Page 44

Chapter 44

Fantasia

T he plane’s turbulence doesn’t even phase me. All I can think is “thank fucking God,” as I glance out the window and watch the sprawling landscape of Luxembourg fade into the distance.

Across the aisle, Arthur winces as the medic changes his bandage, though his eyes remain clear and alert. The bullet went clean through his shoulder- “a lucky break,” they said. Still, guilt gnaws at me. He took that shot protecting my daughter.

I shift my gaze to where Valeria sits between Piers and Desmond, her delighted giggles bubbling up as they entertain her with quiet games. Desmond taps her nose, earning a squeal, while Piers lets her wrap her tiny fingers around his thumb, murmuring something that makes her smile.

Soon, exhaustion wins out, and Valeria curls up against Piers’ chest, resting her small hand on his arm. I should let myself focus on that- the miracle of having her here, unharmed- but my mind keeps circling back. To Harold. To the fortune he walked away with. To the nagging certainty that this isn’t over.

When the wheels touch down at Heathrow, the energy shifts. Conversations start up as we unbuckle, everyone preparing to go their separate ways. As we make our way through the terminal, the hum of overhead announcements and rolling luggage fills the space.

Piers adjusts Valeria in his arms before turning to me. “She’s out,” he murmurs, carefully passing her over before joining Desmond, the twins exchanging a look only they understand as they say their goodbyes.

It’s only then, as we linger near the terminal’s exit, that I finally ask Achilles the question that’s been gnawing at me since we left Luxembourg.

“What happens to Harold now?” I keep my voice low as we linger near the terminal. “He’s out there, untouched, and richer than ever. What’s stopping him from doing this to someone else?”

Achilles exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Money like that won’t save him.” He pulls a cigarette from his pocket but doesn’t light it, just rolling it between his fingers. “Not from what’s coming.”

I frown. “And?”

“He’ll get a package soon. From Aunt Mary.”

I’ve only met the woman once, but it was enough to know that Harold is in deeper trouble than he realizes. The Ashwoods don’t forgive embarrassment. They erase it.

“And she’s making sure he understands just how much he’s disgraced the Ashwood name.” His lips curve into something sharp. “The package will include a letter. A broken crest. The final proof that he’s been cut off. But by the time he realizes what it truly means, it’ll be too late.”

I blink, processing. “Too late for what?”

Achilles goes still. “She’s going to level the estate. Once all the hostages are clear, there won’t be a single stone left standing. It’s rigged. Harold took his millions, but Aunt Mary’s ensuring he’ll never reclaim his place in the Ashwood legacy.”

I exhale through my nose, Valeria’s warmth seeping into my palms as I hold her closer. Harold may be cruel, cunning, a man who hoards power like oxygen—but even he couldn’t predict his own family’s vengeance. This isn’t just my victory. It’s his annihilation.

With that settled, we begin to part ways. Achilles and his men move toward the waiting cars, heading back to the Ashwood estate. Desmond grips Piers’s shoulder, then hesitates—his attention catching on Valeria’s sleeping face. Something unspools in his expression before he turns away, the Crowes already boarding their jet to Ireland.

That leaves me, Piers, and his men. Wesley Hall is waiting.

The drive to Wesley Hall is quiet, the hum of the engine the only constant sound between us. Valeria is fast asleep, curled up in the backseat, her tiny chest rising and falling in that steady rhythm that only babies seem to have. Every so often, Piers glances at her in the rearview mirror, his eyes softening with a mix of awe and protectiveness, like he's still coming to terms with the reality of being a father.

When we pull up to the estate, my breath catches.

The last time I was here, it was cold and hollow, filled with ghosts of a legacy Piers didn’t yet know how to claim. But now- it’s different. The trailing ivy is trimmed, the stone archways restored, the sweeping front drive no longer cluttered with abandoned history. The windows glow with warm, golden light, and even in the evening shadows, it looks more welcoming than I ever thought it could.

Piers climbs out first, making his way around the car to open my door. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t rush me, just waits as I step onto the gravel. Wesley Hall is standing taller, stronger. And so is he.

“You did all this?” I ask softly.

He nods. “Not overnight. But yeah.”

Something in his voice makes me turn to look at him. He’s not smug or proud, not fishing for praise. This place isn't just a house anymore- it’s his home. His family.

And I left him to build it alone.

Before I can say anything else, he moves to the back seat, unbuckling Valeria while keeping his movements careful, mindful. She stirs slightly when he lifts her, but only for a moment before settling her face against his shoulder.

“You coming?” he asks, already heading up the steps.

I let out a slow breath before following him inside.

As Piers leads me through the halls, the heavy, suffocating presence I remember is gone. The rooms are lighter, the windows open, the furniture arranged like a home instead of a fortress.

Valeria wiggles in Piers’ arms, her eyes wide as she takes it all in. “Pretty,” she murmurs sleepily.

I swallow hard.

This place was never pretty before.

I trail behind Piers as he moves through the house, pointing out the changes.

And that’s when it hits me.

“You didn’t just do this for you,” I say, my voice quieter than I mean it to be.

Piers stops. Turns.

He meets my eyes, his expression thoughtful, as if weighing my words. “I didn’t know what the future would look like,” he says, his voice quiet but firm. “But yeah, I was hopeful. Hopeful that one day you'd come back... that maybe there’d be a future here for us.” He pauses, then adds with a slight, almost reluctant smile, “I wanted to be ready for it, just in case.”

