the way you let go beneath him, not from weakness but from trust—a surrender that tied him to you more than any chains could. Your voice, a little shaky but sweet, rose like a song in the quiet, and he soaked it in like it was the finest wine. When your body shook against his hand, he held you gently, as if you were something precious.

Yet he was painfully hard at the moment.

Breathing loudly.

The restraint he had clung to finally shattered.

With a low growl of your name, Marcus pulled you beneath him, his mouth claiming yours with a hunger that made your head spin.

His touch was no longer patient, gentle—it was urgent, fevered—as though every heartbeat was a battle against time itself.

He pulled his finger out of you and guided his great arousal to your entrance and rubbed it against it before pushing the tip into you, making you whimper and moan a little louder. If only he would continue that movement, you were close to having your second orgasm for sure.

He pulled your legs a little further apart and looked at you as he thrust his cock deep into you in one hard and fast thrust with a slick sound mixing with the sharp roar escaping from him.

Screaming his name, your eyes rolled back into your skull at the intrusion, pleasure blurring your vision as your mouth fell open. His fingers are nothing compared to the size of his cock or the girth.

Can't bring you the same pleasure.

Nothing else can.

You clung to him, fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, lost in the heat of his body, the weight of him pressing you into the bed as though he meant to merge with you completely. The rhythm of his movements grew swift, almost desperate, yet never without the deep reverence that burned in his gaze. Every kiss, every gasp, every rush of breath between you carried the same truth: he could no longer endure distance, not even the space of a breath.

He watched your breasts jiggle with each of his thrusts. He let one hand wander down to your clit and began rubbing it, and you felt your second orgasm building quickly inside you.

"So beautiful," he moaned through clenched teeth.

He felt you began to tighten and it became hard for him to thrust in and out of you, hissing as response.

The world beyond your chamber disappeared. There was only his breath against your ear, your name whispered like a vow, the rise and fall of your bodies moving together in unison, each motion drawing you closer to the edge.

"Cum for me,” He hummed against your skin, tongue running all over. “Let me hear you.”

With his words, the crest finally broke, and you came all around his cock with a loud groan and he followed through.

It was like fire rushing through your veins, your cries mingling as he filled you with his hot cum. You clung to him, nails digging into his flesh as though you might shatter without his weight anchoring you, feeling his body trembling with the same release, the same surrender.

He held you through the trembling aftermath, his chest heaving against yours, his lips brushing your temple with infinite tenderness. And when he finally spoke, his voice was a vow as steady as steel:

“You are mine, Rosa. No one… no loss, no empire, no time itself will take you from me.”

The torchlight flickered across the damp walls as Lydia descended the narrow passage, clutching a bundle to her chest. Her breath trembled as much as her hands. When Lucilla appeared from the shadows, poised and still, Lydia nearly faltered. Her gaze swept Lydia from head to toe, sharp and full of displeasure.

“General Acacius’ sister,” she said slowly, her voice laced with disdain. "What is it you want?" She pulled back her cloak’s hood, revealing her face. "If this is about your union again,” she added coldly, “there’s nothing I can do. I told you. You can’t just summon me whenever you wish.”

Lydia’s voice quivered, but she forced herself to look up. “But you came, my lady. So you wanted to see me too, am I wrong?”

A thin smile touched Lucilla’s lips, but it held no warmth. “Careful, child,” she murmured, her tone low and sharp. “You’re walking on thin ice.”

Lydia shuddered at the threat in her tone and the steel in her gaze. Her eyes dropped, but her spine stiffened with resolve. “I did not come here to beg you, my lady. I came to make a bargain.”

Lucilla’s brows arched, her eyes narrowing with sudden interest. “A bargain?” she echoed, her voice cutting like a blade. “To bargain, you must have something worth offering. What could you possibly have that I should find of value?”

Lydia swallowed hard, then slowly unwrapped the bundle she held. “Lady Lucilla… I have brought you something—something Rosa treasures above all. She searched for it everywhere, frantic, but I had hidden it. I knew it might serve me better in your hands.”

Lucilla took the object, turning it over with a flicker of interest. The bronze gleam of the sun-and-moon dial caught the torchlight. She traced its rim slowly, a shadow of memory stirring. “Curious… I remember this device from long ago. A child’s memory, half-forgotten. And now it returns to me.” Her gaze cut back to Lydia. “So this is your offering.” Lucilla lifted her gaze, sharp as a blade. “You betray Rosa for your own freedom. Bold.” Her voice dropped, silk over steel. “Do you think me moved by desperation alone?”

“I know what ties you, my lady,” Lydia stammered. “I know you love the general. If Rosa remains with him, he will never look to you. I thought… perhaps this”—her eyes darted to the dial in Lucilla’s hand—“would give you reason to aid me. A token of loyalty, and of usefulness.”

For a heartbeat, silence hung heavy between them. Then Lucilla’s lips curved into a cold, dangerous smile. “Be very careful, Lydia. To speak my heart aloud is a dangerous thing. You think you hold leverage, but all you hold is your own neck.”

"Forgive me my lady, I meant-"

“You are clever. But cleverness can be fatal when misused.” She leaned close, her whisper cutting like a knife. “If I am to spare you, I will need more than trinkets and frightened words. Bring me truths. Secrets Rosa keeps hidden. Proof that can wound Acacius himself. Only then will I consider freeing you from your mother’s schemes.”

Lydia’s knees weakened, but she nodded quickly, almost trembling. Lucilla’s hand closed firmly around the dial as she stepped back into the shadows.

“Until then, keep silent…” Lucilla breathed, her voice echoing in the stone passage, “fear your mother less than you fear me.”

Leaving Lydia behind with fear still running through her veins, Lucilla moved swiftly through the narrow tunnel, the bronze dial pressed close against her chest, hidden deep within the folds of her gown. Her mind was restless, circling back to the strange object she now carried. Why is this dial so important to you, Rosa? How did you come to possess such a thing?

As she neared the concealed exit, her breath steadied, though her eyes darted constantly—always aware, always cautious. The damp air shifted as she pressed her shoulder against the stone, the hidden door creaking open into the gardens of her villa. She stepped forward—

But froze.

From behind her, a voice cut through the silence. Low, sharp, and dripping with mockery.

“Still creeping through tunnels, mother? Still playing at secret games in the dark?”

Lucilla’s body stiffened. The torch shook faintly in her hand. Slowly, she turned.

There he stood. Lucius. Alive.

The sight robbed her of breath, her lips parting as though she had seen a ghost. For the briefest moment, she faltered, clutching the dial tighter and slipping it into the folds of her gown. Her voice, when it came, was scarcely more than a whisper.

“Lucius… my son.”

Lucius stepped closer, the torchlight catching in his blue eyes—eyes so much like his mother's. His smile was thin, cruel, but wounded.

“Your son?” he spat. “I had heard you already found new ones. Two emperors to call your own—Geta and Caracalla. Or is blood so easily replaced, mother?”

hope you enjoyed the chapter babies, thanks for reading ❤️ Your thoughts are important to me, so please share them with me.

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Days drifted in and out, and you slowly started to forget who you were. You hadn’t been to work in weeks; you weren’t really even sure how behind on your bills you might be. Your phone was dead the majority of the time, so it was hard to know who in your life had really noticed your absence. 

Self-care had completely fallen to the wayside. Showers were few and far between, laundry even less often. You ate at least one meal a day, but that was usually only when you’d finally gotten so hungry that you felt faint and couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling in your stomach. 

It was a Friday evening and unsurprisingly, you had no plans. You’d finally gotten yourself to shower that day and were in a fresh pair of pajamas, cuddled into the corner of your couch, staring at the blank TV screen. It should have been concerning to you that you felt just as entertained watching a black screen as much as you did watching a movie, but the growing depression seemed to swallow up any remaining insight that you had left. 

Your head was so empty and body so numb and tired, that you hadn’t realized you started to drift off. The soft tug of sleep pulled you into a gentle doze as your eyes closed and your body sunk further into the plush of the couch. 

You didn’t hear him come in - didn’t hear the front door creaking open that you hadn’t even bothered to lock, didn’t hear the sound of his boots as he kicked them off in the entryway, didn’t hear the patting of his feet as he approached your sleeping form, and didn’t hear him take a seat on the coffee table across from you. 

It wasn’t until his hand settled on the outside of your thigh that your eyes shot open and you realized you weren’t alone. The usual panic didn’t set in. Instead, you stared at him for a moment. Your body stayed still, allowing his hand to rest on your leg. You watched as he furrowed his brow. 

“Can’t be doin’ that, angel,” he said. His voice was soft yet stern. “Leavin’ your door unlocked like that…what if someone came in and hurt you?” 

Your expression was blank as his words drifted in one ear and out the other. It didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel like he was truly there. Joel took immediate note of your change in disposition. Concern bubbled low in his belly and he stood up from the table. He knew he needed to snap you out of this in some way, but wasn’t sure how. 

“Stand up.” The command was sharp despite his voice still being quiet. 

You stayed laying on the couch but tilted your head up to look at his face. The evening sun created a glow around him that enhanced the unique shape of his features. You weren’t aware that you were smiling at him until his voice cut through the air again. 

“What’re you smilin’ ‘bout? I said, get up. Now.” 

You closed your eyes, flipping to your other side so that your back was facing him. Your mind was entirely too empty to be concerned about any potential consequences from him. Besides, it didn’t feel like you had control over anything - your body, your thoughts, your words. You’d never felt so far away and disconnected before. 

“The fuck is wrong with you?!” His hands grabbed you harshly by your arms, hauling you up and forcing you to stand in front of him. 

Your legs nearly gave out and he gripped you harder. If you’d been able to focus on him, you would’ve seen that his look was one of concern, not anger, but your gaze was fixed straight ahead on his chest as your body swayed slightly. 

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured as he picked you up, carrying you in a cradled position to the bedroom. 

He set you gently on the bed, overtop your comforter. His jaw clenched and he exhaled a sigh of frustration before he spoke, “You eat anything today?” 

You looked at his eyes again. Had they always been so brown? So dark? His gaze was fixed on you. You shrugged your shoulders in response to his question. 

“Use your words.” His voice was slightly louder than before as his irritation started to slip through. 

“N-no.” Your voice came out crackly, as though you hadn’t used it in days. Which, you hadn’t. You weren’t sure the last time you’d actually spoken.

“Jesus, angel…” He pulled out his phone, checking the time. “It’s 7 o’clock ‘n you haven’t had anything? The hell-” He cut himself off, instead just rubbing a hand down his face and turning around to leave the room. 

When Joel opened your fridge to find something to prepare for you, his heart sank. It was bare. There was some rotten produce that smelled rancid, and beyond that it was just condiments and some sort of questionable leftovers. He cleared it all out, wiping down the fridge in hopes of getting rid of the smell. He didn’t want to leave you to go to the store, so he ordered pizza and salad, along with taking time to complete an online grocery order for delivery. He periodically popped his head into the bedroom, and each time you were just staring up at the ceiling. 

While Joel waited for the food to arrive, he finished your partially started laundry, cleaned the few dishes that were in the sink, wiped down your counters, and vacuumed. It wasn’t like you to leave your home in this condition and he couldn’t shake the unsettling feelings stirring within him. 

The food arrived and after Joel put your groceries away, he plated the pizza and salad and brought it into the bedroom. You were curled up in bed with the blanket pulled over your head. He set your plate on the table beside you, carrying his plate to the other side and sitting down beside you on the bed. Carefully peeling back the blanket, he saw that your eyes were open and there was a trail of tears running across your face and onto the sheet beneath you. 

“Oh, darlin’,” he said as he scooped you up, pulling you up against his side as he lowered himself into the bed. His arms wrapped around you but he kept enough distance so he could see your face. You couldn’t help but to cry more at the embrace. You hadn’t been hugged in a while, and the tender act only brought more of your emotions to the surface. Joel shushed you gently as he kissed your forehead and then looked down at you. 

“Wanna tell me what this is all about?” His hand stroked up and down your back as he spoke. You didn’t think comfort from him would feel this safe or soothing, but it did. You couldn’t help but to lean into his touch as you peered up at him and responded, “I don’t know.” 

Joel didn’t know what else to ask, so he just sat up in the bed, lifting you with him and reaching across you to hand you your plate of food. Your stomach rumbled immediately upon holding the food in front of you. Of course, it was your favorite pizza, and you could tell by glancing between your plates that he had already removed the tomatoes from your salad, knowing you didn’t like them. It felt thoughtful. You took a bite of the pizza and it felt like your mind was already starting to come back to life. Bite after bite seemed to refuel you. The brain fog you’d been struggling with started to dissipate, you felt less shaky, and you weren’t crying anymore. 

Your plate was completely empty within a matter of minutes and you sighed in contentment. Joel reached over, taking your empty plate. “Want more?” When you looked over, he was smiling. His eyes were warm, almost prideful. You shook your head no, letting him stack both empty plates and set them off to the side. You felt more alert than you had in days, the desire to sleep finally not all encompassing. 

“I, uh…” He scratched at the back of his neck as he spoke. “I missed you, angel. Tried giving you some space after everything that happened last time…not sure that was the best idea now.” 

It felt as close to an apology as you were going to get. You’d spent days dwelling on your last incident with him, replaying it over and over in your head until you felt nauseous. You’d always known him to be violent, angry, sadistic…but there was an added layer of cruelty that you hadn’t expected from last time. You learned to not seek apologies from him. So, you just nodded at his words, not sure how to respond appropriately. 

“Didja miss me?” His words were still spoken with his usual nonchalance, but there was a vulnerability to his tone that caught you off guard. 

You took a moment to think about his question. You could feel the heat of his gaze on your face as you looked down at your lap. Memories of his multiple acts of service bubbled up. You thought about the care he offered you - his version of safety. You knew that as long as he was in your life, nothing else would hurt you - nothing other than him. Images of you underneath him rose up - the many times that he made you come undone over and over. No one in your life has ever brought you as much pleasure or as much pain as he has. What did that mean? 

Your eyes lifted to meet his, and you nodded. It was the truth, as much as you hated to admit it. At the same time, if he were to leave, and be guaranteed to be gone from your life forever, you imagined that might also be the happiest day of your life. 

Joel smiled. It was a little lopsided and didn’t quite reach his eyes. But nonetheless, it was a smile. A chill ran up your spine, though you couldn’t quite place why. It wasn’t until you blinked and he was suddenly on top of you that you realized your body was likely sensing what was to come. Your hands moved in front of you on instinct, a weak attempt at creating any amount of space between your bodies. 

