Epilogue 1 Elaine - 1 Year Later
The office feels a thousand miles away by the time I reach the front door. The weight of the day slides off my shoulders the moment I step inside and catch the faint hum of music drifting from the backyard. I don’t need to follow it to know where she is.
Stella’s art studio is lit by a spill of warm lamplight, the sharp scent of paint already curling into my lungs.
She stands at the canvas in her favorite paint-splattered overalls, hanging loose over her hips, nothing beneath but a black lace bra.
Strands of hair fall against her cheek, streaked with flecks of blue, her bare feet stained with the colors she’s tracked across the drop cloth.
She doesn’t notice me at first, lost in her rhythm—brush dragging across canvas with deliberate strokes.
A castle rises on the surface, perched on a jagged cliffside, its spires sharp against a bruised sky.
Below it, the sea churns, black and dangerous, waves crashing up toward the stone as if trying to devour it.
She paints like she breathes—every motion full of control and chaos, power and surrender, a storm balanced on the tip of her brush.
My chest aches just watching her. Over a year, and still she takes my breath away; still I want to drop to my knees just to worship the way she moves, the way she is.
This woman, who once burned with rage, who tore down everything in her path, is mine.
She chose me. And I will never stop choosing her.
I cross the room and wrap my arms around her waist, pressing close until my chest molds against her back. She hums in recognition but doesn’t stop painting, her free hand sliding to rest on my arm. I kiss her neck, slow and lingering, tasting the salt of her skin.
Finally, she sets the brush down and turns in my arms, pulling me closer until there’s no space between us.
Her lips find mine—insistent, soft, then hungrier, the kind of kiss that still makes my knees weak no matter how many times she’s given it to me.
I laugh against her mouth, and she drinks it in like she’s starving.
Her paint-streaked fingers catch my jaw, leaving smudges across my skin as she pulls back just enough to look at me. Her eyes, that stormy fire, burn hotter than the canvas behind her.
“Elaine,” she says, voice raw, trembling with something bigger than either of us. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone the way I love you. You’re in every thought I have, every choice I make. You’re my ruin and my salvation, all at once. You are everything.”
Before I can speak, she sinks to her knees, her hands gathering the hem of my skirt.
My breath catches, the world tilting, and then she lifts one of my legs over her shoulder, her mouth claiming me with a hunger that knocks every sound from my throat.
I grip her hair, trembling against her tongue, undone by the way she devours me like worship, like promise, like she’s etching her name into my bones.
When I finally collapse against her, shaking, she rises, catching my face in her hands. Her eyes are wild, wet, and fierce. She presses her forehead to mine, and I feel her breath when she whispers, her voice steady now, anchored by fire.
“Marry me.”
She pulls the ring from her pocket, her hands tremble as she slides the ring onto me, but my voice doesn’t shake when I answer.
“They’ll write love like ours as a warning,” I whisper against her lips. “But I’ll never regret it. I’d choose your ruin, your chaos, your fire, every single time.”
And when she kisses me again, I know the truth: warnings mean nothing. This is not a love to fear. This is a love to survive for.