Dearest gentle reader.
I'm deeply sorry for my enthusiasm and clumsiness. I mistakenly uploaded a chapter that was saved on my draft that chapter 239. Please kindly, after unlocking chapter 264, move over to the next in line numerically, that's chapter 265. Thank you, and I'm deeply sorry again.**********************************Claire’s POV****************** The house was quieter than I’d ever known it to be. Not silent, no—silence was heavy, a void that pressed down. This was different. This quiet was alive. It carried the faint hum of distant voices, the occasional ripple of laughter drifting through the wide halls, the muffled chirps of birds beyond the terrace. It was the kind of quiet that told you everything was exactly as it should be. I leaned against the balcony rail, watching the gardens below. The grand fountain shimmered in the late morning light, each drop catching sunbeams as though even the water itself wanted to sparkle. For a long time, I’d been afraid I’d never stand here again—that I would remain trapped in Liam’s cage, forced into a life that was never mine. Yet here I was. Alive. Safe. Home. And in love. Behind me, the door creaked softly. I didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Mack’s presence filled a room even before he spoke. He moved closer,
**********************************Claire’s POV****************** The first thing I felt was warmth. Not the jagged fire of fear or the bone-deep chill of dread that had haunted so many of my nights these past months, but warmth that settled low in my chest, that wrapped itself around me like a silken blanket. My eyes fluttered open to a room flooded with pale gold light, spilling through the wide windows of the grand bedroom. The curtains swayed with a lazy breeze, and beyond them, the faint song of birds carried in from the gardens. For a moment, I didn’t move. I let the reality sink in, the quiet truth of it: I was safe. I was home. I was wrapped in sheets that smelled faintly of lavender and Mack’s cologne. My skin still held echoes of his touch, the tender ache of his love from last night. It almost felt like a dream, but then I turned my head and saw him. Mack stood near the doorway, balancing a tray with one hand like it was nothing. He was dressed casually—just loose gray s
***************************** Claire’s POV************************* Dinner had ended in laughter, the kind that warmed the soul and felt like sunlight after too long in the dark. Liz had been teasing Rowe mercilessly about his so-called “plans,” while Rowe turned the color of ripe berries and tried to dodge her barbs. Mack had been quieter, watching the banter with an expression I knew well—something caught between pride and longing, his hand resting at the small of my back as though afraid to let me out of reach. The plates were being cleared, wine glasses half full, when Mack suddenly stood and, without a word, bent and scooped me into his arms. I squeaked, startled, clutching at his shoulders. “Mack!” Liz’s laughter bubbled over, Rowe grinning into his napkin. Mack’s arms were steady, strong, as though I weighed no more than a feather. His grin was wolfish, boyish at the same time, flashing teeth and dimples. “Excuse me,” he announced grandly, looking at Liz and Rowe as
--- ****************************** (Mack’s POV)********************** The evening light washed over the terrace in shades of soft gold and violet, the kind of light that never lasted long but always lingered in memory. Beyond the balustrade stretched the garden, lush and alive, the roses heavy with late bloom, their fragrance weaving into the air with the scent of the sea drifting faintly from beyond the hills. We had finished dinner hours ago, yet none of us had moved far. The plates were gone, the table cleared, but the laughter kept us tethered here together—like None of us quite wanted the night to end. Claire sat tucked into my side, her hand resting in mine, her smile quiet but radiant in a way that made every scar and storm worth it. Liz and Rowe faced us across the table, the glow of the lanterns painting their features soft. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, there was no wariness, no weight of strategy or grief. Just four people—friends, family, survivors—l
**********************************Claire's POV********************* I woke to the hush of morning, a silence so soft it pressed against my ears like a blessing. For a long while, I just lay there, my cheek on Mack’s chest, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat. After everything—the running, the fear, the noise of war rooms and gunfire—I couldn’t quite believe that this was my life now. Safe. Held. Anchored in him. The light that spilled through the curtains was golden, the kind of sunlight I’d almost forgotten existed. I traced absent-minded circles on his skin, watching how his chest rose and fell beneath my palm. Mack stirred faintly but didn’t wake, only let out a sigh, his arm tightening around me as though even in sleep he refused to let me go. For once, I didn’t feel the itch to move or the panic of time rushing forward. I just wanted to stay there forever, memorizing the weight of his body beside mine, the warmth of his skin. When I finally slipped out of be
********************************Mack's POV*********************** The garden was a world of its own, carved out of centuries, glowing beneath the slant of the moon. I stepped barefoot onto the stone path, damp with dew, and let the coolness ground me. For the first time in months—no, years—there wasn’t the taste of gunpowder or metal in the back of my throat. There was just silence, threaded with the hum of night insects and the faint perfume of roses that someone, probably my mother once upon a time, had planted in neat rows along the hedges. Claire was ahead of me, her dress brushing against the grass, her bare shoulders catching the moonlight like porcelain warmed by silver. She had insisted we come outside, as though she could feel the walls of the house pressing in on me. She always knew when the air was too heavy in my chest. I slowed when I reached her, standing beneath the old stone arch that led into the heart of the garden. My chest ached in that familiar way it always d