It was as though Joel hadn’t even noticed. His lips met yours as he pressed his hips against you. He was already hard, very hard, and it had you wondering how long he had been like that. As he settled against your core, you felt your body already responding to him. A wet spot formed quicker than you would have liked and you whimpered into his mouth as his tongue moved against yours. 

“That’s it, angel…I know you missed me.” His hand slipped between your bodies, rubbing your clothed pussy as he continued kissing you. His touch was always one of precision. He knew just what to do, where to press, how firmly, and always the right speed. It had you arching off the bed within moments, your hands coming to his curls at the nape of his neck as you tugged gently, moaning. 

“More, more, more,” you were chanting, not even realizing it because of your focus on the orgasm building low in your belly. You felt a rush of slickness as you grunted at the peak of your orgasm, grabbing onto Joel tightly as he helped you work through it. 

He chuckled, pulling his hand away and looking down at you. “Needy lil thing tonight, huh?” 

You nodded. You weren’t sure what had seemingly possessed you, but you knew that this was the best you’d felt in weeks. You felt alive, awake and the arousal just continued coursing through you. Your hands trembled against Joel’s shoulders, your eyes looking up at him wide and pleading. 

It made his cock throb and his eyes go dark. Fuck, he thought to himself, she’s so fucking willing right now. He couldn’t help but be selfish and think about how he might use it to his advantage. His eyes searched yours for a moment. You already looked fucked out and desperate. He cradled your jaw, his thumb swiping gently across your bottom lip. 

“Angel, what d’you think about us tryin’ something new, hm?” His eyes twinkled as he spoke, not able to completely hide his eagerness. “Looks t’me like you’re needin’ somethin’ a little more today.” 

Without hesitation, you nodded your head. You were pretty sure you’d take whatever he wanted to give you. Your eyes were focused on him, your body like a magnet to his. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he put you under some sort of spell with how badly you craved him right now. All sense of safety seemed to leave your body, replaced with an insatiable need to be as close to him as possible. 

“I got you,” he murmured as he lifted off from you and rolled you onto your stomach. Your breath hitched and you became putty in his hands, letting him move and shift you as needed until you were on all fours, completely stripped of your clothing. Joel remained fully clothed, a juxtaposition that had you squeezing your thighs together, enjoying the feeling of being on display for him. 

His breath hit your bare pussy and you shuddered as his tongue licked a long trail from your clit up to your entrance. He pushed his tongue inside of you, swirling it and groaning at your taste. Joel’s hands held your cheeks spread for him as he buried his face between them, licking and sucking lewdly as you fell onto your forearms, making incomprehensible noises. 

When you started to orgasm for the second time, he didn’t eat you through it. Instead, he pulled back, enjoying watching how your pussy clenched around nothing and how sweet pearls of cum beaded and then dripped down your soaked folds. He kept you spread, his tongue finally meeting your skin again, warm and soft as he licked you clean. You caught your breath just for it to falter once more as his tongue moved up to your tight ring. Lurching forward, you looked over your shoulder at him. 

“Wh-what are you doing?” Your eyes were wide, nervous for what he was about to say and do. 

“Gonna be good f’me, angel?” He unzipped his pants, reaching in and pulling out his thick cock. You moaned and looked back down at the blanket underneath you. Your hands fisted it lightly, preparing to brace yourself. “Gonna let me make both of us feel good, hm?” His cock swiped up and down, the head of it getting caught at your entrance before sliding through again. 

Surely he wasn’t going to just go for it, right? While you’d never done this before, you were sure there had to be some sort of prep involved. Before you could panic too much, you felt him press slowly into your wet pussy. Feeling relieved, you lowered your head with a deep moan, welcoming the stretch. 

“Oh my god, Joel,” you gasped out as he pushed all the way in. You felt the head of his cock deeper than you thought was possible and you arched your back, pushing back into him and melting into the sensation of him filling you completely. “So…full…,” you panted as he set the pace of his thrusts. “Uh…uh…uh…please…Joel…” You weren’t even quite sure what you were asking for, neither was Joel, but the sound of your moans was music to his ears and only spurred him on further. 

“So full, huh?” His hips snapped against you. His thrusts were rough but steady. “Don’t think you’re full enough quite yet, angel.” The tip of his thumb pressed to your puckered ring and once more, you tried moving forward, away from him, but his hand grasped your hip, pulling you back. “Where d’ya think you’re goin’, hm?” 

He removed his thumb to spread your cheeks. You heard him spit and then felt his saliva drip down your hole. His thumb quickly scooped it up, spreading it around your tight ring before dipping his finger in again. You groaned this time, loud and deep as his cock continued fucking into you. It was a new, unfamiliar stretch, but by the time he had worked most of his thumb inside, you felt your second orgasm building quickly. 

“Ohhh my god…” You gripped the sheet and lowered your head, your forehead pressed to the soft fabric underneath you as you pushed back into him and trembled. 

“There ya go…fuck yeah…shit…” Joel dragged his cock in and out slowly, letting you savor your orgasm as you shook against him. His hand held you firmly, keeping you up and arched so he could continue fucking you. When you stopped shaking, he popped his thumb out, watching in awe as your hole stayed open for him just a little. He knew his thumb wasn’t even close to the size of his cock, but at least he could say he tried to work you open beforehand.

Joel leaned over your back, kissing across the back of your shoulders and letting your spent body rest for a moment. His cock was hanging between your thighs now, dripping precum onto the blanket beneath you. His eyes were focused on you, becoming hungrier and hungrier as the moments passed by. His cock was coated in your slick as he nudged the head of it against your still-tight ring. 

This time you didn’t lunge forward, your body stayed relaxed from the orgasm and Joel held you up by your hips as your upper body pressed against the bed. 

“Y’ready, angel?” 

You gave a weak, timid nod, and Joel began to press inside of you. The stretch was unreal. There was no comparison to anything like it, and you grunted, trying to relax but the overwhelming sensation had goosebumps dotting your entire body. You moaned his name and reached around to try grabbing his wrist, but Joel was too focused on how your body was opening up for him. He looked down as he continued to push inside. He groaned, watching inch by inch slowly disappear inside of you. 

“Jesus Christ…so fuckin’ tight f’me, darlin’...” Before he could think better of it, his hips rolled forward and he plunged inside the rest of the way. His head bowed and he moaned, “Fuuuuuck.” 

“Ow, ow! Joel!” You tried to reach back again in hopes of pushing him away, but it was no use. He pulled out halfway, just to roll his hips again. It felt like you were being split in half. With each roll of his hips, he pushed you further and further into the mattress. You were completely prone underneath him now, your legs spread as he continued inserting himself into your tight tunnel. It was too much, and a sob fell from you as he snapped his hips quicker. “Please! I can’t,” you cried out, hoping he’d take some modicum of pity on you. 

When he heard your cry, he stilled. He stayed buried inside of you, but his hand reached up, brushing the hair from the side of your face so he could see you. His fingertips became damp with your tears and he leaned forward. “Too much, angel?” 

You nodded, desperate for his empathy and hopeful that he was going to listen to you. “Please, Joel…it hurts too much.” 

“Aw,” he cooed, kissing your cheek and using his hand to rub up and down your side. “I’ll go slower, hm?” He tried to ignore how his cock throbbed knowing you were in pain. 

You knew Joel well enough to know that there was no point in refusing, so you just stayed still and tried to keep your body pliant for him. His cock pulled out slowly and pressed in again even slower. You felt helpless under his full body weight, just feeling the drag of his cock and the painful stretch that was starting to gradually morph into pleasure. His hand slipped between the mattress and your cunt, his middle finger rubbing against your clit as he continued his careful thrusts. 

“Shit, sweetheart…goddamn, you feel good…tight lil asshole, fuckin’ squeezin’ me…” 

The combination of his words, steady thrusts, and the pressure on your clit had you moaning louder and louder. Joel smiled, noticing how quickly you acquiesced to him. He was proud of you for taking his cock so well. His thrusts started to get lazier, his mind just focusing on the sensation of your tight walls hugging his thick cock. 

He picked up the pace, no longer rolling his hips but instead hammering them against your ass. Your cheeks bounced against him with each thrust and you yelped at the sudden sharpness. 

“Fuck, I knew you’d take it so good, angel..goddamn.” His length railed into you over and over. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as his groans filled the room and you felt another orgasm start to build. It was entirely too much. The sensations had tipped into overwhelming and you were desperately gripping the sheets underneath you as you started to quiver against him. 

“Shit, can feel you clenching around me. Ahhh..fuck…” His rhythm became even more erratic as his balls tightened and he was right on the precipice of his own orgasm. “So fuckin’ tight, fuckin’ whore...you’ll take anything I goddamn give you, huh?” One of his hands moved up to fist your hair, pulling your head slightly back as he continued railing into you. “Ruining your fucking asshole, angel...never gonna…ah, fuck…never gonna be the fuckin’ same again…” He was panting aggressively above you, sweat beading across his brow as he fucked into your ass. 

Tears ran down your face and you cried out as you felt him start to release inside of you. He was so snug against your walls that you felt his entire length pulsing as his cock emptied. He was pressed firmly against you, his balls pulsing against your cheeks as he grunted and groaned. Feeling the spurts from his cock pushed you over the edge as well, hurtling through your fourth orgasm of the night. 

Right as you started to come down, Joel pulled out from inside of you. He immediately looked down, his hands spreading your ass cheeks so that he could see his spend drip out. 

“Wouldya lookathat…goddamn, angel. Beautiful fuckin’ thing.” His fingers scooped it up, tenderly pushing his cum back inside you. He could see just how much he opened you up. He smiled at how red and sore you looked, savoring the sight as much as he could. When he finally got enough, you were half asleep and limp on the bed. He chuckled as he climbed off of you. 

You only passively noticed as he pulled fresh clothes onto you, not cleaning between your legs because he wanted his cum to stay tucked inside of you for as long as possible. He rolled you onto your back, propping you against your pillows. Your eyes closed and it was quiet for a few minutes. When you heard something again, it was the clinking of ice as Joel held a straw to your lips for you to drink. The water felt good on your throat, soothing the soreness from the crying and moaning. 

“Take a bite,” he murmured, feeding you a protein bar. 

Your eyes stayed closed as you took a couple bites. You didn’t have an appetite, but you knew you’d sleep better with something on your stomach. Joel’s touch was gentle. He swept hair away from your face and pulled the blanket around you so you were more comfortable. His lips brushed your forehead then lips in soft kisses. 

“Did so good, angel.” His thumb stroked your cheek and you leaned into the tender touch. “Anything else you need?” 

You hesitated, remembering the unsuccessful begging you did the time before, wanting him to stay and hold you. So instead, you just opened your eyes to look at him one last time as you shook your head. 

Something unspoken seemed to flash between the two of you. You watched in real time as Joel’s eyes switched from dark to soft. He held your eye contact for a minute then got up and walked out of the room. 

This time, tears didn’t come. It was what you expected, so you hunkered down in your bed and closed your eyes to try and drift off to sleep once more. You felt taken care of, even despite the assault that your body had just endured. 

Right as your mind started to wander, you heard the creaking of the floorboards and opened your eyes again, turning to the side to see Joel standing in his boxers. He looked at you for a moment then got into bed, reaching over and turning off the bedside lamp. You stared at him with a confused expression. You couldn’t read his face. It was blank. But he placed his hand on your shoulder, gently turning you away from him as he sidled up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, spooning you. 

“G’night, angel.” 

“Good night, Joel.” You smiled to yourself as you fell asleep. And while you couldn’t see him, you hoped that Joel was doing the same. 

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"Days drifted in and out, and you slowly started to forget who you were."

That line immediately set the tone. This isn't just sadness anymore. It's depression swallowing someone's identity. She isn't even fighting back because she doesn't have the energy to.

And then...

"You knew that as long as he was in your life, nothing else would hurt you — nothing other than him."

THIS.

This is exactly why trauma bonds are so terrifying. The person who becomes your safest place is also the one causing the deepest wounds. Your brain starts associating comfort and fear with the same person, and that's exactly what I felt reading this chapter.

What makes Joel so fascinating to me is that he isn't written as a one-dimensional monster. He's terrifying because he's capable of genuine care.

He notices she hasn't eaten.

He cleans her apartment.

He orders her favorite pizza.

He even removes the tomatoes from her salad because he remembers she doesn't like them.

And somehow... those little acts of care make everything even more disturbing.

Then the ending completely got me.

"G'night, angel."

No dramatic confession. No redemption. Just that.

And somehow that quiet little moment affected me more than anything else in the chapter.

I seriously love psycho Joel. Not because I think he's "good," but because you've written him in such a psychologically compelling way. He's manipulative, obsessive, cruel... and somehow still painfully human.

It was early morning, but there was enough light to see them clearly — Javi's digits around Joel's throat, Joel's hand squeezing the back of Javi's neck to keep him pressed against his lips. They were grinding against each other, naked, obviously trying not to make too much noise, unaware that you were awake. You slipped your hand between your thighs, collected some cum on the tip of your finger and rubbed your clit lazily. A moan immediately escaped your lips. 

“I think we have an audience,” Javi smiled against Joel’s mouth and they both looked at you splayed on the bed next to them, touching yourself slowly while watching them. 

Your friend crawled towards you like a wild animal, agile and silent, a smirk on his face, his cock hard as steel and leaking precum on the sheets. The vision made you shiver and your bud throbbed under your finger. Joel lay on his side, bent his arm and propped his head on his hand, settling comfortably to watch the two of you. You glanced at his cock - it was hard, too.

“Good morning, baby,” Javi said, his playful gaze fixed on you then lingering on your body until it reached your crotch. He settled between your thighs, pushed on them with his shoulders and lapped at your cunt, swallowing the sperm flowing from it, running his tongue flat against your folds up to your clit. You jolted with overstimulation.

Javi pressed a soft kiss on your mound and climbed up your body, peppering your belly with kisses on his way, his hands cupping your breasts. You moaned when he brought his mouth to them and nibbled at your tits, your hands lost in his hair. 

“You’re needy, baby, aren’t you?” he smiled while sucking at one then released it with a pop. He raised your arm to kiss your side and armpit, up to your neck and finally reached your lips. 

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him a little closer to you, your tongues mingling.

