Epilogue The Last Goodbye
Damian
The bed slams against the wall.
Over and over, the rhythm relentless, matching the sharp, desperate sounds falling from Nichole’s lips. My name. Her name. Nothing else exists in this moment.
Sweat drips from my body onto hers, slickening the connection between us as I thrust deep one final time. She shatters beneath me, her back arching, her nails digging into my skin, leaving marks that I welcome.
I groan against her throat, my release following hers as I bury myself inside her, letting the last tremors of pleasure rip through us both.
Fuck.
For a moment, neither of us move.
We just breathe.
Heavy. Labored. Like we’ve just run a marathon.
I roll off of her, landing on my back, chest heaving, muscles still twitching from the aftermath. Nichole laughs—a soft, breathy sound that makes my stomach clench in a different way.
“That was…” She pauses, trying to find the words, still catching her breath.
“Intense?” I offer, smirking at the ceiling.
She exhales a satisfied hum, stretching like a cat before slipping out of bed.
I watch as she pads toward the bathroom, completely bare, glowing with the aftereffects of our third round. My eyes trace the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist, the marks I left behind on her skin. She’s mine.
She disappears behind the door, and I hear the water turn on.
I prop an arm behind my head, still feeling the burn of her touch, the lingering high of having her completely unraveled beneath me. This woman, this force of nature, has been through hell. And yet, she’s here—still standing, still fighting.
My chest tightens at the thought.
A few minutes later, she returns, her hair slightly damp, wrapped in one of my shirts that’s far too big for her. She slides into bed beside me, her warmth pressing into my side as she rests her head on my chest.
“I forgot to tell you something,” she murmurs.
I run my fingers through her hair, feeling the slight hesitation in her body. “What is it?”
She sighs, like she’s trying to gather her thoughts. “That day. The day I found out I was pregnant. I had a dream.”
I still.
She doesn’t notice.
“It wasn’t like the other ones,” she continues. “It was… clear. Real. Like a memory I forgot I had. And then suddenly, I knew. You were there. You’ve always been there.”
She lifts her head slightly to look at me. “I did know you, Damian. I just didn’t remember.”
I exhale, tracing a finger along her jaw. “I know.”
Her brows knit together. “What?”
I let the moment stretch, knowing this is it. The truth.
“The dream mansion,” I say quietly. “That’s where I’ve been meeting you.”
Her lips part, confusion flickering in her gaze.
“That’s how I learned to tango,” I continue, watching her expression shift. “That’s how I knew you would be at the milonga. That’s how I knew what you needed from me before you even realized it yourself.”
Nichole doesn’t blink.
I cup her cheek, thumb brushing over her lips. “You told me, Nichole. Your dream self.”
She stiffens. “That’s impossible.”
I smirk. “You think so?”
She swallows, shifting against me. “That… that doesn’t make sense. I never even used to dream.”
“I know.”
I let that settle before explaining.
“You weren’t able to dream because of the amnesia. Your mind locked those memories away because of something you were too afraid to face.” I pause, studying the conflict in her expression. “But before that? Before everything that happened? I was the only person you truly trusted.”
She shakes her head slowly. “No. That—”
“You trusted me because I saved you,” I say gently. “The attempted kidnapping. The ex that broke your heart. Both times, I was there. And now, here we are again.”
Her breath hitches.
It’s overwhelming her. I can see it in her eyes.
The truth is too much.
She pulls back slightly, shaking her head again. “Damian, this doesn’t—”
“It’s okay,” I cut in. “I don’t need you to believe it right now.”
I kiss her forehead, holding her close.
“But now that you know,” I murmur, “I don’t think I’ll be able to meet you there again.”
She stills.
“What?”
I exhale, brushing my lips over her temple. “The next time I dream, I think it’ll be the last time I see her.”
Nichole blinks at me, absorbing that.
“She’s waiting for me,” I say softly. “I need to say goodbye.”
She doesn't argue. She just holds me tighter.
And as I close my eyes, I already feel it—
The dream pulling me in.
I feel it before I see it—the shift, the quiet hum of something both familiar and final. The weight of reality fades, replaced by the surreal, intoxicating stillness of a world that only exists for her.
Then the music starts.
