The television screen was a black mirror.
It reflected the two of them on the white sofa, the sprawling city lights behind them a distant, silent fireworks display. The noise was gone. The headlines, the accusations, the lies—all of it had been silenced with the press of a button.
Kian’s words hung in the air. We’re safe.
Audrey leaned into him, her entire body sinking into his warmth. It was the first true, unconditional peace she had felt in months. Not a temporary ceasefire. Not a stolen moment in a pub. This was the end of the war.
“I can’t believe it,” she whispered, her voice rough with emotion.
“Believe it.” He shifted, turning to face her completely. He took her hands, his gaze searching hers. The ruthless magnate who had just leveled his own mother was gone. This was Kian. The man from the docks. The man who saw her. “It’s just us now.”
“Just us,” she repeated. The words felt impossibly large.
For so long, “us” had been a secret. A rebellion. A desperate escape from Cole, from Beatrice, from a world that wanted to tear them apart. Now, “us” was just… everything.
He traced the line of her jaw with his thumb. “I hate this place.”
The confession surprised her. She looked around the vast, empty penthouse. It was a palace of glass and air. “It’s… beautiful.”
“It’s my mother’s idea of a home,” he said, his voice laced with disdain. “A showroom. A statement. It’s not a life.”
His eyes held hers. “I want a life, Audrey. With you.”
Her heart swelled, a painful, beautiful ache in her chest. “What kind of life?”
“One with clutter,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips. “One with books piled on the floor and your research spread out over a dining room table. One with a nursery that isn’t decorated in fifty shades of gray.”
He squeezed her hand. “I want a home.”
Tears welled in her eyes, hot and immediate. Not tears of fear or pain, but of overwhelming relief. He wasn’t just talking about a future; he was painting a picture of it, and she was in every single brushstroke.
“Kian,” she started, her voice breaking. “I was so scared.”
“I know.”
“Not just of them. Of… this. Of you being Kian Sterling, owner of penthouses and private jets. I was afraid I’d lose the man I met at The Crow’s Nest.”
He pulled her closer, his forehead resting against hers. “You will never lose that man. He’s the only part of me that’s real. You saved him, Audrey. Before you, I was suffocating in places like this.”
He was giving her the one thing she’d never had. The truth. A love that didn’t seek to control or possess, but to build something together.
Her hand drifted down to the gentle swell of her belly. Their future. Their child.
“What if I’m not a good mother?” The fear was a quiet ghost that had haunted the edges of her mind.
Kian pulled back slightly, his expression serious. He placed his large, warm hand over hers, covering their baby.
“You’re already a great mother,” he said, his voice fierce with conviction. “You fought for this baby when you thought you were alone. You fought monsters for this baby. You are the strongest person I have ever met.”
He paused, his own vulnerability showing in his eyes. “My fear is that I’ll be like her. Cold. Calculating. That I’ll teach our child that love is conditional.”
“Never,” Audrey said, her voice firm. She reached up, cupping his face. “Look at what you just did. You tore down an empire for us. You chose love over power. You are nothing like her.”
His eyes closed, and he leaned into her touch, a shudder running through him. He was letting go of a lifetime of pain, right here with her.
When he opened his eyes again, the last of the shadows were gone. There was only light. There was only her.
“I love you, Audrey Wells,” he murmured, the words a sacred vow.
“I love you, Kian Sterling,” she replied, smiling through her tears. “All of you. The magnate and the man from the docks.”
The space between them vanished. His mouth found hers, not with the desperate hunger of their stolen moments, but with a deep, reverent tenderness. It was a kiss of promises kept and futures beginning. A kiss that tasted like home.
He slowly drew her to her feet, his hands sliding from her waist to the small of her back. He led her from the cold, public living room, down a hallway, and into his bedroom.
This room was different. There was a stack of worn paperbacks on the nightstand. A stray jacket slung over a chair. It was the only room in the penthouse that felt lived in.
He undressed her slowly, his fingers worshiping every inch of her skin. He knelt before her, his hands framing her belly, and pressed a soft, reverent kiss to the spot where their child grew.
Audrey’s breath hitched. She tangled her fingers in his hair, overwhelmed by the sheer, unadulterated love pouring from him.
He rose and lifted her into his arms, carrying her the final few steps to the bed. He laid her down on the cool sheets, his eyes never leaving hers.
There were no more secrets. No more fear.
This wasn’t an escape. It wasn’t a frantic collision of bodies in the dark.
It was a celebration.
Every touch was slow, deliberate, a conversation without words. He showed her with his hands, with his mouth, that she was cherished. She showed him that he was seen, that he was loved for the man he was, not the name he carried.
When he finally moved inside her, it was a slow, perfect union. A homecoming. They moved together, a rhythm of pure emotion, their bodies finally expressing the love their hearts had known all along.
Her climax washed over her, a wave of light and sensation, and she cried out his name. He followed a moment later, his body shuddering against hers as he buried his face in her neck, whispering her name like a prayer.
They lay tangled together for a long time afterward, limbs intertwined, skin slick, hearts beating in a matched, steady rhythm. The city lights twinkled outside the window.
Audrey lay with her head on his chest, tracing idle patterns on his skin. The chaos was over. The monsters were caged. The war was won.
“What are you thinking about?” Kian’s voice was a sleepy, contented rumble beneath her ear.
She smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his chest.
“I’m thinking about clutter,” she whispered. “And bookshelves. And what color we should paint the nursery.”