You loved feeling his moustache on your skin, how soft it was. Kissing Javi was always hot, always enough to turn your panties into a sticky mess, but it was even hotter now, knowing he was making out with your ex boyfriend moments ago. He rubbed his cock against you, probably just to make you feel how hard he was, and smirked when your breathing quickened. He licked at your lips and slid his hand between your two bodies, brushed your folds up to your clit, and you shivered again.

“Your little pussy’s sensitive, baby?” he asked, straightening up. With his hands by either side of your head, arms outstretched, he was taking in the full view of your disheveled hair and features drawn by the delicious fatigue after the short night.

You also had the most delightful view of his gaze set on you, his sinful and gorgeous face, his teeth nibbling at his lip. You stroked his taut triceps, so round and firm beneath your fingers.

“I guess. But it’s not like I can’t take it anymore,” you smiled, and Javi brushed his lip with his tongue, as if he was ready to devour every inch of your body.

“Wanna check if our girl can go for another round, Joel?” Javi asked, and Joel sat up to take Javi’s place between your legs, mumbling a “yeah, lemme see,” that made you drool while Javi laid next to you and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Pussy’s so wet, Jesus…” Joel said when he pushed his fat cock in, sliding in easily. “Not just from our cum. I’m gonna put it back in, d’ya want that, sweetheart?”

“Fuck… yeah…” you whined, feeling his shaft filling your core so perfectly, the thought of him thrusting in both their seed making you arch your back and groan.

“So sensitive, baby… so fucking sweet and needy, Javi’s right,” he growled, gripping your hips, kneeled between your thighs, watching his thick cock slide in and out. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Javi start to jack off slowly, clearly enjoying this sharing vibe between the three of you. You smiled at him, before looking back at Joel.

“Balls soaked by you two, damn…” he hissed, thrusting in harder, then paused to spit on his cock and fucked it back in.

“Oh my god, Joel…” you whimpered.

“Yeah? Bet you’ll come when I touch your clit right now, won’t you, sweetheart?”

Javi leaned over, as if he wanted both of them to make you come, and pressing his head against Joel's crotch, circled your clit with his lips and sucked on it. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, pussy full of Joel’s cock brushing your spongy spot, Javi’s lips around your bud, and you came quickly on Joel's shaft. Joel’s and your fingers intertwined in Javi's messy hair.

“Squeezing me so goddamn hard, fuck…”

He pulled out and gripped the base to stop himself from coming as Javi manhandled you to lie down on him, your back against his chest. He slid his tip into your cunt, his fingers pressing on his shaft to keep it in, and you tightened around him.

“Fuck, she's still cuming,” he groaned.

He grabbed the back of your thighs and spread them wide, keeping you open for Joel’s sight. Hunger darkened his eyes as he watched your glistening pussy dripping cum and clenching around Javi’s tip.

Joel growled as he lay down, his large hands keeping you wide open, and you nearly fainted when you realized he was sliding his tongue from Javi's length to your clit. 

“Mierda,” (shit) Javi whimpered, before kissing your neck, just below your ear, knowing full well how much you loved being kissed here.

Joel's fingers brushed against your folds down to your friend’s tip, then he wrapped them around Javi's girth, licking pussy and cock, pulling it out lightly to slide his tongue from your friend’s crown to your folds. He licked up and down, again and again, his moustache and nose brushing against your clit.

“Oh fuck… the two of you are gonna kill me,” you whined, feeling a new climax already rising in your core. 

“Shit, I’m gonna come,” Javi growled, cupping your sweaty breasts in his hands and nibbling at your earlobe, then you heard him moan louder in the hollow of your ear and his cum spurted against your folds. Joel took him in his mouth, sucking on the tip, and you felt Javi shudder beneath you.

Joel sucked him clean, his eyes fixed on you, looking hotter than ever. Once done, he knelt back between your thighs, wiping his beard and mustache, and caressed your belly softly. 

“Gonna be right here in a minute, sweetheart. This is all for you,” he said, and you nodded. You couldn’t wait to feel him again. To feel him push in you, spreading your folds on his way. 

He took his time, feeling your stomach move up and down under his touch, then grasped your hip with one hand and lined his cock at your entrance, brushing against Javi's softened dick before pushing in.

“That's it,” he murmured, looking at your cunt swallowing him, clenching on him. “Taking me so well. Right, baby?”

You nodded, mind blank, unable to speak, watching drops of sweat beading at his hairline.

“You’re perfect, baby. Making us come, over and over,” Javi said, your back against his chest, his cock folded under Joel’s, the three of you a mess covered in cum and wetness.

“Your little pussy’s all swollen and aching, sweetheart… We’ll kiss it better soon. She’s so fucking pretty around my cock, covered in our cum,” Joel said, his eyes roaming over your spent body. He was so gorgeous, his muscles all tensed while rolling inside you, watching the way you were breathing and biting your lip.

Javi slid his fingers down to your clit and started rubbing it with his digit.

“You’re doing so good for us baby. So gorgeous, all spread out.”

“Are you gonna get wet tomorrow at work, sweetheart? Just thinking about how good we fucked?” Joel smirked, holding your hips firmly, pounding into you harder, chasing his orgasm, mubbling “god you're so fucking pretty” his cock slamming into your drooling cunt, while Javi’s pad was still on your clit, and you felt your climax rising, stronger and stronger under their touch, thrusts and words.

“You're taking him so well,” Javi whispered, playing with your hair and kissing your neck. “Doing so good, always so fucking good…” he added, his praise going right into your cunt.

“Fuck. Fuck! I’m gonna come. Fill me, Joel.”

“Yeah? Want me to shoot my load, keep you full of us? ‘M gonna give it to you. Just come on it, and I’ll fill you” he said, eyes locked into yours until you started coming, mouth wide open in a cry.

“That’s it baby, come on his cock. Keep taking it, just like that. Yeah, there you go,” Javi said, your legs shaking, inner thighs covered in cum and your slick. 

“Gonna fill you up. Now, look at me. Fuck… Look at me, sweetheart. Yeah, just like that. You feel so fucking good, yeah that’s it….” Joel groaned then whimpered when he started sending hot spurs of cum inside you, his hands squeezing your hips.

He stayed buried deep inside you, cock throbbing, until your cunt milked him dry, Javi murmuring “you’re perfect, you’re so perfect, baby,” against your skin, your body and mind so full of emotions and sensations that you were afraid you might cry.

Once his cock stopped twitching, Joel leaned forward and kissed you, his tongue sliding between your lips. You cupped his cheeks, your tongue teasing his.

He then pulled back and his thumb gently brushed your cheek.

“This was… amazing, sweetheart. So fucking good,” he said, his soft gaze locked with yours, then he looked at Javi and nodded.

He withdrew, his cum dripping from your pussy onto Javi’s cock and Joel went to get a towel to clean you both up.

“We need a shower,” Javi laughed.

“Yeah, come on. It’s big enough for the three of us,” Joel said, helping you up.

The hot water felt amazing against your bodies. Javi and Joel washed you, their four hands roaming over your body, sharing kisses here and there, with you or each other. You washed them too, taking the time to feel their skin and muscles under the tips of your fingers, your eyes moving from one man to the other, grateful for this moment full of sharing, full of trust, where everyone just wanted to make the others feel good. 

Javi knelt in front of you to wash your thighs and pressed soft kisses on your belly then your mound. You trembled. 

“I know, baby. I know. She’s sensitive. I just couldn’t resist, she’s so pretty. Like every inch of you,” he smiled at you before getting up.

“Are you going soft, Javi?” you asked mischievously.

“With you? Always,” he added, looking so pretty and tender that you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pressed yourself against him and kissed him while Joel was peppering kisses over your shoulder.

You had breakfast at Joel’s place, and they smiled, watching you devour every bite. 

“What?” you asked, mouth full. “You drained all my energy, I gotta get it back!”

“You’re not wrong,” Joel chuckled.

“So,” you started to say. “This was… unexpected,” you were twirling your fork between your fingers. “And maybe I’m still high from it, but… I’ll be honest, I hope this isn’t just a one-time thing. What do you guys think?” you asked, looking at them.

“You already know my answer, baby. I’m all in,” Javi replied. You smiled at him, then looked at Joel, unsure what he’d say about that.

He took his time, watching the two of you. Even grabbed a bite, then put down his fork.

“‘course I’m all in. I’d be a fool to say no to this pussy. And this cock,” he added, looking at Javi, who leaned back against his chair and crossed his ankle over his knee. He clasped his hands behind his head, full of self-confidence. So… Javi, right now. Your gorgeous, amazing best friend.

“Yeah, you’d be a fool, for sure,” he smirked and gave you a wink.

More Javi x reader x Joel: Blackmail series (different AU)

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

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npt: tagging those who showed interest in the wip wednesday posts ❤️ @hanahleah @arcane-fox @iknowisoundcrazy @gutter-noise

First of all...

"I think we have an audience."

GOOD MORNING INDEED??????

And then—

"Pussy’s so wet, Jesus..."

Hot. Damn.

The amount of praise in this fic?????? I was MELTING.

But honestly, one of my favorite parts wasn't even the smut.

It was this:

"This is all for you."

and then later...

"everyone just wanted to make the others feel good."

I loved that underneath all the filth there was so much trust and tenderness between the three of them. It never felt like anyone was left out; they were all taking care of each other, and I adored that.

And the breakfast scene??? 🥹

"'Course I'm all in."

Yeah... I smiled like an idiot.

Joel is warmth.

Warmth in your heart. Warmth on your cheeks. Warmth in your tummy. Warmth between your legs.

Every molecule in your body seems to be on fire. Every thought that crosses your mind. Because everything inside you melts, loses its shape to merge with his, bends and transforms to welcome him.

What Joel radiates isn’t just sensual heat, driven by impulses, by desire, by the mere sight of his features that seem drawn by a painter and sculpted by Michelangelo’s hand.

It’s not just that. It’s the way he makes you feel.

Safe.

In a nest where nothing bad can happen. Where you can let your guard down, lick your wounds, and show your vulnerability. It’s the warmth of a home you’ve chosen to live in together; it’s the comfort of a fireplace he installed just because you asked him to; it’s the dark, warm wood he used to build your bed. Solid, sturdy, reliable wood. Just like him.

Joel is like that. His love is all-encompassing, it knows no lukewarmness, no cold, nothing but burning fire, life, a heart beating fast, a broken voice, trembling legs, your bitten lips, your parched throat, hot tears streaming down your cheeks, and stammered pleas as he lies on top of you.

And God, feeling him embrace you from behind, steady and ardent, warming you on Jackson’s dark, freezing nights, gives you a sense of security that nothing has ever given you before. You can’t fall as long as he holds you tight. No scraped knees on the ice, no bruises, no cuts.

The effort you put in, the losses you faced, and everything you’ve been through have led you to him, where the feisty, ever-alert person you forced yourself to be can finally relax and let go.

The feeling of his skin, mostly covered by just a pair of boxers, on yours is more than just a turn-on.

And not only you he make room for his warmth. He welcomed your cold. He extinguished his own.

He put out the fury, the raging fire and left the warmth.

And it's a wonderful accord, your skins colliding, your lips seeking each other, your hands intertwining. And everything is calm in the urgency of having him. Everything is possible, exciting, alluring.

It is orange and pink like a sunset, silent and quiet like a sunrise.

It's as reassuring as his crooked smile and the little dimple that appears on his cheek. It's captivating like his eyes, which observe and study every inch of you, it's as steady and sure as his hands, which hold you grounded.

It's a pleasant tingling sensation, like his beard tickling your neck when he kisses you, like when you wrap your hand around the nape of his neck and encounter those little, soft curls at the base.

It's imperfect but as real and precious as every mark you carry, the softness of his belly, the wrinkles, the rough knuckles, the calluses, the marks of every time you both survived and fought to hold on to something that ultimately led you here.

Together you are understanding, patience, acceptance, trust, a warm breath of life that has lifted both of you out of misery and loneliness.

When you fall asleep next to Joel, you feel nothing but warmth. His skin, his flesh, blood flowing through his veins. Feeling him wrap you in sleep, one of his arm draped around your waist, the other one caressing your hair, his lips kissing the crown of your head, is like something primal and wonderful where you can truly feel that you no longer need any armor, as if those “no’s” you always say could only turn into “yes.” As if all the “I can’t”s you murmur to yourself had no choice but to become “I can do it.”

Harry waited for you at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against his car.

The sun was setting, bathing everything in a pink and orange light.

He wanted to be casual, so he hadn't gone upstairs, but the cold air of the spring evening crept into his bones as he waited for you.

He looked up at the sound of your heels clicking on the concrete steps.

“Hey.” 

He raised his eyes and what he saw nailed him to the ground. 

Wrapped in a floor-length black lace dress, your hair pulled back, your makeup understated and elegant, you almost looked like a different person, yet at the same time you were so unmistakably you. 

His gaze glided over your curves, hugged by the dress, supple and soft, your skin smelled of coconut when you stepped close to greet him, and Harry felt his mouth water.

“Hey, bunny,” you whispered, pressing your lips against his cheek.

Harry whispered back, “You're beautiful,” as he looked at you, and saw your eyes light up and your smile widen.

“I'm not really used to wearing dresses like this, but I have to admit it's really pretty. Your assistant certainly has good taste,” you mused.

“I picked it out myself.” 

Your eyebrow raised, a smirk curving your lips.  “Yeah? You’re such a good boy” 

Your voice went straight to his cock, like always, like anything about you. 

You pinched his butt through his black tie suit pants while he was opening the car door for you and he almost tripped on the sidewalk at the unexpected provocation, a shiver of pleasure running down his spine.

“Maybe it’ll be better if you call me by my name during the party,” he said, trying to regain some semblance of balance, and you laughed, “Not my first ride, honey,” accompanying your sentence with a wink.

Nothing else existed for Harry anymore—not the sounds of traffic around him, not the chatter of people walking on the sidewalk on their way home from work, not even the cool breeze ruffling his hair.

The car ride was pleasant. 

Harry was completely captivated by you and for the first time, a work party didn’t feel like a death sentence to him. Even though you didn’t really know each other very well, he felt strangely safe with you next to him.

You were more talkative than usual and he was happy about that. The sound of your voice calmed him, and he hoped to learn more about you. 

“I saw you in the newspaper the other day.”

“I’m often in them,” Harry admitted, “much more than I’d like.”

“Hmm, well you looked cute in the pic. So… Mr. Castillo, huh? Are you a multimillionaire or something?”

Harry nodded, adding immediately afterward, “More than anything, it’s my father,” and he physically felt his mouth twist into a grimace, involuntarily, like an unconscious reflex. 

