The snow was falling again.
Not the stormy, violent blizzard that had once trapped them in the Ashford estate.
No—this snow was soft, silent. Like the sky was exhaling peace at last.
Cassandra stood barefoot on the balcony of their mountain hideaway, her crimson silk robe slipping off one shoulder. The fireplace inside flickered golden light behind her, but it was nothing compared to the heat running beneath her skin.
Julian stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Bare-chested. Sleep-tousled. Dangerous in a way that was all for her now.
"You're freezing," he murmured against her neck.
She tilted her head back into him. "I'm not."
"Liar." His hands slid lower.
Cassandra turned in his arms, catching his mouth with hers, a slow, sultry kiss that deepened into something wicked. The kind of kiss that made her toes curl and her heart race.
When they broke apart, she smirked. "You always do that. Kiss like it's war."
Julian's voice was rough. "With you, it is war. I surrender. Every time."
She laughed, but it came out breathless.
Their love had become something feral—untamed, hot-blooded. No longer an obligation or performance. Just two wild souls that found their match in the chaos.
And now?
They were writing their own vows—in kisses, in scars, in the way their bodies learned each other like scripture.
Inside, Julian pulled her robe away completely, laying her down in front of the fire.
The warmth kissed her skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his mouth tracing down her collarbone, over the swell of her breast, across the curve of her hip.
"You're staring," she whispered, flushed.
"I always stare at art," he said simply, reverently.
Their bodies met with the kind of passion that had been held back for too long. A slow burn that built into an inferno. He worshipped every inch of her. She bit his shoulder to keep from screaming his name.
No contracts.
No walls.
Just fire.
Later, tangled in blankets and sweat, Cassandra lay across Julian's chest, listening to his heartbeat.
"You know what's crazy?" she murmured.
"Other than you in that robe?"
She swatted his chest, laughing.
"No—I mean... we survived all of it. The manipulation. The forced marriage. The betrayal. And somehow…" She looked up at him. "We didn't just fall in love. We burned everything down to do it."
Julian stroked her hair. "We were built to be perfect for the system. But we became perfect for each other."
"Poetic," she teased. "You getting soft on me?"
"Only where you're concerned," he said, dead serious.
Then his hand slid lower again, already reigniting sparks.
The next morning, Cassandra sat at the kitchen island in Julian's shirt, sipping black coffee.
Her phone buzzed.
A single message.
The trial is over. They're being transferred. Privately. Route below.
She stared at it. Then looked out at the snow.
"Let's go for a drive," she called to Julian.
He walked out of the bedroom, shirtless, curious. "Where to?"
She smirked.
"To deliver a parting gift."