Soft, lingering notes drift through the grand halls, the sound of a piano playing itself, filling the space with a melody that feels like a heartbeat. Our heartbeat.
I know this song.
It’s the same one that played the night we first danced. The night I held her in my arms and felt something in me shift—something I wasn’t ready to name.
I step forward, the heels of my shoes clicking against the marble floor. The chandeliers overhead cast a golden glow, flickering like candlelight, casting long shadows across the walls. Everything is just as I remember—and yet, something is different.
This place, this moment, is slipping away.
And then, I see her.
Nichole stands in the center of the ballroom, her figure bathed in soft light.
She looks like a dream. Her dress is weightless, flowing like mist around her, her dark hair cascading down her back in loose waves.
But it’s her eyes that hold me captive—deep, knowing, filled with something she doesn’t try to hide this time.
She isn’t waiting for me.
She lifts her hand, palm up, fingers extended, inviting me into something we both know will be the last time.
“Dance with me, one last time.”
I step forward.
The moment my fingers brush against hers, a shiver runs through me. The warmth of her touch, the weight of her presence—it’s real. Too real.
Her hand tightens around mine, pulling me closer. Her other palm rests against my chest, right over my heart, where my pulse pounds against her fingertips. I don’t know if she can feel it, but I do.
The music swells, wrapping around us, pulling us into its rhythm.
Nichole exhales softly, her chest rising against mine, and then, without a single word, we move.
Our bodies fall into perfect synchrony, like we’ve done this a thousand times before—because we have. Not just here, in this dream, but in every stolen moment, in every glance, in every push and pull that led us to this.
Her dress sways with each step, the silk brushing against my legs as I guide her across the ballroom floor. Her grip never falters, her body never hesitates. She trusts me to lead. And I do, because this is the only place where time doesn’t exist. Where she is still mine.
Her eyes lock onto mine, burning with everything she isn’t saying.
Goodbye.
Hold me closer.
Don’t let me go.
I grip her waist, pulling her flush against me as we turn, as the music builds, as the dream tightens its grip one final time.
She tilts her head back, exposing her throat, her breath coming faster, her body molding to mine with a familiarity that feels like home. I hate it. I hate that this is ending. I hate that no matter how many times I pull her into me, she’s still slipping through my fingers.
But I don’t stop.
Neither does she.
We keep dancing, because this is all we have left.
With every step, every turn, memories rise around us, flickering like candlelight in the vast ballroom. The walls become a canvas, painted with the moments that brought us here, that tied us together long before we ever touched in the real world.
The first time I saw her.
She stood in the small, dimly lit dream room, unaware that she wasn’t alone. Her confusion, the hesitant way she turned toward me, the moment her gaze met mine and something inside me snapped into place. I didn’t know then what she was to me. I only knew that she was important.
I spin her now, her dress fanning out around her, and as she comes back into my arms, another memory ignites.
The first time we made love.
The glow of the city lights seeped through the windows of her home, casting golden shadows over her skin. The way she unraveled beneath me, how she whispered my name like a prayer. I remember every sound she made, every breath, every tremble.
A sharp dip pulls us closer, my grip tightening on her waist. I don’t want to let her go.
The air crackles with something electric, something inevitable, as another memory flickers to life.
The moment I pulled her from the dream room.
I see it—the heavy doors of the mansion opening for her, how I reached into her world and dragged her into mine. Her fear, her awe, the way she looked at me like I was both a stranger and someone she had known forever.
She presses her forehead to mine now, her breath mixing with mine as we sway.
The music slows. The ballroom seems to pulse, reacting to us, bending to the weight of what is coming.
The nightmare room.
The dark tendrils of that cursed space coil in the corners of the ballroom, a reminder of how it revealed what we couldn’t see—that our souls were connected, our pasts intertwined. That we weren’t just two people drawn together by fate.
We were meant to find each other.
She helped me do that.
The last memory burns the brightest.
Nichole standing in the real world, looking into my eyes with something deeper than recognition—understanding.
She led me to her. She woke up for me.
And now, I have to let her go.
Our dance slows, the weight of the memories pressing into my chest, into my soul. I hold onto her, my fingers pressing into her back, trying to memorize the way she feels one last time.
