𝐅𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 [𝟏𝟖+]✓

Epilogue

7.5k words. I'm obviously crazy... what was I thinking when I wrote this... Like I want to write this story forever LMAO... anyway please vote and comment cuz i'll miss these characters. 

This has been sitting in my drafts forever and Someone reminded me to publish this... Bless your heart, Honey❤️

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Cyrus Hudson's mind refused to think about anything but his wife. The numbers and projections blurred in his mind, entirely unwelcome in the space his thoughts were already occupied. He adjusted his tie, settling deeper into the leather seat of his car, the faint hum of the engine filling the silence. Work could wait. Right now, his mind was elsewhere—on his wife.

He picked up his phone and tapped the screen. Their wedding photo illuminated the dim interior of the car, the golden hues of Acidalia Island captured in the background. The memory came rushing back—the sharp scent of salt in the air, the wind tangling in Saoirse's veil, the way her eyes held his as if nothing else existed. She had looked so effortlessly beautiful that day, so undeniably his.

He had named the island Acidalia, a quiet homage to the woman who had been his defender. Acidalia was an epithet of Venus, the Roman counterpart of Aphrodite. He remembered how Saoirse had laughed when he told her, teasing that she was Saoirse now, that she could leave the past behind. But he had only shrugged, not caring about the name—about any name. It didn't matter what she called herself. She had always been his—then, now, and forever.

Cyrus, despite his logic, structure, and efficiency, couldn't deny how fitting it was that they had chosen that island. The place where fate had entangled them, where his life had shifted in ways he never anticipated.

Of course, it had also saved him a fortune in wedding expenses. He allowed himself the slightest smirk at that.

His phone dimmed, the image fading, but the warmth in his chest lingered. It only intensified when the car came to a stop in the basement. As the engine fell silent, his eyes instinctively drifted to the photo Saoirse had hung beside the elevator.

It was a snapshot from their first Valentine's Day as a married couple, taken on the streets of New York. He was carrying her shopping bags, and she, with a playful smile, held a small bouquet of flowers. The memory flooded his mind in an instant—her laughter, the way she had looked at him that day, and the simple joy of sharing something so ordinary, yet so extraordinary, together.

When the final handshakes were exchanged and parting words spoken, Cyrus made his way back to his office, fingers dialing her to call her and ask where she was so he could pick her up. He stopped in his tracks at the sight before him.

There, curled up on his office couch, lay Saoirse. One arm tucked under her head, her breath even, her hair spilling over the cushions. She hadn't gone anywhere.

She had stayed.

His fingers brushed the sleeve of her coat as he crouched down beside her. "Saoirse," he murmured, voice low.

She stirred, her lashes fluttering before she blinked up at him, sleep still clinging to her expression. A small frown formed on her lips as she shifted. "Meeting over?"

He exhaled a quiet chuckle. "Yes. And you..." His gaze flickered to his untouched card on the table. "Didn't go shopping."

She let out a small sigh, stretching before sitting up, her hair slightly mussed from sleep. "I need you to carry the bags."

"Are you sure? The count of bags would only reduce if I accompanied you." a short laugh, warm and unguarded, escaped him.

She hummed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "But you can't deny me anything."