“You don’t like your father.” It wasn’t even a question; it was a statement. In a split second, you already understood him better than anyone else around him.

“Yeah,” he exhaled, gazing out the window. All around him was Manhattan—the traffic, the neon lights, the honking horns—everything moving swiftly, in a trail of light that shifted rapidly from yellow to green to red, fading into a buzzing cluster of lives.

“Typical,” you declared, your head nestled against the seat, one hand resting on your thigh, your fingers lazily tracing circles on the lace of your dress. 

You seemed relaxed, at ease. 

This wasn’t your first time with a guy of his kind, as you’d been careful to point out to him. You’d probably come across other frustrated guys before—millionaires’ heirs, tired and bored with their lives, or arrogant and conceited in the way that piles of money can make you.

“I'm curious to meet him, this famous dad,” you joked. 

“I don't think you'll like him,” he blurted out. “He's the biggest jerk I know.”

You smiled, your fingers brushing the lapel of his jacket, your voice confident. “I know how to deal with guys like that.”

The moment the car stopped, Harry felt a rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

What would his father think when he saw you?

He helped you out of the car, taking your hand in his. 

The valet gave instructions to his driver, while you looked around beside Harry.

You seemed uncertain, almost intimidated for a moment, before straightening your back and looking him in the eye. 

“Okay, let's do this. I'm ready,” you said confidently. 

Harry smiled, it was the first time he'd seen even the slightest crack in your armor.

You climbed the stairs together, you holding onto his arm to avoid falling on the slippery marble steps that led to the entrance of the building.

As soon as you entered, a couple of waiters curtsied to Harry, as if he were some kind of royalty. He felt a certain uneasiness churning his stomach, he didn't want you to think he was pretentious, but everything around him only reminded you of how much money his family actually had. 

You walked down a wide corridor that led to the room where the party was being held, tapestries hanging on the walls, paintings worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, Persian rugs spread across the polished marble floor.

You looked around amused, noting a portrait of an old man “is he one of your ancestors or something?” mockingly winking to him and Harry laughed, the tension of his shoulders loosening up.

“I don’t know who he is and honestly, darling? I don’t care. He looks like another prick in a uniform.” 

You chuckled, agreeing with what he said, resting your head on his shoulder for a moment. “The first of many tonight, I understand.” 

“It’s a good thing I paid you, huh?”

“It really is, Mr Castillo” you whispered into his ear, so sweetly Harry thought for a moment about turning around and getting back to your place, entirely skipping the party.

He couldn’t though, he already confirmed his presence to his dad’s assistant a week ago.

Amidst soft chic lights, and ridiculous canapés served by waiters who efficiently moved around the room, tables draped in pristine tablecloths where bartenders served cocktails, huge crystal chandeliers that reflected the lights, and large stained-glass windows along the walls, reaching all the way up to the frescoed ceiling and with hundreds of people dressed in outfits worth thousands of dollars, Harry felt a knot in his stomach that was eased only by your hand clasping his. 

He had always belonged to that world, and yet he never stopped feeling like a fish out of water amid all that glitz.

Eating pizza out of a box with you while drinking beer straight from the bottle would have been a far more appealing prospect for him. 

He took you to the bar, offered you a drink, trying to put off as long as possible the moment when he would have to say hello to his father. 

He wanted it to be worth it for you, he wanted you to have fun. 

There was a small band playing live music, and Harry asked you for a dance. 

Holding you close amidst all those people, seeing your eyes sparkle as you looked at him, your amused smile as you were moving to the tune of an old classic—it was making it all worth it for him. 

Your hand rested discreetly on his shoulder, but at one point you leaned close to his ear and whispered, “I’m having fun, thank you. You deserve a special treat tonight.”

Harry felt his face flush as he replied, “Thank you, ma’am.”

You giggled so tenderly, you seemed so into it, genuinely thrilled to be there with him, you had your eyes fixed on him as if no one else in the room mattered, and to Harry, it almost felt as if you were truly his. 

Harry knew it would never be possible; he was well aware that you were there because of money and the dress he bought you, and he remembered clearly every time you had told him you didn’t want a boyfriend. Yet, feeling his body brush against yours, seeing your radiant face, a part of him still held out hope that perhaps you might feel the same way. 

He hoped that at some point you’d tell him you wanted to be his girlfriend; he hoped to take you on vacation to Italy, to walk hand in hand with you through the streets of Florence, to show you the Uffizi, and to watch the sunset with you from the top of Piazzale Michelangelo. 

He dreamed of taking you to Rome, of seeing your amazed expression in front of a Caravaggio, of having dinner with you in a small osteria, drinking wine and eating pasta.

His mind kept wandering, filling up with so many impossible fantasies.

“So, are you going to introduce me to this famous father of yours?”

Your question crushed him back down to earth. 

The moment Harry stepped right in front of him, his father looked you up and down, his contempt clear.

His face said, “Who on earth is this?” as you held out your hand to him, smiling, proud in your posture and demeanor, stunning, radiant, wrapped in your dress that made you look like a goddess. 

His fifth wife, a 25-year-old size-zero model with a haughty air, greeted you both, then immediately excused herself to go gossip with some tycoon’s wife. 

His father didn’t seem impressed, not in the slightest. 

Mr. Castillo Sr. was trying to make you feel uncomfortable, as he always did when he didn’t like someone.

You told him your name, and Harry easily recognized the look of disgust on his father’s face—a barely perceptible twitch of the lips that said, “You don’t belong here.”

That was always what his father had been. A man whose millions made him believe he was better than others, a man of facades and pretense, a man for whom good appearances were the same as being good.

Harry felt anger rising in his chest, not only because of how his father was treating you, but also—and above all—because in that moment he truly realized how much he had allowed his father to control him, to impose his expectations without the slightest regard for the person his son actually was.

 It didn’t matter; all that mattered was that Harry acted as a calling card for him. Perfectly printed, with clean edges, no smudges, pre-set fonts on thick, expensive paper that clearly showed who his father was.

Never Harry.

And while he was used to being treated like that, seeing his father use the same tactics he’d used on him against someone else was driving him crazy. 

His father kept bombarding you with a thousand questions—where you were from, what you did for a living—in a way that was clearly meant to make you feel uncomfortable. 

How could he have thought he’d win? 

In some sort of way, he hoped to have a little revenge on his dad, parading you out to the ultra formal company party. 

And now he was ashamed. And the greatest shame was having put you in that situation.

Harry took your hand, as if to say silently, “We shouldn't be here. I'm sorry.” And you squeezed it.

He had been watching his father the whole time, his mind filled with thoughts of how he’d want to see one of those pathetic canapés get stuck in his throat, and when he looked back at you, he saw you looking calm. Completely unshaken by the disgusting behavior of the man with whom he had the misfortune of sharing his genetic makeup.

“Not my first ride,” you told him. 

“I know how to deal with a guy like that.” 

And Harry knew you had meant every single word. 

“Have we met before?” his dad pressed. 

“I don't think so,” you replied calmly.

Because right after that, in a voice loud enough for him to hear but at the same time quiet enough to be discreet, you added, “Unless you like being spanked, sir.”

All the commotion in the room—people exchanging pleasantries, clinking glasses, background music—all of it reached Harry’s ears as if muffled.

This was the second time you’d had this effect on him, making everything else but you disappear. As  if only you truly mattered—like a sound his brain really needed to register.

Harry tried to hold back his reaction, but a smirk danced on his lips, tempting him like the devil.

His father was livid, visibly furious, cornered as he struggled to contain his reaction so as not to make a fool of himself in front of the millionaire investors and other wealthy guests who had flocked to his glamorous party.

And there you were, as serene as ever, with a neutral, courteous expression, as if you hadn't said a word. 

There was a slight twitch at the corners of your mouth, a tiny flinch of your cheekbone, but other than that? Your expression gave nothing away, and perhaps that was what was bothering Harry’s father the most. He loved to belittle others and wanted them to care; he wanted to feel that power clenched in his hands. Nothing gave him more satisfaction than knowing he held the strings of everything tightly in his fist. And there you were, reminding him that he couldn’t bend everyone to his will. That there was someone who didn’t give a damn about what Castillo Senior thought was appropriate.

No matter how much the ground seemed to be falling out from under Harry’s feet, no matter how much he regretted bringing you there, there was a warmth in his heart now.

He had never felt so proud to be close to someone as he did when he was with you at that moment.

“What?! How dare you?!” His father grabbed Harry by the sleeve, pulling him close, and hissed right in his face “You brought a slut to my party?” 

Harry couldn’t take it anymore. 

Calling you a whore was the last straw. 

“We're leaving,” he said, pulling his sleeve out of his father's grip “and don't expect me at work on Monday—I quit.”

And then he did the unthinkable. 

He spit right in his dad’s face. 

A globe of saliva landed on his cheek and he froze. Stunned. 

His wide-open eyes and gaping mouth made him look like a fish gasping for air. 

It was the last thing he expected from his son—and from Harry himself, for that matter—but the satisfaction Harry felt in that moment was second only to the day he’d met you.

The truth was that Harry had never believed he could do it because when you get used to feeling considered a waste of space sooner or later you end up convincing yourself that you really are. Only now he was beginning to understand that he deserved better, that all the money in the world would never give him the inner security that he saw within you instead.

He took you by the hand and led you out of the room, even as you protested that you could easily stand up to that asshole. 

He turned to look at you just outside the room. “I know. I know you can put him in his place, but there’s no need for you to do that. That man is wicked, far more than you saw tonight, I assure you. And there’s no need for you to deal with him anymore, and you know what? Same for me.”

He felt tears stinging his eyes. For the first time since he was born, he had rebelled against the man who had fathered him. He had gotten the courage to quit his job. On one hand, he felt that his life had truly just begun; on the other, the realization that he had finally broken free from his father’s shadow paralyzed him. He leaned against the wall, repeating to himself, “Damn, I really did it,” under your worried gaze. 

You brought a hand to his face, caressing his cheek. “I know it’s scary.” 

He turned his gaze to you, sweet and reassuring, as you whispered that everything would be all right. 

He relished the tender touch of your palm on his skin, murmuring “I’m so glad you’re here. I feel safe with you.”

“I know, baby, it’s okay. Let’s go back to my place.”

Harry didn't hesitate to follow you. The noise of the party faded behind him, growing fainter and fainter, until it seemed insignificant. 

The drive home felt longer than Harry could remember; as the car drew nearer, he felt a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him. 

Fear, but also excitement about what the future might hold for him. 

He had his savings set aside, a sort of a safety net that would give him some time to experiment and discover who he truly wanted to be. It wasn’t his father’s billions, but it was still a considerable sum. 

He had the house, registered in his name, and a small cottage in Connecticut that he’d bought as an investment and rented out to other bored rich people who wanted to escape the hectic life of New York. 

He was still richer than most people. 

He cursed himself for waiting so long before doing what he really wanted.

But maybe he had to meet you before realizing he was tired of being bossed around by his family. The only one who gave him pleasure when you did it was you. 

Now he knew for sure. And suddenly, as he looked at your face in the dim light, your gaze fixed on the view outside the window, he felt terribly sad at the thought that sooner or later it would all come to an end. 

You turned toward him, sliding your hand across the leather seat, taking his fingers in yours, and whispering, “I’m so proud of you”—and his heart skipped a beat. 

Once inside your house, Harry didn’t wait for you to tell him before loosening the tie that was choking him and unbuttoning the top buttons of the pristine white shirt he was wearing under his tuxedo. 

As you made your way toward the bedroom you used with him, your catlike steps echoing down the hallway, you turned for a moment to glance at him over your shoulder. “Sure, get rid of those things—you won’t need them much longer anyway.”

That made him smile; you accepted this little act of defiance on his part so willingly, understanding his frustration.

You probably understood even better now where he was coming from. You were smart, much sharper than that idiot of a father of his could ever have imagined. And you knew how to read people. 

In the weeks leading up to the party, he’d visited you often, and sometimes you’d lingered for a little chat after the sessions, before kissing him on the cheek and holding out your hand to receive your payment.

The marks usually faded within a week, but the one you’d left on Harry’s heart was still bright red, throbbing, hot, and no soothing cream would be enough to make it go away.

Submitting to you had set him free.

You weren’t indifferent to how your behavior might make him feel; you weren’t thinking only of yourself. You were focused on him and his reactions every time you interacted—far more so than anyone else ever had been. And this was perhaps the closest thing to love that Harry had ever experienced.

“Sit on the bed,” you said as soon as you walked into the room. 

Harry obeyed, feeling as if he were floating in a dream. 

You stood in front of him. His eyes slid from your slender ankles in a pair of sky-high black heels up the lace of your dress that hugged your curves, your hips, your soft belly, your firm, full breasts, all the way to the sweetheart neckline that accentuated your collarbones and further up your neck and the line of your jaw. His gaze lingered on your open, sincere smile, with a mischievous touch that slightly curled your upper lip, and your deep, piercing eyes.

There was something so magnetic about you that Harry still hadn’t quite figured out. He knew everyone had been staring at you at the party, he’d felt their unworthy eyes scrutinizing you, probably thinking petty things you didn’t deserve, because it was as clear as day that you didn’t belong with that kind of people or in that kind of situation. You were so much better than them.

“Take off your jacket,” you ordered. 

Just as he slipped off his black Tom Ford jacket, he watched you reach for the back of your dress and heard the zipper slide down slowly.

“The shirt,” you continued, stepping out of your heels. 

Harry began impatiently undoing the buttons, and you scolded him, “Slow down, bunny. Breathe.”

His nervous fingers stopped. 

“Breathe,” you said again, “let out that frustration bubbling inside you.” 

Harry felt his lungs fill with air and let it out, once, twice; he inhaled and exhaled, and his eyes closed at your command. 

“Relax. I’ll take care of you now.”

He had never felt so taken seriously. 

He felt his body unwind, the weight on his shoulders lighten, the lump in his throat loosen, his hands finally calm.

Guided by your warm voice, he focused on those sensations, clearly feeling every cell of his settling down.

When he opened his eyes again, your dress was unzipped halfway down your back, and your hair was falling over your shoulders, free from the elaborate style you’d worn at the party.

You were even more beautiful in your element. 

“Nice work,” you praised him, “now take off that shirt.”

Harry stood shirtless, under your watchful gaze as it scanned every detail of him that you must have come to know so well by now. 

