Damien Vale & Elena Vale
The mansion was quiet now.
No more slammed doors. No more screaming silence between stolen glances. No more running.
Elena sat on the edge of the bed, the same one she had once tried to escape from, and watched the man who now lay asleep beside her—not in dominance, not in possession, but in rest.
Damien Vale had never been soft. But in his sleep, she could see the boy buried under the man. The boy who'd loved too fiercely, lost too much, and learned to protect himself by building walls lined with fire.
He stirred slightly. Even now, his instincts were sharp. One arm reached out blindly, finding her waist and pulling her close without opening his eyes.
She didn't flinch anymore.
They had made peace, not by forgetting—but by remembering differently.
In the weeks after the public reveal, she had left. Again. Not in anger, but in need of breath. And Damien hadn't stopped her—not this time. He had simply told her, "Come back when you want to. Not when I ask you to."
And she had.
Not because she was weak.
But because she chose him.
A man who had torn her apart, and then begged her to help rebuild him with hands that still trembled. A man who had once said nothing, and then learned how to speak the truth even when it hurt.
They were learning to live with love.
It wasn't soft.
It wasn't perfect.
But it was theirs.
Outside, the rain began to fall. Light, steady. Like forgiveness.
Elena curled into Damien's side, her hand resting gently over her growing belly.
He opened his eyes, still groggy. "You okay?"
She smiled. "For the first time... I think I am."
He kissed her forehead, then her lips—slowly, like a man who finally understood what it meant to hold something and not crush it.
And in the quiet, they didn't promise forever.
They promised today.
And that was enough.
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. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔼𝕟𝕕