Blossom's POV
A few weeks had passed since the storm.
Since the water swallowed me whole and Vincent dragged me back out.
The world had begun to turn again, slowly. My wounds were healing—some faster than others. Vincent's leg still carried the weight of that night, but I noticed he never once complained. Not when the nurse changed the dressing. Not when he limped down the hall. Not when he looked at me.
We hadn't talked about that night. Not in depth. Not yet. We danced around the edges of it like it was a freshly mended crack in the wall—we didn't want to test its strength.
That afternoon, we lounged in the sunroom with a pot of tea between us. The sunlight sifted lazily through the sheer curtains, casting lines across the marble floor. Lily had her legs curled beneath her, her hand cupping her mug like it contained gold.
"So," she said, swirling the tea around in her cup. "How's it feel being treated like royalty every second of the day?"
I snorted. "Please. I still dress myself. That has to count for something."
Lily grinned. "But have you noticed the way the staff look at you now?"
"Like I'm about to sprout wings?"
"Exactly. You're her now. The woman who was nearly drowned by Rion Wilder and lived to tell the tale."
I rolled my eyes. "I'd rather just be Blossom. Quiet, unbothered, preferably asleep."
She laughed and sipped her tea. "You don't get that luxury anymore. Not when you've got a dark prince limping around this house like he's part-ghost, part-god."
I flushed and hid my face behind my cup.
"Anyway," Lily said, setting her mug down and standing. "You should put on something nice. I heard the chef is doing something special for dinner."
"Why?"
She shrugged, too casually. "He said something about testing a new menu for Vincent."
Which was strange. Vincent rarely hosted anything involving more than two people and a bottle of scotch. But I nodded, too tired to care.
Evening came too fast. I threw on a black dress that hugged my curves without trying too hard—classic, comfortable, and unassuming. My hair was still damp from the shower when I stepped out into the hallway.
Lily was already there, waiting for me.
"You look like you weren't trying. That's how I know you're going to make every woman in the room self-conscious."
"I really wasn't."
She grinned and linked her arm through mine. "Come on. They're waiting."
"They?" I repeated, wary.
Lily didn't answer. She led me down the familiar hall, past the doors I knew like the back of my hand, until we reached the ballroom. The doors were slightly open.
I pushed them, expecting… well, not this.
The room exploded in applause.
Decorations cascaded from the ceiling—silver streamers, delicate lanterns, and a banner that read WELCOME HOME BLOSSOM in elegant cursive.
I stood stunned.
A crowd of familiar faces filled the room.
West and Brixton stood near the bar, dressed sharper than I'd ever seen them. Blue ran up to me first, her arms flung tight around my neck.
"You're glowing," she whispered. "This is what survival looks like."
Behind her came Samantha and Lisa, both of them grinning wide enough to split their faces.
"You didn't think we'd let you recover in peace without bothering you again, did you?" Samantha teased.
"She really thought she'd hide from us," Lisa added, fake-pouting.
"You guys planned this?"
They pointed behind me.
I turned—only to see Vincent standing there.
Black suit. No tie. Hair slightly tousled. He said nothing, but his eyes held a quiet satisfaction.
Mr. Charles strolled over with a glass of wine and handed it to me. "About time we all got together under less stressful circumstances."
"Agreed," I said, still trying to take it all in.
Mrs. Mia hugged me tight before whispering, "I've never been more proud of a woman who walked into a lion's den and came out queen."
Even Kai gave me a wink from across the room.
Ryder and Sharly came up hand-in-hand, both equally radiant. Sharly gave me a gift bag. "It's nothing much. Just something to say you're incredible."
"I can't believe this…" I murmured.
Vincent stepped beside me then, close enough that I could feel the heat rolling off him.
"Surprised?" he asked, voice low.
"Extremely."
He nodded once, like he approved of my answer.
And for a few hours, we laughed. We danced. I let myself forget. There was music, and lights, and a sense of safety I hadn't tasted in weeks.
Vincent didn't leave my side. Not even when Samantha dragged me away to gossip. His eyes never stopped tracking me. Like I was something valuable that could still slip through his fingers.
But tonight, I didn't want to slip.
Tonight, I let myself believe I could stay.
At least for a little while.
----
The music faded into the background as Vincent took my hand and silently led me away from the buzz of voices and laughter. We slipped past the golden-lit hallway, through the quiet corridor, and out to the garden balcony, where lanterns swayed gently in the cool breeze.
