COMBUSTION: A YokRay Story 🔥

EPILOGUE

Author's Note:
Surprise! I owe everyone this epilogue as I promised. It took longer than I thought it would & my writing style has slightly "evolved" but I hope this meets your expectations of this fic.
Thank you for your patience and always coming to read my stories.

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Six Years Later

YOK

The mansion that once loomed with shadows now stood as a testament to love, every corner transformed into an expression of life. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows this morning, casting a soft, warm glow over the walls, each adorned with murals I'd painted over the years. It's been six years since I first set foot in this place—a run-down, abandoned mansion. I snuck in to paint, only to find Ray, stumbling down the grand staircase, clutching a bottle of whiskey, lost and haunted.

Now, the mansion is celebrated and admired for its architecture and for the story it holds—our story. The reporters, art critics, and photographers who visit often rave about the transformation, but they don't fully understand what it took. Every brushstroke I made wasn't just about aesthetics; it was about rewriting our history, turning grief into beauty, pain into love.

I sat across from a reporter from Art World, a major international magazine. She fidgeted with her notepad, glancing up at me now and then, trying to maintain her professionalism. But the way her eyes lingered on my inked arms betrayed her flustered state. I chuckled inwardly. I was used to this reaction by now.

"So, Yok," she began, clearing her throat, "your transformation of this mansion is nothing short of extraordinary. How does it feel to live in a place that holds such deep, personal history for you and your... equally famous husband?"

The mention of Ray made me smile instantly. He had come so far—from the reckless, rebellious boy I fell in love with to the CEO of Pakorn Enterprises. It wasn't an easy journey, but we had made it together. He was still wild at heart, but now he carried the weight of responsibility with an elegance that made me fall for him all over again.

As if on cue, Ray entered the room, he often leaves for work at about this time after we've had our brunch together, and my heart did that familiar skip it always did when he looked at me. He wore his tailored suit effortlessly, his presence commanding attention. But when his eyes met mine, they softened. Despite all the growth, and all the changes, he was still the same Ray who made my pulse race.

I turned back to the reporter, my voice steady. "Honestly? It feels like we've rewritten the past. This place used to be full of painful memories for Ray, but we've filled it with new ones. Good ones."

Ray moved behind me, his hand finding its place on my shoulder, a simple, casual gesture, but one that made the air between us hum with connection. I felt the reporter's gaze flicker between us, and then her focus drifted back to my tattooed arms, curiosity clear in her eyes.

"What kind of memories are we talking about?" she asked, leaning in slightly, her tone a little too coy.

Ray's smile remained, but there was a playful warning in his voice when he replied, "The kind that isn't appropriate for an article."

The reporter blushed, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. I chuckled, unable to help myself. It was amusing, really.

"Ray likes being mysterious," I added with a wink. "But yeah, we've had some... fun times here."

She cleared her throat awkwardly, trying to regain composure. "Of course, of course. But Yok, your work has inspired so many people. And you've been... well, admired, not just for your art."