Chapter One Hundred Six: The Honeymoon

Adrian took me to the coast.

Not the same coast where my mother used to take me. A different one. Further south. Quieter. A small town that didn't appear on maps. A house that sat on a cliff overlooking the sea.

He'd rented it for two weeks. He'd told no one where we were going. Not Felix. Not Sloane. Not even Daniel.

"It's just us," he said. "For two weeks. No work. No plans. No one."

I didn't argue. I didn't need to.

---

The house was old.

White walls. Red roof. A garden full of wildflowers. A terrace that faced the water. Inside, it was simple. A kitchen. A living room. One bedroom. A fireplace that we didn't need but lit anyway.

The first morning, I woke up before him.

I lay in bed for a long time. I didn't stare at the ceiling. I didn't count the cracks. I just lay there. The light came through the curtains. The sea crashed below. I listened to it.

Then I got up.

I walked to the terrace. I sat in a chair. I looked at the water. Blue. Endless. Calm. I watched the waves. I listened to the gulls. I felt the sun on my face.

Adrian appeared behind me. He was holding two cups of coffee. He handed me one. He sat beside me.

"You're up early," he said.

"I slept."

He paused. He turned. He looked at me.

"You slept," he repeated.

"All night."

He didn't smile. But something in his posture loosened. Something that had been tight for weeks.

"Good," he said.

We drank in silence. The sea crashed. The gulls cried. The sun rose higher.

I didn't think about Volkov. I didn't think about Henry. I didn't think about the trial. I just drank my coffee. And for the first time in a long time, that was enough.

---

The days passed slowly.

We walked. We read. We cooked. We sat on the terrace and watched the water. We didn't talk about the past. We didn't talk about the future. We just talked. About nothing. About everything.

On the third day, we drove to a small village. We ate at a restaurant that had no menu. We drank wine that the owner made himself. We walked through streets that hadn't changed in a hundred years.

On the fifth day, we swam in the sea. The water was cold. The sun was warm. Adrian didn't laugh. But something in his eyes shifted. Something lighter.

On the seventh day, it rained. We stayed inside. We lit the fireplace. We read. We didn't speak. We didn't need to.

On the tenth day, I found a photograph in one of the drawers. A family. A mother. A father. Two children. They were smiling. They looked happy.

I set it down. I didn't know who they were. I didn't need to.

---

On the twelfth day, Adrian asked me a question.

We were on the terrace. The sun was setting. Orange. Pink. Gold. He was sitting beside me. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the water.

"What do you want?" he asked.

I looked at him. He looked at me.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean after this. After the honeymoon. After everything. What do you want?"

I considered the question. I thought about my mother. I thought about Daniel. I thought about the firm. I thought about Adrian. I thought about everything I'd lost and everything I'd found.

"I want to live," I said.

He looked at me. He looked at me the way he had a hundred times before.

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I have."

He didn't respond. He just looked at me.

"I spent two lifetimes fighting," I said. "First against Julian. Then against Henry. Then against Volkov. I've had a target. A purpose. A reason to wake up every morning."

He waited.

"And now I don't. And that's okay. That's what I wanted. That's what I've been fighting for. A life without a target. A life without a purpose. A life that's just—"

I stopped.

"Just what?" he asked.

"Just mine," I said.

He looked at me. He looked at me the way he had a hundred times before.

"Good," he said.

The sea crashed below us. The gulls cried in the distance. The sun sank lower. I listened to the sounds of the evening.

"Okay," I said.

He reached for my hand. He took it. His fingers were warm. Steady.

We sat there. The sky darkened. The stars appeared. The sea kept moving.

We didn't speak again. We didn't need to.