For a moment, I simply watched him. He stood facing the sky, city lights shimmering in the distance behind him, his posture still, quiet. That calculating aura he always carried seemed less sharp now, more reflective. As though this wasn't just about me. As though it never really was.
"You look beautiful tonight, Little De," he said without turning.
I chuckled lightly. "You said that already. Twice."
He finally glanced back at me, a small twitch at the corner of his mouth. "It still holds."
We stood in a silence that wasn't awkward. Not anymore. I found peace in his quiet now. And in that stillness, he reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. No gold seals. No drama. Just a piece of weightless freedom.
"It's done," he said, handing it to me. "The contract… It's null. You're free, Little De."
My heart didn't jump. It cracked a little.
"Why now?" I asked, carefully unfolding the paper. My name, his signature, the legal stamp—all there. All real.
He rested against the stone railing, arms crossed loosely. "Because this was never supposed to be your prison. I was. And I won't let that happen anymore."
My fingers tightened slightly around the page. I didn't know what to say.
Vincent looked up at the stars, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it. "I wasn't always this way. You know that, right? There was a time I thought I could live without building walls. Without becoming a man who takes what he wants because he doesn't believe he'll be chosen."
He glanced at me.
"My father trained us—Adriel and me—like wolves. No softness. No mistakes. It made me strong. But also... hollow."
I stepped closer, unsure why my chest ached.
"And when I met you," he said, "I didn't know how to stop seeing you as a solution. As a fixation. I obsessed. I controlled. I justified everything because I thought if I could have you, I could fix something in me."
I took a shaky breath. "Vincent..."
He shook his head. "I know. I know what I did. But I need you to hear this—for once, no games, no leverage. I love you. Not because I want to possess you. But because you made me feel like a man again. Not a weapon."
The tears hit before I could stop them. He saw, of course he did, but he didn't reach for me. He let me choose. Like he always should have.
I crossed the space between us and pressed my lips to his.
And this time, he kissed me like it was goodbye.
Slow.
Deep.
His hand moved to the curve of my back, fingers sliding through the strands of my hair like he was memorizing the texture. My arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, anchoring myself in his warmth.
Then he pulled away.
Vincent's lips lingered just a breath above mine, the echo of his warmth still simmering on my skin. But he didn't kiss me again. Maybe because he knew that if he did, I wouldn't leave. Not willingly. Not now.
Instead, he held my face with both hands, thumbs tracing just beneath my cheekbones like he was memorizing the shape of me.
"This way," he said, voice low, but steady.
He took my hand again, lacing our fingers together like it was still a promise. And he led me past the now-quiet courtyard, through a side hall, away from the last notes of laughter and music that had followed us from the party.
Outside, the night air was cooler. More real.
Parked by the edge of the circular drive was a familiar car. West's.
The headlights were off, but the passenger-side door creaked open—and there they were.
Brixton was in the front seat, arms crossed like a bouncer. Blue sat in the back, her chin perched on the window frame, face pale under the glow of the streetlamp. Her eyes met mine and softened instantly.
I stopped walking. My feet didn't want to move.
Vincent squeezed my hand one last time before releasing it.
"They've been waiting."
I turned to him, trying to read what he wasn't saying. His face was neutral, calm—too calm. But his eyes? They were fire and ash and sorrow.
"Don't look at me like that," I whispered.
"Like what?"
"Like you're saying goodbye."
He didn't answer. Instead, he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, then leaned in—closer this time. His lips touched my forehead with reverence, not urgency. The kind of kiss you gave something you couldn't keep.
I closed my eyes.
"Go," he murmured against my skin. "Before I change my mind."
The ache in my chest grew claws, but I nodded, slowly turning toward the car.
West stepped out and met me halfway. His arms folded me in without hesitation, and for the first time in a long time, I let someone hold all my weight.
Brixton offered a tight nod. Blue was already scooting over in the back to make room.
I climbed in. The door shut.
Through the window, I caught one last glimpse of Vincent. Standing alone in the driveway, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes locked on me like he didn't dare blink.
And then we drove.
No one spoke for a while. Maybe they didn't know what to say. Maybe they were just giving me time to leave the part of my life that still stood in that mansion's shadows.
But even as we pulled farther away, I knew something for certain—
I'd never really left him.
Not completely.
And I wasn't sure I ever could.