He felt his nipples harden and his lips curve into a smile as you slipped out of your dress, revealing the black Agent Provocateur lingerie set he’d had delivered along with the dress.

When he’d chosen it, he’d hoped he’d gotten the size right. 

He noted with some satisfaction that it hugged your breasts perfectly as they stood proudly encased in the finely crafted lace. 

His mouth watered at the sight of the delicate embroidered bow in the center.

He wanted to press his lips against it, to smell your sweet scent, to feel your soft skin against his cheek. 

He did nothing. He waited. He felt his breath in his chest struggling to stay quiet.

He saw the look of satisfaction light up in your eyes as you asked him, “So, do you like it?” while one of your fingers slowly traced the edge of your panties.

“Yes” he nodded, immediately “You’re gorgeous, ma’am.”

“I saw a whole new side of you tonight,” you teased him. “Who knew you could be so assertive, bunny.”

“I—” Harry began hesitantly, but you cut him off right away. 

“You don't have to explain yourself. He deserved it.”

Harry nodded, smiling at you. 

“Maybe you are a little bratty, after all,” you chuckled. 

“Maybe,” he agreed. You seemed intrigued, and Harry thought he saw a certain pride in your expression, which delighted him. 

“Mmm, if you do that to me, you’ll be punished, you know that, right?”

Harry felt a rush of heat rise from the pit of his stomach. Oh, he was sure he could accept your punishments—in fact, he was eager to do so.

His hands were still shaking as he recalled a few nights earlier, when you’d used a big pad with “bunny” written on it.

Somewhere on his ass cheek, the writing was fading. He’d seen it in the mirror that evening, right after getting out of the shower. 

So yes, not only had he gone to his father’s party with you, but he’d done so with the marks of your spankings still clearly visible under his tuxedo.

Everything he had done that evening was incredible and tasted of freedom. 

He was over thirty and had finally found the courage to tell his father exactly what he thought of him. Better late than never.

“Yes, ma’am” he replied and he felt his cheeks burn. He could feel his cock getting hard under his tuxedo pants.

 And you noticed, too. 

“Get rid of those,” you said, pointing at his pants. 

He took them off before you had to ask again. Maybe there really was a bit of a brat in him somewhere, but this wasn't the time to show it. 

Not when he wanted you so badly.

“Good boy,” you cooed, clicking your tongue, and added, “Well, look at that… someone’s already hard.”

His cock was pointing straight at you, hidden only by his boxers.

You eyed him from head to toe, one hand resting on your hip, a smug little smile on your face, tapping your heel on the floor.

“How much do you want me?” you asked, and Harry couldn't help but say,

“Oh ma'am, I want you so badly.”

You lifted your chin, giving him an authoritative look. 

“Not yet. Sit back down on the bed.”

As soon as Harry obeyed, you sat on his thighs, keeping your distance from his cock.

Your fingers slowly traced a path from his wrist up to his shoulder, first on one side and then the other. 

Harry swallowed a moan of protest, trying to focus on the sensation of your polished nails scratching his skin.

His hands moved instinctively toward your hips, but you rebuked him immediately. 

“You know the rules. You can’t touch me until I tell you to.”

Harry’s hands fell back onto the bed; he clenched the sheets, trying to fill them with something, to quell that need to hold you tight that had overwhelmed his senses. 

Your nails made their way across his chest, down to his stomach, and then to the left until they reached his side, where you pinched him. 

Harry bit his lower lip, closing his eyes, letting you do it. Immediately after, he felt your lips caress his neck, gently, slowly, along his pulse point.

“Mmm, you smell so good,” you whispered before biting down on the soft skin below his ear. 

Harry gasped, feeling his body tense as you licked the spot you’d bitten.

“Good boy, bunny… stay still for your mistress.”

Your fingers teased his happy trail, moving up and down in an agonizing yet delightful way.

You pulled down his boxers just enough to expose his cock, and it stood erect between your bodies.

Harry was impossibly stiff, so much so that it hurt, and he couldn't say how much longer he could hold out.

He almost lost it when your hand slid between you, stopping just an inch from its tip. You didn’t touch it, you left it suspended in the air, moving it slowly in a circle, as if you were about to touch it at any moment, and you watched him squirm so intensely while your gaze never left his. No hesitation, complete control of your body, and the promise of a touch that never came. 

Harry was entranced, completely captivated, his body was screaming for attention, his tip was swollen and red, and precum was dripping down his shaft.  

“Let's see if you can wait a little bit longer,” you whispered against his skin and then you got up and walked over to the table where you kept your toys.

Harry could feel the blood boiling in his veins, he wanted to scream, he wanted to beg you, but he knew the rules and knew that the reward would come if he behaved himself. He couldn’t help but let out a moan as he watched your hips sway in front of the table while you were busy with your toys.

His legs were shaking, his heart was pounding in his chest like a hammer, and he could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

Finally, you picked up a suction-cup dildo. You moved closer to him, sliding it along his jawline, all the way to his mouth. 

“Suck it, bunny. Make it nice and wet for me.”

Harry was hesitant, his lips trembling at the rubber tip. Finally, he opened his mouth under your commanding gaze.

The tip slid over his tongue, all the way in. 

He had never sucked a cock in his life, real or toy.

He didn’t mind the feeling of his mouth full; it was a little uncomfortable, but his jaw adjusted easily after a while as you pushed it in and out of his lips. 

“That’s it, keep going,” you encouraged him. “Drool all over it.”

Harry could feel his saliva pooling around the toy; he could feel the tip pushing almost all the way down his throat. “No teeth, baby,” you warned him, and he tucked them behind his lips before sucking again. A trickle of spit ran down his chin as you kept fucking his mouth, slow and relentless, the dildo clenched in your palm.

He was breathing heavily through his nose and could feel his lungs running low on air, but he didn’t stop until you pulled it out with a satisfied click of your tongue. 

You looked at him with satisfaction, praising him, “Great job, bunny,” and your thumb wiped his saliva from his lower lip.

He watched you walk away again and let out a grunt of disapproval, and he grew even more frustrated when he saw you slip off your bra and your panties, revealing your neatly trimmed bush to his eyes. 

He would have given anything to bury his face in your pussy.

You fixed the dildo to the wall opposite the bed, in front of him, next to the door and Harry wondered how much longer he’d have to endure before he felt the warmth of your body again. 

You didn’t seem inclined to give it to him easily tonight, and deep down, he liked that. 

He loved how you pushed him past his limits, how you took your time and teased him, making him feel that everything you did was worth the wait. You made him feel wanted and desired by not letting your games end too quickly.

He gasped as you lowered yourself onto the dildo, letting it slide all the way into you with a moan.

You started moving up and down on that bright pink silicone rod; Harry could clearly see the toy appearing and disappearing between your folds. 

He was losing his mind. 

The squelching sound of you fucking yourself against the wall was filling his ears along with your moans and your incessant teasing of him, 

“Like what you see, bunny? You want to fill me up, huh? Take this dildo's place and stuff me with your cock?”

Harry tried to move his hand toward his aching erection to get some relief, but you scolded him, and his palm went back down onto the bed.

Your juices were now flowing heavily onto the dildo as you moved your voluptuous hips in circles, two fingers rubbing your clit and one hand clutching your breast, pinching one of your nipples.

“Mmm, that feels so good.”

You were on the verge of coming, and Harry knew it; by now he knew every moan you made, every expression that crossed your face, how you threw your head back and closed your eyes, he could have sworn he’d never tire of watching you like that. 

“Watch me come,” you whispered before picking up the pace on the dildo and the fingers on your clit, which was now moving furiously, rubbing it convulsively.

Your skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat that glistened in the dim light of the room, your wet bush and your swollen, soaking folds greedily sucked the dildo all the way in.

The moment you closed your eyes, Harry disobeyed. He’d never done it before, but he felt like he was about to explode. A hand flew to his cock, jerking it a couple of times.

“Just a little,” he thought 

“I can stop,” he lied to himself.

When his palm wrapped around his cock, he felt he was at the point of no return. 

It was too much. Your naked body so far away from him, your breasts bouncing with the force of your thrusts, your spread and dripping pussy, your hips writhing—he couldn’t take it a minute longer, no matter how hard he tried.

He knew he would suffer the consequences. But after all, even those were sweet to him, since they came from you.

You opened your eyes just as your orgasm was subsiding and thundered, “Harry! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Harry stopped just short of his climax and looked at you with pleading eyes.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “You’re so beautiful, I… I can’t… I just can’t.”

You calmly slid off the dildo, unhooking it from the wall and leaving it standing on the dresser, still coated with your juices. 

Harry’s heart was in his throat as you approached him with slow, deliberate steps. 

One of your hands cupped his cheek while the other slid down to your folds.

Harry watched in ecstasy as you gathered your juices with two fingers, then brought them close to his mouth. 

“Suck them clean,” you ordered, shoving your fingers into his mouth. 

Your taste spread across his tongue as he sucked obligingly and greedily. 

He moaned when your fingers reached almost to the back of his throat. 

The satisfaction etched on your face made him hope you would forgive him.

His cock stood between you, still stiff and throbbing, and suddenly your hand left his cheek to slap it.

A quick blow to the shaft that made him almost sink his teeth into your fingers.

“Bad boy,” you hissed, “that's not what I taught you.”

The pain radiated across his belly, rising up to his stomach, and soon faded into a pleasant tingling. 

Sharp but sweet, just like you.

“Is this the day of rebellion?” you demanded, pinching his chin between two fingers and forcing him to look you in the eye. A mischievous smile played on your lips. 

You weren't angry. 

“I have to admit, I'm proud of you. The first time you came here, you were afraid of your own shadow.”

Harry knew he had changed, and it was thanks to you, too. 

You had given him the clarity and willpower needed to see things from a different perspective.

“So... do you want to fuck me right now?”

Harry had never nodded so quickly.

“I don't know if you deserve it.”

“Please, ma’am”

You looked at the way his cock bobbed when you lowered yourself to kiss him on his forehead. 

You seemed willing. 

“Okay...” you conceded, “but on one condition.”

Harry agreed immediately. “Anything, ma’am.”

You smiled, letting go of his chin and turning your back on him to head back toward the dresser. 

You picked up a butt plug and a bottle of lube.

“You’ll wear this while you fuck me.” 

 Harry had hesitated the first few times you’d suggested it. After some discussion and a few attempts with your fingers, he’d agreed to try some small plugs, and he had to admit that, with a generous dose of lube and your patience and gentleness, he was starting to like it. You’d used other plugs on him, but Harry had never seen this one. This one was bigger.

A shiver of pleasure ran down his spine, and he felt his cheeks flush as you approached, wiggling it between your fingers. 

“It arrived in the mail the other day,” you told him, biting your lip, “and frankly… I couldn’t wait to try it.”

Harry was equally amused and aroused.

He wouldn’t have done it for anyone else but you.

You told him to get on all fours on the bed, and once he was in position, he felt your fingers gently caressing his hole. 

“Relax, bunny,” you reassured him as your finger lingered at the opening without entering. You slid it in slightly, and Harry let out a sigh, trying to focus on the sensations.

He felt you squeeze out a generous amount of lube and felt your fingers, coated in the cool gel, slide in slowly, just the tip at first. 

“Everything okay?” you asked, and Harry nodded, “Yes, ma’am.”

You stimulated the area a little more before sliding a bit deeper, gently stretching him.  

When Harry felt ready enough, he whispered, “I think I’m ready.”

“Good boy,” you praised him, one hand running down his back.

You picked up the plug again and coated it with more lube, then began slowly inserting it into him. 

Harry felt himself filling up inch by inch as the cold metal slid inside him. 

“Almost there,” you reassured him, “you’re doing great.”

Harry felt proud to please you. Everything he’d agreed to try, you’d guided him through calmly, letting him get used to it—firm but gentle—and this had allowed him to explore many things he’d never considered before and to discover new forms of pleasure.

“Okay...you’re set,” you said to him with a playful tone. 

Harry got up and knelt on the bed. 

It was a strange feeling but the sensation of fullness was pleasant, and when you moved it around a bit, thrusting deeply a couple of times, all the uncertainty faded away, overshadowed by the excitement.

“Oh…oh,” he stammered “fuck this is…”

“Great, isn’t it?” You purred, lowering yourself towards him, grazing the shell of his ear with your tongue. 

“Yeah…”

His cock was still incredibly hard as a rock, and by now Harry felt that if he didn't have you right away, he'd go out of his mind.

“You want to shove that big cock of yours in my cunt, huh? ” You asked and Harry begged. 

He begged hard “Please ma’am. I need to feel you… I need it so bad.”

You climbed onto the bed, and this time you were the one getting on all fours in front of him. Your ass swayed before his eyes, you arched your back, your pussy open and eager before his eyes. 

“Take me,” you ordered “fuck me hard, bunny. I know you can.”

Your folds were still soaking wet, and Harry had no trouble sliding inside you. 

With every inch he entered, he felt the plug stretch him a little more.

The sensation of filling you while he himself was filled was inconceivable; he had never felt this way before that moment. 

It was like being subjugated and subjugating at the same time, a precarious and delicate balance between domination and submission that made his head spin. 

Yes, you were on all fours for him at that moment, but you had made sure to remind him who was in charge.

“Oh God… oh my God,” he whispered, clinging to your hips to steady himself, feeling your walls welcome him and pull him in. 

“Fill me, Harry, all the way,” you urged him.

When he began to move, his fingers dug into your flesh, gripping your plump hips with both hands; with every thrust, he felt himself plunging deeper and deeper, sweat beading on his back and forehead. 

You moaned like a woman possessed beneath him, slamming your ass against his groin, his balls slapping against you.

“Fuck,” he groaned “I don't think I can hold out much longer.”

It was overwhelming. All of it. 

The plug filling him, his cock pressing against your sweet spot, your sweaty body shaking with each thrust. It was a dizzying sensation that blurred his vision and dulled his hearing; it was a pleasure that shook him from the tips of his toes to the tips of his hair.

His cock throbbed violently and after a few seconds he shot his load deep inside you.

He kept thrusting into you until he felt you tense up and then scream as you came; you slumped onto the bed, clutching the sheets with your hands, your hair tousled across the bed, as you writhed wildly beneath him.

You collapsed onto the bed and brushed your hair away from your face. Harry lay down beside you, after removing the plug and tossing it on the floor. 

A few seconds later, you turned toward him, moving closer and nestling against his chest.

“You've been so good for me,” you purred, leaving a kiss on his peck and then looking up at him. 

