Chapter Sixty-Eight: Letters Never Sent

=Sera’s POV=

The wind outside whispered through the open glass doors, carrying with it the scent of salt, earth, and something warmer—like the memory of all the words we never had to say aloud.

I sat on the edge of the bed, brushing my fingers across the old leather journal resting in my lap. The pages were frayed, soft from time, but inside were entries I never showed anyone. Letters I had written but never sent—some to my father, some to myself, and more recently… some to Damien.

I flipped to the one that mattered most.

Dear Damien,

I don’t know when I started looking at you and thinking—maybe, just maybe, this doesn’t have to end in ruins. Maybe love doesn’t need a rescue mission. Maybe it just needs a little truth.

I’m terrified of this feeling. But I want it anyway.

Sera.

I traced the last line with my fingers and then closed the journal.

Behind me, I felt the shift of air, the soft creak of the wooden floor. Damien.

“I didn’t know you kept a journal,” he murmured, his voice low, steady, the kind that always reached straight through me.

“Only the things I was too afraid to say out loud.”

He stood behind me now, his hands slowly resting on my shoulders, his thumbs brushing gently against my skin where the strap of my nightdress had fallen slightly.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

I turned to face him, the journal still in my hands. “Would you like to read it?”

His brows furrowed softly. “Only if you want me to.”

“I think… I’d rather show you.”

I set the journal aside, then stood up, the hem of my silk nightdress falling just above my knees. The light from the fire by the balcony flickered across his face as he looked at me—not with hunger, but reverence.

Like I was something he’d been waiting a lifetime to finally touch—not just with his hands, but with his soul.

Damien reached for me, his hands cupping my face as he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead. “You’re trembling.”

“Not from fear,” I whispered. “From wanting something I no longer need to run from.”

He kissed my cheek next, then my jaw, trailing his lips slowly like he was relearning me. When our mouths finally met, it wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t desperate. It was slow—intentional. Every movement felt like a vow.

His tongue swept across my lower lip, asking for permission—not claiming. And I gave it, parting my lips and melting into him. My fingers slid up into his hair as his arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest.

There was no barrier now. No distance. No lies.

When he gently eased me back onto the bed, he didn’t break the kiss. He only paused to look down at me, his thumb brushing along the curve of my cheek.

“I never imagined loving someone like this,” he murmured. “With every scar. With every broken piece.”

“Then keep them,” I breathed. “Because they’re all yours now.”

He leaned down again, his lips finding the base of my throat, trailing downward as his fingers slowly slid the straps of my nightdress off my shoulders. The silk whispered against my skin as it fell away, and I felt the cool air against my bare chest before I felt his hands—warm, grounding, reverent.

He worshipped me like a man who had known destruction, and chose to create instead. His mouth explored slowly, kissing the curve of my breast, the hollow beneath my ribs, the sensitive dip of my hip. Every sigh that left my lips, every arch of my body, he answered with more tenderness, more patience.

I reached for the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward. “Off,” I whispered.

He obliged, letting it fall beside the bed. My hands roamed over the hard lines of his chest, trailing over his heartbeat—the one that had steadied me through chaos.

When his hips pressed against mine, we moved together instinctively—bodies remembering what it meant to belong.

There was no rush.

Only rhythm.

Only intention.

He entered me slowly, inch by inch, until we were completely one. A sharp inhale escaped my throat, followed by a whimper he silenced with a kiss. His movements were deep, controlled, every thrust laced with purpose. Like he wasn’t just making love to me—he was memorizing me.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, my nails digging lightly into his back. He groaned softly against my neck, his breath warm and ragged.

“Sera,” he whispered, voice thick, “look at me.”

I opened my eyes and met his gaze. That’s when I felt it—everything we had survived, everything we had become… all in the way his eyes held mine while our bodies moved in perfect sync.

“I love you,” I breathed.

His forehead pressed against mine. “I’ve always loved you. Even when I didn’t know how to say it.”

We came undone together, not with cries or screams—but with silence and shivers, and a stillness that said everything words never could.

Afterward, he cradled me to his chest, his hand drawing circles along my back as my head rested above his heart.

“You showed me something tonight,” he said quietly. “Something even your letters couldn’t.”

“What’s that?”

“That love doesn’t have to shout to be real.” He kissed the top of my head. “Sometimes, it just has to stay.”

I closed my eyes, letting his warmth wrap around me, and whispered—

“Then stay with me. Until morning. Until forever.”

And in the hush of that sacred space between passion and peace, I finally understood...

This love—the one that didn’t burn, but glowed—

This was the kind that lasted.