But the walls are fading. The chandeliers flicker, the floor beneath us starts to blur.
Nichole pulls back slightly, her hand rising to cup my cheek, her eyes locking onto mine.
There’s no fear. No regret. Only love.
I feel it radiating from her, wrapping around me, searing into me in a way that tells me this is real. And it always will be.
The world around us is fading.
It starts small—a flicker of light overhead, a shift in the air, the faintest sound of something crumbling in the distance. But then it spreads, like a ripple across still water.
The chandeliers above flicker once—twice—before their golden glow dims completely, casting long, stretching shadows across the ballroom floor. The once-ornate walls peel away like paper, curling at the edges before vanishing altogether.
I see it happening, but I don’t move.
My grip on Nichole tightens, like holding her will somehow stop the inevitable. But the mansion—the dream—it doesn’t stop.
The grand staircase trembles, deep fractures splintering through the marble.
A sharp crack echoes through the space, and then, step by step, it collapses into itself, turning to dust. The massive windows that once overlooked a starless sky shatter soundlessly, leaving nothing but a yawning abyss beyond.
This place—the place that bound us together—is disappearing.
She doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t fade.
Her body is warm against mine, her breath soft, steady, real.
For a fleeting second, I think—maybe she’ll stay.
Maybe, when everything else is gone, she’ll still be here.
But even as the thought takes shape, I know it isn’t true.
Nichole tilts her head back, her gaze locked onto mine, unreadable. She knows what’s coming.
And so do I.
Even as the world around us crumbles—even as the dream collapses into nothing—I don’t let go.
Her warmth is still here, pressed against me, her body soft, real. But then, as the last remnants of the mansion dissolve into the void, I feel it.
Her body grows lighter in my arms, her weight barely there. The silk of her dress brushes against my fingertips, but it’s thinner now, less tangible.
“No,” I breathe, my grip tightening.
Nichole lifts her hand, her fingers ghosting over my jaw, her eyes searching mine, filled with so much love, so much sorrow.
“I never wanted this to end,” she whispers.
Her voice is soft, but it cracks, like she’s barely holding herself together.
I shake my head. This can’t be it.
But she’s slipping—I can feel it. Her fingers tremble as they trace the line of my cheek, and I know, deep down, that this is the last time I’ll ever feel her like this.
I cup her face in my hands, desperate, pleading, refusing to accept what’s happening.
“You’re a part of me,” I tell her, my voice raw, my chest tight. “You always will be.”
A tear slips down her cheek.
Her lips part, but no sound comes.
Her body shudders, the last remnants of her form flickering like a dying flame.
I crush my lips to hers, one last time.
It’s slow, deep, lingering—a kiss that tastes of love and goodbye all at once. Her hands slide into my hair, gripping me like she’s afraid too. But I can feel it—she’s already slipping.
I pull her closer, trying to hold her here, but she’s vanishing.
I can feel her fading from my fingers, from my arms, from my life.
“I love you,” she breathes against my lips, her voice barely there.
I choke on the burn in my throat, my vision blurring as I whisper, “I love you too.”
Then she’s gone.
Warmth surrounds me, settles into my skin, pulls me back into the real world.
I take a slow breath, feeling the steady rise and fall of my chest, the soft weight pressed against me. The dream is gone, but its imprint lingers. A dull ache where something precious used to be.
My arms tighten around Nichole, the real Nichole.
I look down at her, her face tucked against my chest, her breath warm against my skin. She’s still asleep, but there are tears on her cheeks.
I don’t need to ask why.
She saw it. She felt it.
Everything I just lived through—our past, our connection, the love that has always existed between us, even when we didn’t know it. She saw my goodbye to her dream self. She lived the flashbacks of all the moments that led us here.
Now, there are no more missing pieces. She knows everything.
A deep exhale leaves my lips as I hold her closer, my hand sliding up her back, my fingers tangling into her hair. She shifts slightly, seeking me out even in sleep, curling into the safety of my arms.
My lips graze her forehead, and in the quiet stillness of the morning, I whisper the only words that matter.
"I finally found you, my love...the woman of my dreams."
The End
Thank you for reading Book 3 of The Don's Dream Trilogy.