Epilogue – Jessa
Epilogue
Jessa
I frown at my tablet. I can’t believe the journalist twisted all my words.
I’m sprawled on the couch, with my feet propped on the coffee table.
My black heels lie abandoned on the rug, where I kicked them off the second I got home.
The penthouse is quiet except for the hum of the city forty floors below.
Floor-to-ceiling windows show Manhattan glittering in the evening light, but I’m not looking at the view.
I’m reading this article that’s making my blood pressure climb with every paragraph.
The photos are candid shots from the interview last week.
Me and Castien in our living room, him standing behind the couch with his hand on my shoulder.
Me laughing at something he said, and another of us by the window, his wings partially extended.
The photographer captured genuine moments, and I thought that was good.
I thought people would see what we have.
But the journalist took those moments and poisoned them.
One month. That’s how long Castien and I have been living together.
One month of waking up next to him, learning how to share space, and building a new life.
I agreed to the interview because I wanted to control the narrative.
I wanted to tell our story before the world started inventing ridiculous theories.
I sat down with this woman, looked her in the eye, and told her the truth.
I said Castien and I are serious. I said we’re in love. I said he’s not a novelty or a phase.
She smiled, nodded, and took notes.
And then she wrote this:
“Jezebel Holloway reclines on her custom sofa – worth more than most New Yorkers earn in a year – and speaks about her relationship with Unit 07, the steel seraph known as Castien, with the easy confidence of a woman who has never been denied anything she wanted. ‘We’re happy together,’ she says, her electric blue hair perfectly styled, her designer outfit immaculate.
Behind her, Castien stands silent and watchful, every inch the bodyguard he was designed to be.
One cannot help but wonder: is this love, or simply the ultimate luxury accessory? ”
I want to throw my tablet across the room.
The article continues:
“When asked about their future, Holloway becomes animated, discussing her new psychology practice and the Hollowmere Castle restoration project. But when the conversation turns to Castien, her answers grow vague. ‘He makes me happy,’ she says, reaching back to touch his hand. ‘Isn’t that enough?’ For a woman who has spent her entire life fighting to prove herself, the lack of specificity is telling.
If you read between the words, you can clearly see that Jessa Holloway is simply having the best time of her life.
And why shouldn’t she? She’s young, beautiful, and has just inherited a billion dollars.
A relationship with a legendary warrior who literally cannot disobey her wishes seems like the perfect way to celebrate. ”
I curse under my breath. I want to find her and explain exactly what I think of her comprehension skills. Maybe I’ll hire someone to write an equally terrible article about her. See how she likes being misrepresented.
I throw the tablet onto the coffee table and stretch.
My neck aches and my shoulders are tight.
Today was brutal. Back-to-back meetings, conference calls with the contractors in Cornwall, reviewing financial reports that my accountant insists I need to understand.
I’m still learning how to manage this much money, still figuring out what being rich means beyond owning real estate and a private plane.
The last thing I needed was to read this article. It was supposed to help. It was supposed to show people that Castien and I are real.
I pick up the tablet again. I can’t help myself. I scroll down and find the paragraph that really makes my blood boil:
“Perhaps most telling is Holloway’s silence on one particular subject: why Castien continues to work for Monster Security Agency.
Unit 07 takes assignments, spends weeks away on classified missions, and returns to the MSA for regular maintenance and debriefing.
His girlfriend has more than enough money to retire him.
She could free him from the obligation of employment.
Hasn’t he worked enough? Hasn’t he served enough kings, popes, warlords, and now wealthy heiresses?
The fact that she allows him to continue suggests that perhaps she doesn’t see him as a partner at all, but rather as a very expensive employee who happens to share her bed. ”
I close my eyes and count to ten. It doesn’t really work to calm me down, so I get up and go looking for something that will.
The kitchen is all white marble and stainless steel. I hate cooking, so this is basically a museum. I open the wine fridge and pull out a bottle of Sancerre. The glass I pour myself is generous. I need it after reading that garbage.
The reason Castien still works is because he wants to. That’s it. He likes having a purpose beyond being with me, likes using his skills and helping people who need protection. When I asked him if he wanted to quit, he looked at me like I’d suggested cutting off his wings.
Do I like it? No, not exactly. When he’s on a mission, he’s gone for days, sometimes weeks. The penthouse feels too big without him, and the bed too cold.
But I’d never take it away from him. Because watching him come home after a successful mission, seeing the satisfaction in his glowing eyes, hearing him tell me the little he’s allowed to reveal… That matters. His work makes him happy, and I won’t strip that from him just because I miss him.
Besides, it’s not like I’m home all the time, either. I get back at midnight some nights, sleep for five hours, and leave again. My schedule is insane.
Maybe I’m doing this whole being rich thing wrong. Maybe I should slow down and enjoy the money instead of sinking it into projects that stress me out.
But that’s not who I am. I didn’t survive the vault just to sit around drinking wine.
The elevator beeps, then opens directly into the entry hall. A minute later, Castien walks in holding a dozen red roses.
I laugh. I can’t help it. He always brings me flowers when he comes home. It started the first day we moved in together, and he hasn’t missed once.
“How was your day?” I ask, taking the bouquet and burying my nose in the petals. They smell like summer.
“I met a new client,” he says. “The mission starts in two days.”
Two days. My stomach sinks, but I don’t let it show on my face.
He senses that something is wrong, though, and scrutinizes me with his silver gaze.
“What happened?”
“It’s nothing,” I say. “It doesn’t matter.”
I set the roses on the counter and close the distance between us. I have to tilt my head back to look at him. Seven feet of polished steel, wings folded against his back, beautiful and impossible.
“You’re home,” I whisper. “I missed you.”
I kiss him. The steel where his mouth should be is warm.
He’s heated himself for me. Castien wraps his arms around me, and I cling to him and wrap my legs around his waist. He lifts me easily, his hands supporting me, and I cover his face in kisses.
His jaw, his cheekbones, the place where his nose would be if he had one.
He holds me close, and I feel the heat radiating from him in waves.
I reach for my wine glass on the counter and take a sip.
“What I really do regret,” I say, “is that you can’t taste this delicious wine.”
“I could taste it,” he says. “If you licked me.”
I blink.
“If I what?”
I laugh, but heat pools low in my belly.
His tone drops lower.
“Lick my face, Jessa. I want to taste the wine on your tongue.”
I shudder. My panties are already wet, and I need to set the glass down before I drop it.
I lean in and lick a trail from his jaw to his temple.
He growls, deep and primal. The sound vibrates through me. I know he’s hard for me. I know the steel plate over his groin is pressing against an erection he can’t control. I know we’ll be in the bedroom in minutes.
“Two days,” I murmur. “And then you’re leaving me?”
“Don’t joke about that. I’m not leaving you.”
I pout.
“Then let’s make the best of it. Take me to our bedroom.”
Castien starts walking. I hold on to him, arms around his neck, legs locked around his waist. His hands support my ass, fingers splayed wide. The heat from his body seeps into mine as I sigh and rest my head on his shoulder.
I really shouldn’t care what that stupid article says.
If I remember well, the journalist was ogling Castien all through the interview.
She kept staring at his wings. She asked him questions instead of me, even though I was the one being profiled.
She’s just jealous. She probably wants a plaything of her own, and that’s why she called him one.
It’s actually sad when someone can’t tell a relationship is genuine and two souls are bound by love.
As my steel seraph deposits me on the bed and buries his head between my legs, I realize how lucky I am and how little I care about the world and the people outside of our bubble.
He’s everything to me. And if the traps and challenges would’ve beaten me instead of me beating them, I would’ve still gotten him. And he would’ve been enough.