They made love as though making up for all the months stolen from them. Every night blurred into dawn, every dawn into night again. It was a rhythm—his hunger and her willingness, her softness and his desperate reverence. For a month straight they moved in cycles: Gavin's cries, milk and lullabies, and then their bodies tangling again under blankets that smelled of salt and sweat and rain.
Sometimes it was slow, the kind of lovemaking that built and broke like tides, leaving them washed against one another, spent and whole. Other nights it was rough, merciless, a breaking and remaking in the dark. Either way, they didn't stop. Not for a single night.
Adrian had always been a man ruled by duty, by control, by the sharp edges of work and legacy. But for those thirty days, his duty was Elara's breath against his throat, Gavin's tiny fist gripping his finger, the list on the kitchen wall growing longer: slept through the night; held his head up; laughed at father's sneeze.
And then the call came.
Adrian's phone buzzed against the nightstand as they lay tangled in sheets. He glanced at it, irritation flashing before he even saw the name. His father. He closed his eyes, cursed under his breath, and answered.
"Elara," he muttered when it was over, his tone heavy with resignation. He dragged a hand down his face, eyes shadowed. "Duty calls. He wants me back at the company. Now."
Elara pushed herself up on her elbows, the blanket slipping down her shoulders. She studied him for a moment—his jaw tight, his hand clenched in the sheets as though he hated to let go.
"We can come with you," she said simply.
His head snapped toward her. For a moment he looked almost boyish, caught off guard, hope sparking behind his exhaustion. "Really?" His voice cracked, softer than she'd ever heard it. "You'd... you'd come back with me?"
"Yes." Her smile was quiet, sure. "I'll keep this house as a retreat. But we'll come with you."
For a moment he couldn't move. Then a grin split his face—rare, unguarded, all sharp teeth and shining eyes. He surged forward, kissing her with the force of relief and longing. "Damn straight," he whispered against her mouth. "No more nights without you. Ever."
They returned to the city together. Gavin grew from four months to five, then six, then seven. Elara carved out her own rhythm within the glass-and-steel world of the Vales: parks instead of docks, prams instead of fishermen's baskets. Adrian split himself between boardrooms and bedtime stories, never again allowing himself to forget which mattered more.
And then came the news.
Elara stood by the window one morning, light gilding her hair. She turned when he entered, her expression unreadable at first—serious, almost grave. Then her lips curved in a way that stole the air from his lungs.
"I'm pregnant," she said.
For a full minute he just stood there, staring. The words rattled through him like an earthquake. Pregnant. Another child. Another piece of them made flesh.
"Holy shit," he whispered finally, voice cracking. "You're sure? We're—Elara, we're going to be parents again?"
She arched an eyebrow at his stunned face. "It's not that surprising. You know how often we—"
He choked on a laugh, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. "Damn right it's not surprising. And I'm not complaining one bit." In two strides he had her scooped into his arms, spinning her until she laughed breathlessly. "Another baby. God help us, love, I'm going to be a father again."
She smirked as she cupped his jaw. "You already are. Gavin's turning one next week."
That sobered him, softened him. His chest ached as he thought of their son—bright-eyed, stubborn, already trying to walk as though he had empires to conquer. "I know," he said softly. "I've already got him a gift. And I'm damn sure he's going to demolish his cake with both hands."
Elara laughed, warm and teasing. "Probably. He gets that appetite from you."
He kissed her, still grinning, his hands sliding down to rest over the slight swell of her stomach. His voice went low, rough. "Another baby. Another reason I'll never let you out of my sight."
The pregnancy brought its own storms. Elara's moods shifted with the weeks—sometimes fierce, sometimes tender, sometimes dissolving into tears at commercials that had no business being so sad. Adrian found himself learning patience in new ways: rubbing her feet, fetching late-night cravings, enduring her sharp retorts with a grin that only grew fonder.
"You're very handsome," she said one afternoon out of nowhere, her eyes tracing him as though seeing him for the first time.
He smirked instantly, preening. "Oh? Pregnancy hormones working in my favor, huh? Can't blame you. Hard not to stare when perfection's right in front of you."
She rolled her eyes. "Back in Veridia, I saw more pretty boys."
He stilled, then narrowed his eyes, pulling her close by the waist. "Careful, love. You know I'll get jealous if you start complimenting other men in front of me." His tone was mock-gruff, but his grip was firm, possessive.
She laughed, leaning up to kiss him. "I want you now."
That was all the invitation he needed. A growl rumbled in his chest as he lifted her easily, carrying her toward their bed, his lips never leaving hers. "Damn, Elara," he muttered between kisses, voice low with need. "You have no idea what you do to me."
A month later, they stood at the altar again.
The grand re-marriage ceremony was nothing like their first union. There were no shadows of duty or arrangement, no echo of manipulation or power plays. This was choice, pure and deliberate.
Adrian looked devastating in his black suit, his posture straight, his eyes burning with pride as Elara walked toward him. She wore white again, not because she needed to, but because she wanted to—her own reclamation of the symbol, of the day.
He couldn't move until she reached him, couldn't breathe until her hand was in his. Then, finally, his thumb brushed her knuckles as he slid the ring—the Vale ring, ancestral and eternal—back onto her finger.
"Always," he murmured, voice breaking.
And this time, there was no hesitation, no caveat, no hidden wound. Only truth.
"This time," he whispered against her lips as he kissed her slow and deep, "I'm never letting you go."
The crowd applauded. Gavin clapped along from Ysabel's lap, babbling happily as though he understood.
And for the first time in what felt like centuries, Adrian Vale felt whole.