The morning light in Vienna was soft, golden, and warm as it streamed through the penthouse windows. A new beginning. A year had passed since Zara's abduction and the fall of Sebastian Vale. The world had turned slowly, healing the wounds left by fire and betrayal. And through it all, Lucien had never left her side.
Zara stirred gently in their bed, her body curled in luxurious white linen, the silk sheets cool against her skin. Lucien lay beside her, watching her like she was the rarest thing in existence. Even now, a year later, he never stopped watching her sleep, as if each moment was a promise that she was still with him. Still safe.
When she blinked open her eyes, she found him already smiling, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"You've been staring again," she teased, her voice a soft hum.
Lucien grinned. "Can you blame me?"
She stretched, and his eyes dropped to the gentle curve of her belly, rounding more each day.
Zara caught his gaze. "I'm getting bigger."
"You're glowing," he corrected. He pressed a kiss just below her navel. "And perfect."
Zara rolled her eyes fondly, but her smile was bright. "You spoil me."
"I'll never stop."
And he hadn't—not since that night in Montenegro when he held her in his arms, trembling but alive, and promised that nothing would ever touch her again. He had kept that promise with obsession. Every day since, he'd built her a sanctuary. He cooked for her. Took her to appointments. Read to her in bed. Flew her to the countryside for fresh air.
He even let her redecorate his office.
That one nearly killed him.
But he did it because she smiled when she picked out the wallpaper.
Lucien Vale, the man who once lived in shadows, now lived for every laugh that fell from his wife's lips.
Later that morning, they sat on the balcony overlooking the Danube, Zara curled into Lucien's lap with a steaming cup of tea. Her belly pressed warmly against him as he held her close.
The headlines on the screen were old news now. Sebastian Vale's empire had fully collapsed. Dozens of arrests. Frozen assets. Hidden war crimes made public. The world had learned the truth. Zara and Lucien had testified together. And then quietly disappeared.
Zara didn't miss the power. She had power in Lucien's arms. In the life growing inside her.
Lucien kissed her temple. "Feeling alright today?"
"Tired," she admitted. "But good. I had a dream again."
"The one with the lavender fields?"
She nodded. "And the baby. I held her this time. She had your eyes."
Lucien's throat tightened. "Girl this time, huh?"
Zara smiled. "I think so."
Lucien had never believed in fate, but when she looked at him like that, he started to wonder. Maybe there were lives meant to orbit each other. Maybe all the chaos, the betrayal, the pain—maybe it had been leading here.
That afternoon, Lucien planned a surprise. He blindfolded Zara—something she pretended to resist, though her grin betrayed her.
"Lucien Vale," she said, "if you've kidnapped me again, I swear I will bite you."
"Tempting," he murmured in her ear, leading her gently down the hallway.
When he removed the blindfold, Zara gasped.
The room was filled with lavender—real, blooming sprigs flown in from Provence. The walls painted a soft, pale hue. A rocking chair sat beside a crib carved from dark mahogany. Above it, a mobile spun lazily, handmade, delicate silver stars.
"Lucien..."
"Welcome to her room," he whispered.
Zara moved to the crib and trailed her fingers over the wood. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
"Do you like it?"
She turned to him and nodded, stepping into his arms. "I love you."
He held her close. "I know. But say it again anyway."
She laughed, resting her head against his chest. "I love you."
And the words echoed in the lavender-scented silence, binding them.
The night before the baby came, they danced.
Lucien had queued up music from their wedding—soft piano melodies drifting through the penthouse. He held her carefully, moving slowly, one hand on the small of her back, the other tangled with hers.
Zara rested her head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat. "Do you remember when I thought I'd never fall in love?"
Lucien chuckled. "You were very adamant."
"You were insufferable."
"Still am."
"True," she said, looking up. "But I love you anyway."
They swayed beneath the soft glow of the chandelier, wrapped in peace they had never known in their previous lives. In this moment, they weren't a queen and king of empires, or survivors of wars—they were just Zara and Lucien. Two broken people who had stitched each other back together.
At dawn, the contractions began.
It was brutal. Beautiful. Terrifying.
Lucien never left her side.
Twelve hours of labor, and every second, he held her hand, whispered her strength back to her, wiped the sweat from her brow.
When Zara's cries finally gave way to the soft, miraculous sound of their daughter's first breath, Lucien wept.
A girl.
Tiny. Fierce. Perfect.
Zara held her to her chest, sobbing, laughter and tears mingling on her lips.
"She's everything," she whispered.
Lucien kissed her forehead. "So are you."
They named her Elara.
It meant "shining light."
A name for the star that had guided them through the darkest night.
One year later...
Elara toddled through the garden outside their Tuscan estate, giggling wildly as Lucien chased her, pretending to stumble and fall. She was fast—Zara swore she got that from him—and had his smile, all mischief and dimpled charm.
Zara watched them from the veranda, her heart so full it hurt.
They had made it.
After all the pain. After the battles. After the fire.
They had built a life worth living.
Lucien caught Elara and lifted her high in the air, spinning her until she squealed with delight. Then he kissed her belly and set her down, guiding her back to Zara's arms.
He looked up, eyes shining. "Did we do alright?"
Zara smiled. "More than alright."
Lucien wrapped his arms around them both. "I'd do it all again, you know. Every hell we went through. I'd walk through fire a thousand times for this."
Zara kissed him gently. "Let's not tempt fate."
He laughed, pressing his forehead to hers.
And together, they watched their daughter chase butterflies in the golden light, as the sun set on their story.
Not with an ending.
But with a promise.
The End.