Your eyes were hazy and tired, but happy.

 Harry felt he had everything he needed right there in his arms, and without thinking, he kissed you on the lips.

You didn’t scold him, you didn’t protest, you didn’t try to push him away.

You leaned into the kiss, running a hand through his curls.

 Harry had never been so happy in his entire life. He didn’t dare say anything or ask you anything, he simply savored the kiss, sucking your soft lower lip between his own, feeling your tongue exploring his mouth.

It was an evening full of triumphs—the first in a very, very long time. Perhaps, deep down, you were starting to see him as more than just a client.

And he was even more surprised when you whispered to him, “I don't want any money tonight.”

Npt for the people who loved Bunny: @milla-frenchy @baronessvonglitter @mcthsman @rosharanfiction @morriggannlostinfandoms @doveloveloser @mothmanuwu @brittmb115 @speaktothehandpeasants @lilynotdilly @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff @missadangel @simpingforjoel @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @readingiskeepingmegoing @mabelmiller @indiegirlunited @joelmillerspnk

People who showed interest in the WIP when I posted it: @peepawmiller @dreamedaboutitinthedark @sawymredfox

Harry calling her "ma'am" every five seconds??? Reader calling him "bunny"??? I fear this dynamic has permanently altered my brain chemistry.🫠

First of all...

"Unless you like being spanked, sir."

aw she's hot as hell!!!! 🥵

The way she completely destroyed his father with ONE sentence while keeping the sweetest, most innocent face??? Oh I love her BAD.

And then THIS MAN—

"We're leaving... don't expect me at work on Monday—I quit."

followed immediately by SPITTING IN HIS FATHER'S FACE???????????

BUNNY!!!!!!!!! I WAS CHEERING FOR YOU!!!!!

I loved that his biggest act of rebellion wasn't just quitting the company—it was finally believing he deserved better.

And don't even get me started on the way she takes care of him.

"Relax. I'll take care of you now."

EXCUSE ME?????????

The entire scene wasn't even about the smut for me. It was about Harry finally finding someone who made him feel safe enough to let go.

And then...

"Good boy."

Yeah. I folded.

Completely.

Irrecoverably.

By the time we got to—

"I feel safe with you."

I was already gone.

AND THEN YOU HAD THE AUDACITY TO END IT WITH—

"I don't want any money tonight."

omg omg omg

That one line said more than an entire love confession ever could.

‘Shit.’

Rain poured viciously in Lower Manhattan; where people who were brought up with diamond spoons either reside, have blind dates arranged—to strengthen their family's already unmatched wealth—, or have a ridiculously expensive dinner after a massive decline in the stock market.

For the first time in his life, Harry Castillo stuck out like a sore thumb in the very area he called home. He walked down the busy streets, completely soaked to his nails. In situations like these, not even his imported fine-tailored suit could shield him from the weather.

His driver? Lord knows. Harry had told him to go home after deciding it would be a good evening to take a peaceful walk back to his house. Help clear his mind, he said.

A man like Harry Castillo never had to worry about the weather. Tonight was no different. So it slipped his mind to keep track of the weather forecast.

But now that every store he could reach with his feet had ran out of umbrellas, all he had left was his black blazer held up above his head—essentially doing nothing to keep him dry. Not that an umbrella could help with a wind like this.

Since the moment he stepped out of Le Veau d'Or—for a lavish dinner he didn't have the appetite for—, his right side has had to deal with the most damage, because none of the drivers had the courtesy to slow down for people like him, who had no other choice but to walk. As if that is not enough for one night, every taxi and Uber in his proximity was occupied, leaving him on the streets like a drowned rat.

It's a scene he never imagined himself to live through. He was always on the other side, sheltered inside his Mercedes-Maybach, not a drop of water staining his suit. To say now that he was humbled would be an understatement.

Harry was only two blocks away from his home in the very center of Tribeca when his steps came to a halt, realizing the state he's in. He couldn’t go home like this. People recognized him. And they will talk.

He could already picture the headlines in his mind—

Nope.

He couldn't let some rumors taint his family's reputation and risk the shares declining. And he certainly didn’t need his mother finding out about his walk from the media, and have her worry about him even more than she already had.

So with a twist of his ankles, Harry made a turn; and headed in the direction of a neighborhood he hadn’t stepped in in months.

Twenty four months, to be exact. Twenty four excruciatingly long months since he last saw you. The person who never left his mind, nor his heart. The very reason for this walk alone in the rainstorm.

Harry no longer rushed his steps. Whether he reached his destination or not, the rain will continue to shower him and attempt to freeze him to death. So he slowed down; and did what he had initially planned. To take a peaceful walk. Under a slightly different circumstance.

With every step, the poundings of his heart intensified, adding another layer of beats in his ears.

Finally, the familiar six-storey building loomed over him like a nightmare and a dream, stopping him in his track.

He stared long at the wooden door painted in dark green. The door that locked away memories of him and you. All the times you had him sit through movies from the 1930s, all the burnt dinners you blamed on him for being distracting, and all the cuddles that had him running late for work.

Harry sighed deeply and craned his neck to look up to the sky that was hiding the glow of the moon with thick fog. He finally lowered his blazer and held it by his side, letting the rain fall freely onto his head.

His eyes droop lower before completely shutting; and he riveted on the feel of raindrops plunging against his face like gentle pokes of fingers. At the same time, his ears focused on the inconsistent patters of rain hitting against his polished black oxford. His fingers then twitched slightly, feeling the wind redirecting the rain into another direction, blowing chilly air against his back.

In that moment, he had no complaints about the rain.

Or the choices he'd made for his life.

Or the time he had lef—

“—Fine! Since you’re so insistent on pushing me away, I’ll let you!”

Harry took a shallow breath through his slightly parted lips and shook his head to push away the memory. Those were the words that had been engraved on his mind; haunting him in his sleep and his wake for the past two years. Your last words to him before you walked out of his office—and out of his life…

It was for the better, he had assured himself then.

But that was two years ago...

The Harry now resented that version of himself.

The one that let you go.

No.

The one that made you go.

After what felt like an eternity, Harry finally took another agonizing step towards the door that stood there like it was mocking him for all that he had done. As if reminding him that he no longer belonged there. Something he'd come to acknowledge, but could never accept.

The crunch of his leather outsoles and heels against the pebbles was amplified by the wet earth, making him even more aware of the steps he's taking. He was actually back. In the same neighborhood he used to visit almost every single day for the three whole years that you were together. Before he ruined everything.

But Harry stopped himself before he could step on the first tread of steps.

Perhaps this was a bad idea.

Perhaps he should turn around and find a hotel instead.

Yeah.

This was messed up.

He should leave you alone—

“Harry?”

The man visibly flinched at the sound of his name leaving the mouth of the very person he had both longed and dreaded to see. Suddenly it felt like the world was closing in on him, like he was caught intruding.

His throat bobbed as he stood there frozen with his back against the owner of the house.

He dreamed of this moment every single night. When he would see you again.

But being here, now?

He was not ready.

To face you after a couple of years without any contact. To admit that he needed you—more than anything in his life.

But he couldn't run away and avoid this forever. He couldn't lose you the second time…

So Harry composed himself, barely, and slowly turned; stalling in his steps to prepare himself before his eyes would inevitably meet yours.

You were greeted with the silhouette of a man standing in the rain, blocking your way inside your apartment building. For a moment, you thought it might be Mr. Gutierrez; your Spanish neighbor who would only occupy the house above yours if he had business in New York.

But you crossed out the guess as fast as they appeared. Your neighbor had longer curls; and you knew that he wouldn't stall in this rain. He had complained to you times before—whenever you'd bump into each other inside the elevator—, saying he catches cold easily in the rain.

You clutched the handle of your umbrella tighter as your mind spiraled with guesses. Then, for a moment, a whiff of the man's cologne invaded your sense of smell. And just as immediately, your body reacted, goosebumps rising all over your skin—and not due to the cold.

No way.

"Harry?"

Surely this was a wicked prank from the universe and your exhausted body; testing your weak patience by poking at your unhealed wound.

But as the man turned around, you went still like the Statue of Liberty herself, breath completely sucked out of your lungs.

It's him.

It really fucking is him.

Harry Castillo.

Your ex-boyfriend.

Now standing in front of your house, soaked from head to toe.

You stood under your umbrella unmoving; eyes wide in shock as they trailed up to his face.

That insanely gorgeous face.

Harry flashed you a smile—and the little fire of rage in your chest died down a little. It was the same smile he had given you when you met for the first time at Central Park; when he patted your mother's dog—who decided that Harry was the lucky stranger to be attacked with his enthusiastic hug.

It was also those big brown eyes looking into yours that had you falling for him on your first meet.

Harry opened his mouth and uttered your name with his sweet, sultry voice,—smiling as if no time had passed. “Hey..”

His head was mostly facing the ground, and you were forced to see him looking at you through his wet lashes that accentuated his glistening eyes.

The sight did things to your heart the way it hadn't for the past two years; and you questioned if your heart ever changed the way it felt for him.

Despite his casual attitude, you could see past the smile to sense the nerves in his eyes. How they roamed over your face to take in the soft wrinkles that weren’t there the last time he saw you. How he swallowed his mouth dry as his mind ran miles a second to figure out his next words.

“I..” He stammered.

You took a step closer before he could continue, holding your umbrella above your heads. His gelled curls had fallen over his forehead, and the water droplets fell from the tips, wetting his cheeks.

Your eyes landed on his again; now red and brimming with tears that weren’t there before. His beautiful smile that you missed so dearly had faded too, lips pursed tightly like he's keeping them from quivering.

“What brought you here?” The question left your lips like a gentle whisper, so soft as if afraid you’d break him—like you did last time.

“I..” His breath trembled the moment he opened his mouth again to speak. Harry didn't have an explanation for the effect you were having on him. He thought he could face you without breaking down, given the months he'd had to recover from the pain your breakup had caused him.

He realized then, how completely wrong he was. At this point, pushing all the pressure down to his core was the only way he could keep himself together.

“I got stuck in the rain..” was all he managed to say.

“Shouldn't your driver be around to pick you up? Where is he?”

“Home..” He glanced down at his watch, the glass fully covered in steam. He could barely see the numbers anymore. “Probably asleep in his wife’s arms.” He added, voice gruff and filled with regret as his trembling eyes found yours again. Regret of what could have been.

Harry cleared his throat and tore his gaze away from yours. “I should go.” He said abruptly. Any hint of vulnerability was then replaced with a professional tone, and something twisted in your chest.

Panic surged through you when Harry actually stepped aside to leave; and before you could register your next action, your hand moved to grab his, holding it in a death grip.

Your eyes grew wide, surprised by your own reflex. Memories from that day flashed through your mind, and it sent electric sparks all over your skin. The bright sunny park. Your first handshake and his warm hand. The moment he told you his name and repeated yours...

But now, all you felt was his ice-cold fingertips, and the slight shiver of his body.

Your eyes trailed up to gauge his reaction. You expected him to pull away. To draw boundaries. To remind you of the fact that things will never go back to how it was.

Except he didn't.

Instead, you found his eyes widening, mirroring your silent shock.

And so you blurted it out.

The one word you and Harry wished either of you had said two years ago.

The word that could have fixed everything.

“Stay.”

There was a beat of silence. Where none of you seemed to breathe. You stared deep into his eyes to decipher his feelings; praying desperately that you haven't lost your chance. Haven't completely lost him.

You saw his resolve faltering in real time; the walls he'd built up crumbling at the sight of your pleading eyes—the sight of the woman he never had the heart to refuse.

“You shouldn’t…” His voice shook, begging you to let him go. To walk away without him. For the second time.

But you knew better now.

“I’m not asking, Harry Castillo.” Your voice grew firm, giving him no space to argue as you watch his eyes welling up with fresh tears.

"You'll freeze to death out here…" You reasoned, feeling desperate. At this point, you would say just about anything if it means he'd stay.

When he no longer resisted, you loosened your grip and gently tugged at his hand, leading him inside your house. The aroma of scented candle welcomed you the moment you crossed the threshold.

Harry stood next to you, and you felt his thick fingers carefully wrapping around yours. Something he used to do whenever he sought comfort. Your stomach tightened, the contact reminding you of how much you missed his touch and presence in your life.

The door closed behind you with a soft click, drowning out the sound of the heavy rain that gave no indication of stopping soon. Your free hand reached out to turn on the lights, revealing what was left of the space that the man beside you used to be a part of.

“…It’s still the same.” He muttered in disbelief.

“It is..” You swallowed the lump in your throat and quickly slid your feet inside a pair of slippers before handing him the other, leaving both your wet shoes on the rack. Harry didn’t let go of your hand the whole time—and it made it all the harder for you to keep yourself together.

You cleared your throat and focused your attention on Harry's current condition. “You should get cleaned up.” You said as you pointed to the bathroom. “You know where everything is.”

He nodded silently, fingers reluctantly slipping away from yours.

“I’ll get you something to wear.” You said, your hand feeling uncomfortably empty without his bigger one to embrace it.

He watched you for a moment as you left, feeling his chest closing in at the sight of you after all this time. He couldn't believe his luck, having you care for him again—and it made him feel like the biggest prick for ruining what you both had.

You pulled open the very left side of your wardrobe. The door hinge let out a long, high-pitched creak, a testament to how long it had been sitting there, building up rust.

You haven’t seen the content in months; and now, seeing them was like looking past the mask you had been putting on. The mask that concealed the broken pieces of your heart.

Your fingers traced over the neatly folded sweaters and pajamas; the bottle of cologne with the scent that Harry was loyal to; and his hair gel that had expired over a year ago. His dress shirts and blazer were still there—hanged and ironed—always ready for him whenever he stayed overnight.

You hadn’t removed anything. Nor did you change their positions. After the breakup, all you managed to do was ignore that part of your wardrobe as if you lost the key.

Harry never came over to pick them up—and you never dared find him to return them.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears the longer you reminisce on the past, so you quickly blinked them away and moved to grab anything Harry might need. A pair of sweatpants, a sweater, and a towel.

Outside your room, the sound of shower was the only thing filling the silence of your house. You placed his things inside the basket right outside the bathroom and left to allow him some privacy.

You didn't notice Harry entering the kitchen, too occupied with thoughts as you stirred the piping hot content inside the teapot; a porcelain teapot with delicate art nouveau floral motifs from Louis Vuitton which Harry got for you when you moved in to this house four years ago.

