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Chapter 44 – Mine At Last
Damon's POV
Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft golden glow across the room. It was warm and quiet — the kind of quiet that came with peace. No phones ringing, no business meetings, no chaos.
Just her.
Arya lay beside me, fast asleep, her dark lashes resting gently against her cheeks. A few strands of her hair had fallen over her face, and I reached out carefully to brush them aside. My fingertips lingered on her skin, still unable to believe she was real… that this moment was real.
She was mine. Not just in name. Not in contract. Not out of duty.
Mine, because she chose me.
A soft smile crept onto my lips as I traced the curve of her bare shoulder. Last night had changed everything. It wasn't just physical. It was... everything. I had made love to the woman I loved. For the first time in my life, I'd let someone in completely — and for the first time, I didn't feel hollow inside. I felt full. Whole.
I had always thought love made a man weak.
But Arya made me strong.
She stirred slightly, her hand moving to rest over my chest. My heart jumped at the simple touch. How had I gone so long without her warmth? Her kindness? Her quiet strength?
I used to be so cold. So lost.
But she melted all of that away. Every guarded wall I built over the years had crumbled the moment she looked at me with those mismatched eyes — one deep blue, one pale — like she could see through every lie I ever told myself.
"Are you staring at me again?" she mumbled, her voice husky from sleep.
I chuckled. "Can you blame me?"
Her lips curled into a sleepy smile, eyes still closed. "You're shameless."
"I am," I admitted. "When it comes to you."
She finally opened her eyes, blinking up at me. "What time is it?"
"Still early," I whispered, brushing a kiss to her forehead. "Go back to sleep."
But she didn't. Instead, she propped herself up slightly on her elbow, looking down at me. "You're different this morning."
"How so?"
"Soft," she teased. "Smiling. Peaceful."
I reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Because for the first time in a long time... I'm happy."
Her expression softened. "Me too."
I pulled her into my arms, burying my face in her neck. "Last night meant everything to me, Arya."
She held me tighter. "To me too."
There were so many things I wanted to say — how I had never felt this connected to anyone before, how she'd changed me in ways I never thought possible, how I wanted to make her smile for the rest of her life — but for once, I let silence speak. I just held her.
After a while, she pulled away slightly. "Do you want breakfast?"
I groaned. "I want you. Breakfast can wait."
She laughed, the sound lighting up the room more than the sun ever could. "Hopeless."
We finally got out of bed, still tangled in sheets and soft laughter. As she headed into the bathroom, I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing the back of my neck. The old me would have never imagined this — waking up with the woman I love, planning breakfast, thinking about what color to paint the guest room instead of stock reports or board meetings.
But this was the man I was becoming — a man with a heart, a future, and something worth protecting.
Arya.
I walked into the kitchen a few minutes later to find her already cooking — one of my shirts draped over her petite frame, her hair in a messy bun. She was humming to herself, completely at ease. And God, it hit me again just how beautiful she was — not just on the outside, but in every part of her soul.
I wrapped my arms around her from behind, nuzzling my face into her neck.
"You keep doing that and we'll never eat," she giggled.
"Perfect," I murmured. "Starve me."
She turned in my arms, tilting her head. "You're really in love with me, huh?"
I cupped her cheek. "I think I always have been. I was just too stupid to see it before."
Her eyes shimmered. "But you see it now?"
"Every second of every day."
We kissed again, slow and sweet — no rush, no fear. Just us.
As we sat down to eat, I found myself thinking about the future. Real things. Real dreams. I wanted a life with her. Not just as my wife in name, but my partner in everything. I wanted her smiles every morning, her kisses every night. I wanted to build a world where she never doubted my love again.
"Damon," she said softly, pulling me from my thoughts.
"Hm?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For fighting for us. For changing. For choosing me."
I reached across the table and took her hand. "There's no version of my life that makes sense without you in it."
And I meant every word.
As the morning sun rose higher, lighting up the kitchen and the woman I loved, I knew something for sure:
Whatever happened next — whatever storms life tried to throw at us — I would face them with her by my side.
Because I wasn't just a better man.
I was her man.
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