All Chapters of Their Serenity (A Reverse Harem): Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

Nikolai.It was just him and me for a while—Aurelio and I.Sitting on the stone steps of the estate as the sky turned from bruised peach to deeper lavender, as though the world was holding its breath before nightfall. The estate, for once, was quiet. No voices, no clatter. Just the occasional chirp of birds and the way Aurelio would tap his foot—restless but grounded, like some part of him still knew this was home, even if he didn’t remember why.He hadn’t said much.Didn’t need to.We weren’t good at talking, he and I—not in the normal way. We were better in movement, in action, in that sharp-edged language that required fists or guns or pacing tension. But this? Sitting still beside him, sipping whatever herbal nonsense Arsen had convinced me to try? This was... grounding.Healing didn’t always look like breakthroughs. Sometimes it was just a man breathing easier beside someone who knew not to ask questions.“You used to complain about the birds here,” I said eventually, half-amused

Author’s POV.Sofia woke up to the quiet hum of the early morning, her body sore in that deeply satisfying way that made her cheeks flush just remembering why. She stretched—gingerly—like a cat, her legs tangling in silky sheets, and blinked up at the high ceiling of the triplet’s guest house master bedroom.The scent of rose petals and something a little more sinful still clung to the air.She smiled. No—she grinned, slow and smug, because last night? Last night was a movie. A scandal. A sacred ritual. A group effort that deserved an Olympic medal and a Vatican ban all at once.Sliding out of bed quietly, she tiptoed over the chaos of discarded towels, a suspicious-looking whipped cream can, and—was that a sock stuck to the wall?Okay. They were definitely banned from bath bombs and wine combos forever.She wrapped herself in her robe, trying to remember which leg was currently operational and which one was still on strike, and made it halfway to the kitchen when—“HE STOLE MY PANDA!

Sofia.His words hit like a sucker punch dressed in velvet."I’m not letting you run this time."I should’ve had something clever ready to go. A witty comeback. A sarcastic jab. Hell, even a half-hearted "we'll see." But nothing made it past my lips.Because the way he looked at me—like I was gravity, oxygen, and sunlight all rolled into one—stripped every ounce of sass from my bones. My whole body felt like it was on alert, not in fear, but in want. In hope. In a feeling I couldn't find a way to describe.So instead of running my mouth as always, I reached for him. My fingers threaded into his sleep-tousled hair, the strands still warm from our earlier chaos. There was a faint stubble burn on his cheek where I’d clearly been overenthusiastic (zero regrets, by the way), and his lips—plump, smug, and still glistening with leftover kisses—grazed mine like they had every right to be there.And the terrifying part? They did.This—this right here—was what belonging felt like."You make it

Sofia.We didn’t move from that spot for a long time. Just stood there in the kitchen like a couple of emotionally dehydrated ghosts haunting the sticky air, where burnt cinnamon and sweetened regret clung to the walls. The smell was half overcooked pancakes, half defeat. My hoodie—his hoodie, which had officially crossed over into “mine by domestic conquest”—was warm with Arsen’s scent and a faint hint of vanilla coffee.The same vanilla coffee I’d spilled that morning in my panic to stop Lorelai from base-jumping off the bookshelf with a stuffed unicorn strapped to her back. She had declared it a “mission from the Fairy Council,” and honestly, I couldn’t argue with her commitment to the role.“I think I like it here,” I said softly. The words hung in the quiet like a snowflake you’re afraid to breathe near, delicate and holy.He didn’t smirk. Didn’t joke. He just looked at me—really looked—and then gave me the gentlest shoulder bump, like he needed to physically share the weight of

Sofia.We didn’t go back to the table right away.After the doctor left, the air in the room shifted—like we’d all finally exhaled a fear we didn’t realize had been coiled so tightly around our throats. Relief didn’t rush in like a wave. It came slow. Gentle. A tide lapping at the edges of something bruised but is slowly healing.Aurelio didn’t say anything at first. He just sat there, elbows on his knees, fingers woven together like a man trying to ground himself to the earth.I sank down beside him.“Your brain’s kicking ass,” I offered softly, shoulder bumping his.He huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Guess I owe it to a tiara and some mop-based prophecies.”“You owe it to yourself,” I said, “And to the part of you that held on even when the rest of you didn’t remember why.”His head turned, and there it was again—that look. Not the blank stare of a man clawing at fog. But the focused intensity of someone waking up inside his own body.“I’m scared,” he said quietly.“I k