The rooftop was quiet. The wind carried the scent of lakewater and late-spring blossoms, but Ava smelled only him.
Damien, down on one knee. A ring in his palm.
Not out of obligation. Not to fix a contract. But because he wanted her.
Her lips trembled, but she didn't speak.
Because for the first time, the choice was entirely hers.
"No more deals," Damien said softly. "No more conditions. Just me. Asking you—without revenge, without guilt—if you'll be my wife."
The city lights danced in his eyes. He looked stripped bare. No steel armor. No mask. Just a man who had lost everything once—and was now willing to risk it again.
Ava's chest ached.
She crouched slowly to his level, fingers brushing over his as she took the ring from his hand. Her voice was a whisper.
"I'm not saying yes to the man who once bought me."
Damien flinched.
"I'm saying yes to the man who fought beside me. Bled for me. Loved me when I didn't even know how to love myself."
She slid the ring on her finger.
"Yes, Damien Blackwood. I'll marry you."
Again.
This time, without chains.
---
One Week Later — Tuscany
The wedding wasn't grand.
It wasn't meant to be.
Just them. A quiet vineyard tucked between golden hills. Lucien as best man, Carmen as Ava's maid of honor, and Ava's brother watching from a nearby seat, smiling for the first time in weeks.
The priest read no traditional vows. Ava and Damien wrote their own.
> "You taught me to fight again," Ava said, tears glinting in her eyes. "To trust again. And when I lost everything, you were the last person I expected to save me—but the only one who truly did."
> "You gave me something more dangerous than power," Damien said. "You gave me forgiveness. And after all the pain I carried, you reminded me I could still become someone worthy."
Their kiss wasn't perfect—it was desperate, breathless, nearly off-cue.
But it was real.
More real than anything either of them had ever known.
---
That Night — The Villa
The sun had long since dipped below the hills, but candlelight still bathed the villa in gold. Ava sat on the edge of the antique bed in a silk robe, her fingers trailing the stem of a wine glass.
Damien leaned in the doorway, tie gone, shirt unbuttoned at the throat, eyes locked on her like he couldn't look anywhere else.
"I was afraid," he murmured.
"Of what?" she whispered.
"That you'd walk away. That I wouldn't be enough."
She rose slowly and walked to him, slipping her arms around his waist.
"You are. You always were. Even when I hated you."
His laugh was low, rough. "That's reassuring."
She smiled.
Then he picked her up and carried her to the bed.
The kiss that followed was different this time. Not laced with fear or guilt. But with freedom.
They undressed each other slowly, reverently.
Damien's hands weren't rushed or demanding—just certain. As if rediscovering her body was a kind of worship. Ava's lips traced his scars like prayers. Their skin tangled under the sheets, warmth and heat building with every whisper.
When he finally entered her, their eyes stayed locked.
And when they fell over the edge together, it was not with the desperation of the past—
—but with the promise of everything still to come.
---
The Morning After
The sunlight caught the glint of her ring as Ava sat at the breakfast table overlooking the vineyard. Damien poured coffee beside her, shirtless and warm with sleep.
She smiled at him.
"I think I want to open a foundation," she said suddenly.
He blinked. "A foundation?"
"For women like me. Women who've been broken, bought, manipulated—and found their way out."
Damien leaned down and kissed her bare shoulder. "Then I'll fund every brick."
"No," she said, grinning. "You'll invest. But I'll own it."
He raised his mug in a toast. "To Ava Sinclair—CEO, survivor, and the woman who turned the cold-blooded into a fool for love."
She clinked her cup against his.
---
Later That Day — A Quiet Reveal
She found him in the library hours later, flipping through a vintage wine journal.
Ava sat beside him and rested a hand on his knee.
"I need to tell you something."
His body stilled.
She slid a small white envelope across the table.
Inside was a sonogram.
Damien stared at it like he couldn't breathe.
A small heartbeat. A ripple of life.
He looked at her, stunned.
"You're…"
"Yes," she whispered. "We're having a baby."
His jaw flexed. His throat moved—but no sound came out.
So she climbed into his lap and whispered the only thing that mattered now.
> "This time, you don't have to fight alone."
> "This time, we build a family."
He buried his face in her neck, and for the first time in years…
Damien Blackwood wept.
Damien's POV of the Wedding Night in Tuscany
Damien had kissed her in front of the priest, in front of the guests, in front of a setting sun that burned like it was bearing witness.
But this?
This moment, quiet, private, was the one that made his heart tremble.
He shut the bedroom door behind them.
Ava stood near the window, the breeze tugging at her hair, her wedding gown slipping slightly off one shoulder. Moonlight kissed her skin.
Damien had seen her powerful, broken, bleeding, defiant.
But he had never seen her like this.
Peaceful.
Free.
And his ,not by contract, not by accident, but by choice.
He walked to her without a word, heart thudding like it still hadn't caught up to the miracle of her saying yes again. He reached out and slowly touched her cheek, reverent.
She turned to him, her voice soft. "What are you thinking?"
"That I don't deserve this."
Her hand slid over his, her lips brushing his knuckles.
"Then I guess we're both lucky," she whispered, "because I don't care."
His restraint shattered.
He kissed her like a man starving. Not out of lust but because his heart was finally full, and he didn't know how else to show it.
Their clothes came off slowly, as if rushing would ruin the sacredness of this night. Damien laid her down in bed, pausing to stare—really stare—at the woman who'd once been his enemy, then his undoing, and finally, his redemption.
He kissed her every scar. Her collarbone. Her hip. The small ridge along her wrist where she once wore anxiety like armor.
And when he slid inside her, it wasn't about dominance or power, it was surrender.
They moved together, breaths soft, limbs tangled, until they shattered together.
Afterward, she curled into his chest, her fingers splayed over his heart.
And Damien whispered the only vow he hadn't spoken aloud.
> "If I ever lose you again, I won't survive it."