It was a gift you treasured. Harry's best friend for whenever he caught a cold and could no longer swallow plain water to save his life.

"What are you making?"

You almost jumped when he spoke, accidentally spilling some of the tea onto the tabletop. It had been a while since you had company at home. Not since Harry. So hearing voices—other than your own and the people inside the tv—spooked you more than you'd like to admit.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you." He said, rushing over to grab a kitchen towel from the bottom drawer. He surprised himself by remembering where you had stored it.

"No, it's fine." You thanked him and quickly cleaned up the mess.

An awkward silence fell over you. Harry noticed how you tensed up at the proximity, so he left to sit at the kitchen island instead, eyes still subtly watching your every move.

You, working in the kitchen, was a sight he hadn't had the privilege of witnessing in so long. But his memory never failed him.

Harry sat there quietly, remembering how you preferred your own space as you move about in the kitchen, wanting to experiment with new recipes without distractions; but he was always ready to help whenever you called—mostly with emotional-support shoulder massages and back hugs.

The memory of your kitchen rituals made him smile; but they faded when he was again reminded of the reality.

You were no longer his.

No longer the person who would feed him burnt steak and rock-hard cupcakes.

No longer the person who would force him to watch Gone With the Wind for the third time in a week.

Harry snapped out of his thoughts and cleared his throat the moment he saw you approaching. The warmth of his fingers brushing over your knuckles spread over your skin as he accepted the mug, thanking you with a soft, sweet smile that made your chest feel lighter.

"Still tastes the same." Harry said after taking a sip of the chamomile tea.

"You mean tasteless?"

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest at your playful jab.

He missed this.

Missed you.

“Yeah. Can’t possibly go wrong with chamomile.”

Standing across from him with your hips against the counter, your eyes drifted downwards to his plump lower lip that was resting just outside the rim of the mug. How they shift as his throat bobbed with the drink.

You caught yourself mid-thought and immediately dragged your eyes back onto his, finding them already on yours. He was quietly observing you with his lips pursed, already finishing his tea.

"You have questions." He stated with a hushed tone, knowing how your mind works better than anybody else.

"I do."

"You deserve answers." His attention was fully on you, preparing himself for the questions you might throw his way.

“What were you doing out so late?" You asked. "You didn’t drink, did you?”

Harry would have laughed at your question if you didn't look so concerned. “No. I only had some juice.” He assured, shaking his head in amusement.

He placed the mug in front of him and leaned his arms on the kitchen island so he could look up at you through his lashes.

“Zero alcohol.” He confirmed, flashing you with the smile that used to charm you.

Or perhaps still does.

You could no longer deny the flutter in your chest as you looked at him.

No. Get a grip.

This was your first meeting in two years. You couldn't possibly just let him sweep you off your feet in one night. Not after everything.

But the spike in your heartbeat and the surge of heat on your cheeks were only proving the latter.

“My turn." His eyes were on you with startling intensity; as though Castle Group's stock would crash the second he looked away. You pushed those thoughts away and listened. "Why were you home late? Out with a guy?” Your lips parted, but they closed again when no word came out. The question—and the assumption that you were out with a man—caught you off guard. Harry jerked his head when you didn't answer, a tight smirk tugging at his lips. It only deepened the attractive creases around his eyes, making your fingers twitch—itching to reach over and trace every wrinkle on his face. “I had work.” You said, crossing your arms over your chest in a defensive stance. You needed to set a boundary. You didn't appreciate how naturally the conversation slipped into old rhythms. How easily he could charm you. Harry let out an amused hum at your answer. "This late?" He tilted his head. "That’s not very healthy.” You almost scoffed at that. Funny. That used to be your line. You only shrugged. Harry was no longer entitled to detailed logs of your day. There was no need for explanations. You could tell that he was bothered by your answer that gave away nothing, but you kept your mouth shut. "Boyfriend?" He inquired, trying to lighten the mood. "No."

Harry’s ears perked up. "What do you mean no?" He frowned, as if the idea of you being single was outrageous. But you knew better than to be tricked by his fake concern. It's all over his eyes—that victorious glint. “I’m single.” You turned to refill his mug before he could say anything, mentally rolling your eyes. But being just as insufferable as your ex-lover, you added.

“For two years now.”

The man had to bite the inside of his cheeks to stop his smile from widening.

There was a beat of silence before you spoke again. “How’s your own work?”

Harry went silent. Your eyebrows shot up in confusion as his smile disappeared. "What happened?" You placed the tea pot down. “I resigned.” Your lips parted in surprise. “You what?” Him stepping down was the last thing you expected; given his work ethic was what drove you away in the first place.

“Just this afternoon.” He said quietly, chewing on his bottom lip as he observed your reaction.

“Then who’s handling it now?” You asked further, forcing yourself to keep your voice level.

“My brother. He’s taking over the company.”

Your face burned more and more with each word that left his lips. He said them so casually like he didn’t pour his sweat and tears into the company.

Like he didn’t neglect you for it. You didn't know whether to be mad or relieved. Mad that he was acting like his decision didn't matter; and relieved that he would finally be taking a break.

Harry took in your expression, aware how your mind was running miles per second at this information. Guilt started to eat him alive—how will you take it if you knew why?

He hoped you wouldn't ask.

Though, when did luck ever side with him? "But why now?"

You rested your elbows against the countertop, looking intently into his eyes. The Harry you knew would never make rash decisions.

"You've been working so hard. And you’re not even close to retiring—”

The air inside your house suddenly felt too thin.

No.

No.

It can't be.

"Harry…" You called with a careful tone, afraid of the answer you'll get. "Tell me it's not what I think it is."

But his silence, and the way he avoided your eyes, was louder than any confirmation.

"Harry. Say something." You urged, tears burning at the back of your eyes as your stomach tightened. You wanted to shake him, make him speak. "Say something!"

"I'm sorry." He finally uttered, voice cracking as he himself tried to push down his tears.

You clenched your fists so tight they turned a shade paler; holding yourself together as your world fell apart.

“How.. how long…?” Your vision blurred as tears rapidly welled-up.

Harry gently took your hand in his, unclenching your fist and interlacing his fingers with yours. The sight of you crying shattered his heart. It was exactly what he was afraid of.

He leaned his head down and pressed a kiss over your knuckles. “They estimate about.." His lips stayed there as he shut his eyes and took a long, deep breath.

"..about five months.”

Your knees buckled and gave out as the words hammered into your head.

Five months. His words echoed in your head.

Harry rushed over to your side, letting the stool fall behind him with a loud crash. He dropped onto the floor next to you and pulled you into his arms, wrapping them tightly around your form.

“Shh, baby. It’s okay. I’m okay.” He chanted with a hushed tone. Despite his effort to comfort you, you could feel his chest shaking at every breath that left with his words.

“Please, Harry. Please tell me you’re lying.” You pleaded as tears rapidly streamed down your face, almost choking on them as you spoke.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He whispered against your hair as a tear finally escaped and trailed down his cheek. "I wish I was lying…"

His hand gently but firmly held the back of your head, letting you bury your face into the crook of his neck. He pulled you even closer against his chest, feeling it constricting from forcing his tears down.

After building up your walls for so long, they all finally came crashing down at this moment.

You wrapped your arms around Harry's neck, pulling him closer if that was even possible.

Harry responded, his forearms flexing at the intensity of his hold. "I'm sorry, baby." He whispered, breath hitting your temple like a gentle caress.

There, in the middle of the kitchen, sat you and Harry, holding on to each other as you cried your heart out.

Harry pulled his head back to look down at you, the pad of his thumb gently wiping your tears away. “Stop crying, Honey, please. I can’t bear to see you cry.”

It was hypocritical of him to say that with his own tears still streaming down his face. You looked up and tried to make out Harry’s features despite your blurred vision, and your heart dropped again to your stomach.

He was just as scared as you. Maybe even more.

"Don't cry, baby." He pulled his lips into a tight smile as he gazed into your eyes with affection. The kind you never received from anyone else except him.

"Smile for me." His thumb brushed the corner of your lips, trying to coax you into smiling.

"How can you expect me to smile, Harry?" Your eyes burned again with tears, feeling your frustration bubbling up. Frustrated at the way he was playing this down. Frustrated at the illness that's trying to take him away from you.

Your mind brought back memories of that day. The day Harry was going to propose to you. The day he was supposed to be your fiancee.

Your phone rang inside your purse and you picked up to be greeted with Harry's voice, breath heavy. "Baby, I'm on my way. I'm so sorry to keep you waiting, but just wait a bit. I'll be there in three."

"Harry, are you running?" You asked, concern etched in your voice. Harry chuckled breathlessly.

"Wait for me, baby." He said before hanging up.

You could only sigh, sitting on a bench at Central Park. That same spot where you had met for the first time.

Your fingers nervously played with the hem of your yellow dress, excited about today's date. Mainly because of where you were; and because you wanted to show off the sundress that Harry loved so much.

Your eyes trailed over to your watch every few seconds with a soft smile, anticipating your boyfriend's arrival. He specifically got off work early today so he could spend more time with you, but you also understood how bad the traffic could be at this time of day.

"Honey!"

Your head whipped over to the direction of the voice, knowing all too well it was Harry's. You practically jumped to your feet, a wide smile gracing your face at the sight of Harry sprinting in your direction.

His smile was as wide as yours and he waved the bouquet in his hand, adorned with bright yellow and white flowers. You waved back with a soft chuckle, feeling your heart fluttering in your chest.

As Harry got closer, your feet started towards him, wanting to pull him into a kiss—already missing him way too much since he left for work this morning.

Until his eyes went wide and his hand flew over to clutch his chest with an audible gasp.

"Harry?" You froze, eyes wide in terror.

Harry dropped to his knees, looking up at you through those red eyes that would forever haunt you after that day.

"HARRY!" But his body fell onto the hard ground before you could take another step.

Everything went by in a daze after. Harry was rushed to the ICU, and you had to break the news to his family.

You had no time to rest and process everything that had just happened. Not until you sat on the chair outside his ICU ward with only his blazer to hold on to.

That's when you felt it. Your heart shattering into a million pieces.

Tears streamed down your face like a broken dam as you recalled the past two hours. Harry passing out right in front of you; The panic inside the ambulance; Watching the doctors bring him back with defibrillators while you could only stand helplessly at the other side of the glass.

You didn't dare name it, but you knew what had happened. You had seen it in movies; yet you never thought it would happen to the person you loved most.

You could have lost Harry. Forever.

You glanced at the door of Harry's ward. You were not allowed in; and that scared you more than anything.

You stared down at Harry's blazer again, bringing it close to your chest as the doctor's words rang in your ears. "Mr. Castillo is diagnosed with a coronary microvascular disease. His heart wasn't able to pump enough blood while running, which led to the cardiac arrest."

You would have given anything to go back and tell him to stop running. To let you wait a little longer at the park. As long as he was safe.

You felt something hard bulging from the pocket of his blazer. Something like a cube. Curious, you took it out to find a small, blue velvet box. The air got stuck in your throat, and you felt more tears prickling at the corner of your eyes.

Carefully opening the box, you saw a beautiful diamond ring. The same one you had been admiring when you passed by Harry Winston a few months prior.

The memory once again flashed through your mind. Harry being so excited that he couldn't wait a few minutes inside his car and chose to run to you.

You snapped the box close, jaw clenching hard that your teeth almost hurt.

"You shouldn't have ran, Harry…"

Harry hadn't been the same.

After waking up from the coma a few days later and learning about his condition, you could feel a shift in your relationship.

He would stare out into space more often until he would unconsciously block out your voice and ignore you.

You refused to coddle the negative thoughts early on, knowing he was recovering. Harry needed you now more than ever; so you took care of him to the best of your abilities, always insisting to stay by his side and look after him—even when his mother would advise you to get some rest.

However, your gut feelings only heightened after Harry got discharged from the hospital. He was now a different man in your eyes; always occupied with work.

It became harder to see him. Day by day, you got more and more worried about his well-being, and he did nothing to assure you otherwise. Your days were filled wondering if he was working too hard, if he was getting enough rest.

At one point, you realized that he was distancing himself from you. Deliberately.

Harry used to come home right on time, and he would skip office events as much as he could just so he could spend those time with you.

Now that man is no more.

He no longer wished you a good morning or ask how you were doing. Every reply to your texts were short and dry as if you were his employee—not the woman he once chose to marry.

You tried. You really did. To call him, send him food, get him gifts to cheer him up, and plan a dinner date. None worked. You couldn't even visit him at his house anymore—because he was rarely ever there; always in the office or on a flight somewhere for a business.

You felt neglected by your own boyfriend; both physically and emotionally. And after months of tolerating his behavior, you could no longer take it.

So one day, after receiving yet another text from Harry saying he'd finish work late, you grabbed your car key and drove straight to Castle Group.

And you let him win.

“I know what you’re doing, Harry.” You said the moment you stepped inside his office, eyes burning through his skull.

You didn't even wait for his secretary to announce your arrival. The last thread of your patience had vanished a while ago whilst on your way to this luxurious office tower.

“Honey—” Harry sat frozen behind his mahogany desk as you stormed inside.

“Don’t." You cut him off, holding a finger up. "I’m not stupid."

Harry stilled. He'd never seen you this angry.

"You’re trying to drive me away."

"Congratulations." You shot him a tight smile, which only made the man sitting in his exorbitant leather chair feel smaller. "It’s working.”

Hurt flashed through his eyes; and you caught the half-a-second display of vulnerability before he composed himself.

“Baby, please.” Harry stood up abruptly, the rollers sending his chair backwards until it gently hit the ceiling-to-floor glass window that overlooked the city.

“Hear me out.” He carefully stepped closer to you, arms extended with palms facing up—as if you were a wild animal in need of taming.

“No!" You shouted, tears burning in your eyes. By now, you couldn't care less if the whole executive floor could hear you. "I worry for you day and night, but you won’t give me a chance to take care of you!”

“Because I’m scared!”

Harry's shouting that rivaled yours instantly shut you up. He took another step closer, towering over you.

“I can’t..” His voice broke, eyes turning soft and misty.

“I don’t know how to deal with this.. this illness." He gently took your hand in his.

For the first time in weeks, you finally had his full attention. And it sucked that you'd had to compete with his work.

He took a deep breath and continued, "I can’t do this, baby... You deserve someone who can love you fully."

Your heart sank. You didn't like where this was going.

"I love you so much…" He said softly, swallowing the tears that were building up.

"But—" His breath shook.