We stand there in the heart of the house, surrounded by memories and changes alike. Then, as if the house itself is bearing witness to his quiet confession, he leads me forward.

The study where my father used to sit for hours, brooding over the past, is now a functioning command center, lined with books, maps, and notes spread across the large mahogany desk. The dining hall, once cavernous and silent, now feels alive, with mismatched chairs tucked around the long table, faint echoes of past laughter still clinging to the air. Even the grand staircase, which used to loom like a relic of a forgotten era, has been reinforced, its wood polished and gleaming beneath the soft glow of chandeliers that no longer feel oppressive but warm, lived-in.

And then there’s the drawing room.

Gone is the dim, somber space where I’d spend hours lost in my own thoughts, the fire flickering as I drank almost an entire bottle of sherry in one sitting, too afraid to face the loss of my identity, unsure of who I was without the title.

Now, it's bright and airy, with floor-to-ceiling windows letting in the daylight. Antique furniture has given way to sleek, modern pieces that still feel warm and inviting. The fireplace burns as always, but now soft lamps cast a golden glow, and fresh flowers on the coffee table fill the air with a crisp, sweet scent.

I glance up at the chandelier, half-smiling. “No more flickering lights?”

Piers chuckles softly, clearly catching the hint of my nostalgia. “Not anymore.”

He's turned this into something real. Something thriving.

And then he leads me to another room. I stop in the doorway, my heart skips a beat as I take in the familiar space.

It’s Piers’s old room.

The furniture, the shelves crammed with books, the way the moonlight filters in through the curtains- it’s all the same.

Piers steps inside, Valeria cradled securely against his chest as he takes in the room with deliberate attention. “I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with my old space,” he admits, voice hushed with nostalgia. “But I’m glad it waited for us.”

He shifts, glancing toward the far side of the room. “Now, with this little one…” He looks down at Valeria in his arms, a small smile tugging at his lips as he lightly nuzzles her head with his nose. She lets out a soft, sleepy giggle as his fingers brush her delicate cheek. “I was thinking we could remake this place together,” he continues, the words buoyant with possibility. “The crib could go here, where the morning light is softer. And over there…” he gestures to the space by the window, “we could make a reading nook. Shelves, a chair for you.”

I press my fingers against the edge of the bed, grounding myself in the weight of memories. We used to sit right here, for hours, legs folded beneath us, talking about everything and nothing, lost in conversation until the sky turned pale with morning.

It was never supposed to be like this- so much time lost, so many things left unsaid.

And yet, as I watch him now, standing in this room with our daughter cradled against his chest, I realize that maybe not everything was lost.

A quiet ache settles in my chest, and I take a step toward him, drawn to the warmth of the life he’s building. “Piers…”

He turns to me then- really turns. Not just looking, but seeing. Me. Us. The future he’s daring to imagine.

He steps closer, tenderly brushing a stray lock of hair from my face and tucking it behind my ear. For a long moment, we look at each other, the silence stretching between us, before he speaks softly, his voice thick with emotion. “What do you want, Fantasia?”

I don’t hesitate.

“I want you,” I breathe. “Wherever you are, that's where I want to be.”

He exhales sharply, like he’s been waiting years to hear those words. Like they’re equal parts relief and agony.

I reach for him then, my fingers brushing against his hair, and he leans into my touch, closing his eyes for just a second.

“I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember,” I continue, my voice shaking, but resolute. “And I’ve been missing you every single day since I ran.”

His eyes snap open, dark and searching, scanning my face like he’s trying to find even the slightest trace of hesitation. But there isn’t any.

I take his free hand in mine, threading our fingers together. “I can't undo the past, but I don't want to run anymore. I don’t want to live without you.” I squeeze his hand, grounding him the way he's always grounded me. “I want to be here, with you. With our daughter. For real.”

Slowly, he lifts our intertwined hands, pressing them against his lips. His grip tightens, like he's afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.

“You’re serious,” he murmurs.

“With everything I have,” I promise.

He exhales, his eyes burning with something fierce and unrelenting. Then, without warning, he adjusts Valeria slightly in his arms and reaches for me, pulling me into him. His lips crash against mine, years of pent-up longing and unanswered questions dissolving into the certainty of this moment.

I feel it- everything we lost, everything we've found, everything we're about to rebuild.

When we finally break apart, breathless, he presses his forehead to mine. “Then marry me. Be my wife. For real this time.”

I let out a shaky laugh, my heart hammering against my ribs. “You sure you can handle me?”

A slow, crooked smile tugs at his lips, “I’ve always been sure.”

I always knew you were , I think to myself as I nod, my voice catching as I whisper, “Then yes.”

Piers exhales sharply, almost like he doesn’t believe it. Like he’s afraid I’ll change my mind if he blinks. But I won’t. I know that now.

And then, for the first time, we hold our daughter together.

Valeria shifts in his arms, stirring slightly, and instinctively, I reach out. Piers adjusts his hold so that she’s nestled between us, her small body warm and safe in the circle of our arms.

For a moment, we just sit there- silent, breathing each other in.

He places his lips just above my temple, his voice a gentle whisper, “welcome home, Fantasia.”