133. THE OFFICIAL END

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LIAM MARTIN'S POV

I could barely focus. The world seemed to tilt sideways, the chatter and clinking glasses downstairs turning into an unintelligible hum. My vision swam in a haze of disbelief, confusion, and adrenaline. My knees felt weak—I had to lean into Grayson just to stay upright.

“You’re going to be fine,” he murmured, his hands bracing me, steady as bedrock. I’d leaned against him without thinking, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with something warmer, more intimate, something only he carried. My pulse was a chaotic drum in my ears.

“What… what’s happening?” My voice sounded thin, almost foreign. I felt my chest tighten painfully.

“Shh,” he said softly, tilting my chin up. His thumb brushed over my jaw with that careful patience that made me want to melt into him entirely. “Just listen.”

I nodded dumbly. Words wouldn’t form. My thoughts kept colliding: The party… the people… why is he like this?

“I love you,” he said suddenly, almost breaking the fragile quiet with the weight of it. His words weren’t just sounds—they were gravity, pulling me in, drawing me closer to something I had been afraid to name. “I’ve loved you since the day you walked into my sanity, destroyed my schedule, my plans, my entire life… and I wouldn’t change a second of it. You were reckless, infuriating, beautiful, impossible—and I fell for all of it. And I don’t want to waste another second pretending I’m someone I’m not, pretending I don’t need you.”

I choked back a laugh—or maybe a sob. My hands found his jacket instinctively, gripping it like it could tether me to reality, to him. “Grayson…” I tried. My voice trembled.

He cut me off, softly but with authority. “No. Just… feel this.” His hands were on my waist now, steady, insistent, anchoring me. My chest ached. His closeness, the heat of him, the scent of him—it was almost unbearable.

“I left you in Edward’s care,” he continued. “I shouldn’t have. I regret every day I let you slip through my hands. I wasted time thinking I could do it all myself… but I don’t want to waste another second. Not with you. Not ever.”

I could barely think. Every confession, every syllable he spoke, felt like it was rewiring my brain. My mouth went dry. “I… I didn’t know,” I whispered.

“You didn’t know,” he said, voice low, “because I never said it. But I should have. I should have told you every day, in every way I could.” His thumb traced my jawline again. “I’m not hiding anymore. Not from you.”

Before I could respond, he kissed me.

It wasn’t slow or hesitant—it was demanding but careful, intense but careful. Everything he had been holding back, every suppressed thought, every layer of his control and pride, poured into that kiss. I melted against him without thinking, letting go of the months of restraint, confusion, and fear.

His hands moved lower, confident, unyielding, and suddenly I realized he had taken the first step I hadn’t even consciously considered: his hands found my belt, unbuckling it with an almost casual precision. And I didn’t stop him. I wanted this. I wanted him. I wanted us.

The world seemed to pause—until it didn’t.

The door burst open.

“OH. MY. GOD—WHAT—”

Caelen’s voice boomed, followed by Conrad’s bellowing laugh. Aria’s giggles cut through the air, Caisen whistled, and even Lucian’s usual poker face broke into a grin that said, I knew this would happen.

I stumbled back, face burning, hands still on Grayson’s jacket, heart hammering like a jackhammer.

“Well, well,” Conrad said, voice dripping amusement, “looks like someone’s really enjoying the party.”

“Uh…” I tried, but my words were lost somewhere in the chaos.

Grayson’s hands came up to steady me again, his lips brushing my ear. “Ignore them. Focus on me.”

Caisen peeked around Grayson’s shoulder. “You two—seriously? Now?”

Aria laughed. “You really didn’t leave us front-row seats, did you?”

Grayson groaned low, almost like a growl. “Of course they did. Of course everyone has to watch the chaos unfold.”

Caelen elbowed Lucian, who just shook his head with a smirk. “You’re hopeless, Grayson,” Lucian muttered, eyes sparkling.

“Maybe,” he said, voice soft, brushing his lips against mine quickly. “But at least I know where I stand.”

I blinked, trying to sort out my thoughts. “You—you really mean it?”

His smile was smug, dangerous, completely him. “Do I ever lie?”

I laughed, shaky, breathless, and pressed against him. “I… I love you too. I… want this. All of it.”

He grinned, hands on my waist, and whispered, “Good. Then we’re not wasting any more time. Ever.”

The room around us erupted again in murmurs, laughter, and teasing. Lucian muttered something about us being “the drama king and his minion finally caught.” Caisen yelled, “FINALLY, someone teach these idiots some dignity!”

Even Ilya and Aria were pointing and snickering, clearly trying not to faint from excitement or shock.

And somehow, in the middle of all this chaos, with half the villa watching our every move, I smiled. That silly, stupid, heart-pounding smile that only Grayson could make me feel.

“I will marry you,” I whispered finally, leaning into him, pressing my forehead to his chest.

“About time, asshole,” he murmured, holding me tight, completely unbothered by the chaos surrounding us.

And in that moment, the villa, the music, the laughter—they all faded. It was just us.

THE END...