"But you don’t deserve this weak heart that will soon never beat for you again.” He roughly pounded his fist against his chest, eyes bloodshot from holding back his tears. It was as if he was angry at his feeble heart that won't let him be around until you're old and gray.

Your resolve almost faltered, until they hardened again just as fast. You had made up your mind, after all those nights of being refused a fraction of his time and affection.

“Well you’re a coward.” You spat. Harry's grip on your hand loosened in an instant and his crestfallen face reflected the shattering of his heart.

You knew that you were turning into a villain in your own love story—but it was time you choose yourself over a man who didn't want you by his side at his lowest.

"I just don't want to hurt you by leaving you behind once I die!"

There it was again. A reminder that his time was coming.

“Well now you’re doing it twice. So fine! Since you’re so insistent on pushing me away, I’ll let you be alone when you take your last breath!”

Your stormed out of his office without looking back, ignoring the spectators outside and heading straight towards the elevator that soon took you to your car.

Hot tears streamed down your face the moment you closed the door, fingers clasping over the steering wheel tightly like an anchor.

You knew in your heart that you loved Harry despite everything; but the anger and resentment were still there, bright, and far from dying down.

Harry backed up slowly as he watched you leave, stumbling over nothing before holding the edge of his desk.

Once you were completely out of his sight, his legs gave out and he slid down against the side of his desk—the sturdy wooden body supporting his back as he sat on the cold marble floor, knees close to his chest.

He bit his quivering lips, throat constricting as he stared at the shiny marble floor that reflected the sunlight directly into his eyes.

The more he replayed the moment you left in his head, the harder his body shook, forcing out his tears that had been pushed down too hard, that now the immense pressure was starting to backfire. When the dam finally broke, Harry buried his face in between his knees, letting out the wails that kept him from hyperventilating.

His chest hurt, but none of that mattered when he lost the one thing that kept his heart beating.

Your words rang in his ears over and over again, "I’ll let you be alone when you take your last breath!" His throat burned, and he tried—really tried—to hold back the next sobs, but to no avail.

Harry never imagined he would cry over a woman. Over love. The one thing he swore makes him feel pathetic.

But now here he was; crying over you on the floor of his office like a pitiful child—and he couldn’t blame anyone, but himself.

"Since you left.. I've only been waiting for my time to come." Harry spoke, his voice gruff. "I threw myself into work; even worse than before you left. I thought that would distract me.."

You pulled back slightly to meet his gaze and Harry gently wiped the rest of your tears away. "But the more I did that, the more I hated myself."

His hands slid down your arms to hold your hands in his. "I hated myself for pushing you away. For thinking that this was my fight alone." He sniffed. "It took me way too long to realize that all you wanted from me was to let you stay; and I took that away from you."

"Stupid me for thinking I was doing the right thing, when the whole time I was actually being a selfish asshole." You squeezed his hand gently as a silent comfort. "I hurt you, baby. I hurt you so badly; and at the same time, I hurt myself even more. And my mother."

Harry quickly wiped away a stray tear that escaped his eyes. "I hurt the two most precious women in my life. She had wanted nothing for me but happiness, but I threw my happiness away the moment I stopped fighting for us."

"I don't deserve your forgiveness. I know I don't." He shook his head, observing the change in your expressions with desperation. "But please, baby. Give me a chance to make this right. The last chance. It's all I need."

"If—if I die tomorrow, I want your face be the last thing I see. I don't—I don't want to be alone when that time comes…" His shoulders shook as he pleaded.

You tugged at his hand, and Harry didn't wait to wrap his arms around you again, clinging onto your smaller form like a lifeline.

You stroked his back with the flat of your palm. "I won't forgive you for thinking you should face it alone."

Harry's heart sank, but he slowly nodded. "I don't deserve it—"

"But I also won't forgive myself for letting you push me away." You cut him off. "I lost when I walked out."

Harry pulled away to gaze intently into your eyes. "No." He firmly said, shaking his head. "You did nothing wrong, baby. You don't ever let me treat you like that again."

When he saw the stubbornness in your eyes, he swiftly took your face in his hands. "Don't think for one second that you're responsible for what happened between us." He said with a low, warning tone. "I deserved it. All of it. Hell I deserve even more for how much I hurt you."

"But now I'm gonna make it right." He promised, loosening his hold on your face as he bit his lower lip in hesitation. "If you'll let me."

"I know five months are not be enough to make up for the two years.. but with the time that I have, I'll love you with every bit of me."

"Harry…"

He shook his head to stop you. "I told you I resigned. So from now on, whenever you need me, I'll be home. Every second left to my life, I will devote them to you."

"No, Harry. There has to be a way. There has to be. You can't." You cried, gripping his wrists tightly as he held you face in his palms. "Five months is too soon…"

Harry scooped you up and pulled you against him, cradling your body against his chest before burying his face into your hair. "I wish there is a way, baby. I would do anything just to stay with you longer. Anything.." His words trailed as he let out a shaky sigh and shut his eyes tight.

When you both pulled away again, Harry leaned his forehead against yours, letting your breaths mingle. "Will you.." His fingers ran through your hair to soothe you. "allow me into your life again?"

There was a pause before you replied, "Only if.."

Harry looked at you with a newfound determination. Whatever condition you'll set, he'd fulfill them all if it meant getting you back.

"If you give me that ring this time."

Harry let out a surprise breath before a smile appeared on his tear-stained face.

"I have it." He quickly said. "Inside my blazer pocket. I can go on my knee right now if you want me to, honey."

A soft chuckle escaped your lips before you leaned in, capturing his in a gentle kiss. Harry froze for a heartbeat, then his hand slid up to cradle your jaw, drawing you closer as he deepened the kiss. The faint taste of tears lingered between you—a bittersweet reminder of everything you'd endured apart, and of the love neither of you would ever regret choosing a second time.

You pulled away just enough to meet his eyes, your lips leaving his with a soft brush. "Not right now. We're a mess."

Harry chuckled and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. "We are."

"Are you sure you don't want to sleep at your house? I can send you back. It's more comfortable there."

Your were both lying on your bed after the emotional downpour. Harry held you against his chest, and you pressed your ear against him where his heart was consistently beating.

"No." Harry shook his head, nuzzling his nose against your hair as he breathed in the scent that was uniquely you. "I want to be here with you."

You pulled your head back slightly to look up at him, meeting his eyes. "And for the record," He spoke in a hushed tone. "I sleep better in your bed..." He leaned down to press a kiss against your forehead. "Always have.."

You laid there in comfortable silence, indulging in the comfort of being in each other's arms. "Baby?" You hummed as he called you softly.

"I'm sorry. I really, really am. I can't imagine how much you've been hurting because of me." Your gaze softened. You were hurt, yes, but you couldn't imagine how much harder it was for him.

"Did you ever stop loving me?" At your quiet, hesitant question, Harry immediately shook his head.

"Never. Not for one second. And I regret not coming to you sooner."

"For the past two years.. when I close my eyes, all I see is you." He gulped, eyes gleaming with fresh tears. "When I open my eyes, all I wish to see is you. Even when you're not around, I felt you everywhere. All the time."

"Harry.." You felt your own tears welling up at his admission. "I was angry, and I resented you for how you pushed me away. But more than that, I regret the way I ended things between us."

"Because even then, I loved you." Harry's breath trembled as he listened. "I still do."

"And time may be limited for us, but I'd rather have you now than never." You said, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. "So please.. don't push me away again."

Your eyes fluttered close when he leaned down to kiss your eyelid, inhaling shakily. "I've lost you once, baby. I'm not losing you again. Not in this life—and not the next." He swore, running his fingers through your hair.

You couldn't form any word. The immense love you had for this man was unlike anything you ever felt for anyone.

"I love you, Baby. I'll love you till I die, and even after that…"

You arrived home from work and immediately spotted a huge bouquet leaning against the door of your apartment. The sight made you smile wide, and all the exhaustion from the day completely disappeared along with your frown.

It was from Harry.

You picked it up and admired the flowers he had picked for you this time; pink roses and white mums. A mix of yours and Harry's favorites.

There was a printed note on the small card that was neatly tied around the wrapper.

Happy One Year Anniversary, My Honey. I Love You.

"Harry? What are you doing?" You asked the moment you stepped inside your house to find your husband hunched over the kitchen island, typing on his laptop.

He almost jumped at your voice, having been too focused on his task. The moment he saw you, he shut his laptop close with a sharp slap as if he was secretly going over your bank statements.

"Uhh nothing." He sat up straight and stilled like a deer caught in the headlights, carving a smirk on your face.

"Nothing?" You waltzed over to him, making him chuckle nervously. "I thought you don't have any work." You raised your eyebrows, seeing right through him.

Harry tried to divert your attention and pulled you by your hips, letting you stand in between his parted legs as he looked up at you. "It's not work." He assured, being painfully shy with his tone and smile.

You couldn't help but cup his cheeks, stroking his beard and dimples with your thumbs. "Then what were you up to, hm?"

"Surprise?" He said, for some reason making his eyes rounder.

"Come on. Not even a hint?" You pouted, attempting to coax him into giving in.

"Nope."

"What if I give you a kiss?" You negotiated. A deal that never gets rejected.

Harry grinned childishly. "Then I guess I'll consider it."

You crossed the threshold of your room and sat on the edge of your bed, holding the bouquet close to you.

Ever since the day he resigned from his job, Harry had kept himself occupied with planning gifts for you as you leave the house for work. The one you're currently staring at was one of them.

It's the twelfth card, twelfth bouquet; a reminder of the twelve months since you let Harry put a ring on your finger.

Today was a special day, hence the bigger present. A teddy bear sat in the center, surrounded by the beautiful arrangement of flowers. Your finger traced its soft fur before halting at a little note hanging around its neck.

Keep him on my side of the bed. He'll sleep better there ♡

It was seven months ago when Harry's condition deteriorated. On his last checkup, the doctor had shook his head and said the two words that still haunted you until today, "anytime now".

You had tried to prepare yourself for the inevitable, but no one could ever truly prepare for something like death. What you weren't ready for was for the time to arrive one ordinary morning—while you were making breakfast for him.

Harry wanted to sleep a little longer like the previous mornings, needing more rest than usual due to his current physical condition. His pale complexion was no longer your biggest worry. He rarely ever stepped out of the house anymore except for some sun exposure in the mornings.

"Baby, wake me up for breakfast?" He said weakly, looking up at you with those tired eyes that made your stomach clench every time.

You smiled softly—masking the sadness in your heart—and nodded as you wiped away the beads of sweat on his forehead with a small towel.

"I will. Rest up, darling. I'll make your favorite."

You kissed his forehead before getting up.

Unaware it'll be the last.

Harry's grip on your arm loosened as you pulled away, watching you from the corner of his eyes as you left for the kitchen.

"I love you." He whispered under his breath when the door clicked shut behind you.

You held the bear against your chest, your body trembling as you soaked its fur with your tears—remembering your husband's last smile, last request, last touch.

Harry didn't know love before you; but once he did, it was his heart that couldn't bear the strength of his love.

Thank you so much for reading! Your comments and reblogs would be greatly appreciated. I would love to know your thoughts!! <3

I went into this thinking I was getting a sweet second chance romance and somehow ended up crying like I had personally lost the love of my life.

The “stay.”

The ring.

The “I don’t want to be alone when that time comes.”

Please. I was NOT prepared.

What hurt the most is that neither of them was really the villain. Harry thought he was protecting her, and she thought he didn’t want her anymore. They were both just scared and in love, hurting each other because they didn’t know how to survive something so unfair.

And then this line—

"Harry didn't know love before you; but once he did, it was his heart that couldn't bear the strength of his love."

Yeah... that completely destroyed me.

This was so painfully beautiful. I cried, I suffered, and I'm going to be thinking about them for a very, very long time.

Lesson 1: Never Call Your Ex When You’re in Trouble

Lesson 2: Don’t Underestimate an Ex With a Plan

Lesson 3: Don’t Poke a Queen in Heels

Lesson 4: Don’t Show Up at Your Ex’s House Unannounced

Lesson 5: You Can’t Hurt Your Ex Without Bleeding Too

Lesson 6: Never Share a Room With Your Ex

story timeline (contains spoilers if you haven’t read up to Lesson 6)

Lesson 7: Denial Is Not a Strategy, Darling

Lesson 8: Never Enter a Battle You Can’t Win

Lesson 9: Ears Lie. Hearts Don't

Lesson 10: Pain is Shared, Not Borne Alone

Lesson 11: Love Answers Only to Itself

Lesson 12: Careful. Life Doesn’t Spare What You Love

Lesson 13: Love Doesn't Belong on the Balance Sheet

Queen moodboard

Lesson 14: Nothing Worth Having Is Simple

Lesson 15: Never Mistake Restraint for Weakness

Lesson 16: Never Gamble What You Can’t Survive Losing

Lesson 17: Expect the Unexpected… Twice

Lesson 18: Love is never Logical new

Lesson 19: coming soon

Lesson 20: the last chapter coming soon

Epilogue. coming soon

Next lesson loading… Stay Tuned babes...💋

small lessons (drabbles, bonus scenes)

I'm Yours. (from Lesson 12)

After Hours. (from Lesson 14)

it started out so whimsical and funny and just constantly making me laugh though you can tell the foreshadowing of something terrible that had happened that had left the OC forever changed

and then half way through the series we finally discovered. the pain. the trauma. the hell that OC has gone through.

you’ve made us fall in love with your OC in a fanfic story that one would thought harry castillo would be the center of the story. but no. both characters have been given such beautiful back stories and personalities and quirks and flaws that you can’t help but love BOTH of them

and what’s MORE unexpected was the OC’s family. they’re written in a way that makes you feel they’re literally made of flesh and blood. the family dynamics. the emotionally constipated but loving mother. the strict but soft father. the whimsical and deeply unserious but loyal as fuck brother. the people who work for her family. the best friends.

this is all written by someone who understands kinships and friendships and relationship dynamics. and they’re all so incredibly mind blowing and make the story all the more BEAUTIFUL <3

and the trauma. the traumatic event that is at the center of this story is so heartbreaking and horrifying and reading that it’s something horrible that had happened in real life that has inspired this backstory just makes it so much more heartbreaking but also makes me freaking ADMIRE you so freaking much because YOU created this story, and i hope it has been cathartic and has helped you process that trauma.

and this is so inspiring because that’s also what i want to do — to process something deeply traumatic through writing stories like this one

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SHARING. for sharing your own story. and for creating and sharing this beautiful one