Amir.
His eyes met mine, filled with pain, love, and a thousand unspoken regrets.
“Amir...”It was all I could manage—his name a whisper of disbelief, of wild, reckless hope.
A sob broke free as I clung to him, collapsing into the only arms I had ever truly belonged to.
“I’m so sorry, my love,” he murmured into my hair, his voice breaking with every word.“I should never have listened to Lazarus.I should have fought to be with you.”
Tears blurred my vision as I raised trembling hands to his face, needing to feel him, to prove he was real—solid, warm, alive.My fingertips brushed his skin, and a sob escaped me.
“You’re alive,” I breathed, a fragile mix of wonder and grief.The impossible had happened.He was here.
Amir nodded, eyes locked onto mine with fierce, unwavering purpose as if anchoring me back to the world we once shared.
He surrounded me, impossible and undeniable, a sanctuary against the storm of despair I had lived in for too long.His warmth seeped into the frozen corners of my soul, thawing the despair that had wrapped around me like a second skin.His touch was spectral—gentle yet brimming with the strength I had always known in him—a warrior’s hands, a protector’s heart.
“Watching you alone has been torture,” he said, his voice low, raw with anguish that mirrored my own.“I never stopped watching over you.I never stopped loving you.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks as he gathered us into his arms—Roman and me—with a tenderness that shattered me—a tenderness born not just of love but of loss and longing too vast to name.
He lifted us effortlessly, holding us close as if we were the most precious things he had ever touched.As we crossed the threshold of the townhouse, the door swung open without protest, as though the house itself recognized our return—welcoming us back into the embrace of shadows and memories.
Inside, the floorboards creaked underfoot, familiar, mournful sounds echoing through the stillness.The air smelled faintly of cedar and old paper of time long passed.The remnants of our love still lingered here.
For the first time in months, a glimmer of happiness pierced the sorrow.It was fragile, flickering like candlelight, but it was there, fiery in the darkness.
But I knew happiness never came without a price, not for us.
Never for us.
What would the cost be this time?
I didn’t know.
But with Amir’s arms around me, Roman safe against my chest, I would face it—whatever it was.
Because love like this didn’t die.It endured.
Even through darkness.
Even through time.
ChapterThirty-One
ELIZABETH
Perched on the edge of Amir’s bed, my hands trembled, unable to still the storm within me.The room was quiet—too quiet—and its opulence was a stark contrast to the chaos that had become my life.The crisp lines, the polished wood, the heavy curtains… it all felt unreal, like a place I no longer belonged to.
Tear tracks cooled on my cheeks, but fresh ones welled up unbidden, hot against my skin.
Across the room, Amir moved with reverence, tenderly laying our sleeping baby, Roman, on a bundle of blankets nestled in the corner.The sight of him—this warrior, this ghost made flesh again—handling our son with such care and awe was enough to cleave my heart in two.
Amir straightened, the dim light from the window casting shadows across his face and illuminating the chiseled lines of his Mediterranean features.His eyes—dark, fathomless orbs—landed on Roman with quiet wonder, as though seeing him was a miracle he scarcely dared to believe in.
He stepped toward me, the rigid stoicism he once wore like armor now stripped away, leaving only the man beneath.
“Our child is so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears.
