CHAPTER 70 — “Quiet Mornings”

Sophie’s POV

The first thing I noticed that morning was the warmth.

Not heat—warmth. Gentle, golden, soft. The kind of warmth that feels like safety itself. It spilled across the bed sheets, brushed my cheek, and reminded me—quietly, almost shyly—of a truth I still struggled to believe:

We were safe now.

Not temporarily.

Not cautiously.

Not moment-by-moment.

Safe.

Months had passed since that night—since the fear, the shadows, the threat that had fractured something deep inside us. And yet here, wrapped in Lucian’s arm, the world felt… whole again.

His breathing was slow, steady against my back. The girls were still asleep down the hall, and the house was wrapped in the soft hush of morning. My father was awake, I knew—he had become a morning person lately, reclaiming small routines as if building a new life, brick by brick.

I shifted gently, and Lucian’s arm tightened around my waist.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, voice low and warm with sleep.

“So are you,” I whispered.

He hummed—a deep, content sound I never used to hear from him. Months ago, Lucian slept like a man at war with the world. Tense. Alert. Ready to fight even in dreams.

Now?

Now he slept like someone who believed he wouldn’t lose what he loved.

He pressed a kiss into my shoulder.

“What time is it?” he asked in a sleepy rasp.

“Probably too early.”

“Then come here.”

I laughed quietly as he pulled me closer, his chest warm against my back, his breath soft in my hair. There was no urgency, no fear of the day, no unspoken tension waiting to break us.

Just us.

Just quiet.

Just peace.

And for once in my life, I let myself indulge in it.

Peace lasted until exactly 7:14 AM.

Then—

“MOMMY!”

Arian sprinted into the room first, her curls bouncing wildly as she clambered onto the bed with the absolute confidence of a tiny queen.

Lucian groaned softly. “We should install a lock.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” I teased.

Aria followed next, quieter but with that determined little frown she wore when she wanted something. “Mom, Arianna took my hairbrush again.”

“I did NOT,” Arianna declared as she marched in last, clutching the very hairbrush behind her back.

I sat up laughing. “How about breakfast first and hairbrush crimes later?”

Lucian swung his legs off the bed, rubbing his eyes. “Your mother needs more sleep.”

Aria climbed into his lap. “But we’re hungry.”

Arian nodded aggressively. “Starving.”

Arianna added, “Dying, actually.”

Lucian raised a brow. “Dying children don’t run through the hallway screaming.”

Arian gasped dramatically. “We weren’t SCREAMING.”

I looked at Lucian. “They were definitely screaming.”

He rubbed his face. “God give me strength.”

I kissed his cheek. “You love it.”

His eyes softened—melting, warm, vulnerable. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”

Breakfast was chaos.

The best kind.

Three little girls insisting they could crack eggs without help (they couldn’t). Lucian trying to supervise but ending up with flour in his hair. My father stepping in to save the toast before it burned.

He smiled more now. Laughed more. Held the girls with a kind of gentleness he once thought he didn’t deserve.

We were healing. All of us.

Cassian arrived right before lunch.

The girls spotted him through the window and screamed louder than they had all morning.

“UNCLE CASS!”

He barely had time to open the door before they tackled him—literally tackled him—to the foyer rug. He let out a dramatic grunt and fell backward, laughing as three pairs of arms wrapped around him.

“You all got heavier,” he said, pretending to struggle. “When did that happen?”

“When you were gone for too loooong!” Arian scolded.

“I was gone for one week,” Cassian laughed.

“Too long,” Aria repeated.

He looked up at me with an amused smile. “Morning, Sophie.”

“Morning,” I said, returning his smile.

Cassian didn’t fill the room the way Lucian did. Lucian’s presence was a storm—you could feel him before you saw him. Cassian was a calm breeze. Soothing. Grounding.

If Lucian was fire, Cassian was water.

Adrian arrived ten minutes later.

The girls did not tackle him.

They simply ran to him, hugged him once, then stepped back with quiet respect.

Adrian crouched down, brushing Arian’s hair gently. “Your curls got longer.”

Arian beamed. “I’m growing them like Mommy.”

He nodded once. “Good choice.”

That was Adrian—quiet affection, steady presence, small smiles that meant more than they appeared.

Lucian joined us in the living room, greeting his brothers with that rare softness he only showed around family.

Cassian nudged him. “You look rested.”

Lucian deadpanned, “I’m delusional. Not rested.”

Cassian laughed.

Adrian smirked.

The girls giggled.

And the house filled with warmth.

It was my father who suggested the idea.

“Why don’t we all take a vacation?” he asked over lunch, as the girls devoured spaghetti and Cassian tried to negotiate for the last garlic knot with a seven-year-old.

Lucian paused, fork halfway to his mouth. “A vacation?”

“Yes,” my father said simply. “Somewhere quiet. Peaceful. The girls would love it. You two”—he looked at Lucian and me—“could use it. And the boys… well”—he smirked—“they could relax for once.”

Cassian smiled. “I’m in.”

Adrian shrugged. “Fine.”

Lucian looked at me.

And I knew he was giving me the choice.

I swallowed, warmth blooming in my chest.

“I think… I’d love that.”

Lucian’s expression softened instantly. “Then we’re doing it.”

Arian jumped in her seat. “VACATION!”

Arianna asked, “Are there animals?”

Aria leaned forward. “Or a lake?”

Cassian raised his brows. “I know a cabin in the mountains—quiet, private, beautiful. Big enough for all of us.”

Adrian nodded. “Secluded. Safe.”

Lucian added, “And peaceful.”

I smiled.

Yes.

That sounded perfect.

The next week was all preparation.

Clothes.

Snacks.

Books.

Games.

Little pink suitcases loaded with treasures only seven-year-olds believed essential.

The girls packed everything from stuffed animals to mismatched socks. I repacked everything after they fell asleep.

Lucian packed efficiently—black shirts, dark jeans, a sweater he claimed he didn’t need but absolutely did.

My father packed old novels, snacks, and a fishing hat he insisted was lucky.

Cassian packed instant hot chocolate, a guitar, and board games.

Adrian packed practically—first aid, tools, extra blankets, quietly making sure everyone would be comfortable.

Me?

I packed hope.

Hope for quiet.

Hope for healing.

Hope for memories untouched by fear.

We left early in the morning.

The girls snuggled in the backseat, half asleep and wrapped in blankets. Cassian drove behind us with my father. Adrian took his own car.

Lucian drove with one hand, the other holding mine.

The highway stretched before us, empty and golden with sunrise.

The mountains rose in the distance—tall, ancient, welcoming.

“Are you excited?” Lucian asked softly.

I looked at the sleeping girls.

At the horizon.

At the promise of peace.

“Yes,” I whispered. “More than I expected.”

He squeezed my hand. “Good.”

And for the first time in a long time—

I felt the future.

Not fear.

Not shadows.

Just us.

A family.

A life we were slowly building.

A home we were learning to inhabit.

Together.