Page 62 of Made for Vengeance (Dark Dynasties #3)

She looked at my outstretched hand, then up at my face, her eyes searching mine for something—reassurance, perhaps, or confirmation, or some truth she needed before making this decision, this choice that would determine her path forward in a world suddenly transformed by violence and death and unexpected freedom.

Then, slowly, deliberately, she placed her hand in mine.

The simple contact—warm skin against skin, her smaller hand fitting perfectly in my larger one—sent a surge of emotion through me so intense it was almost painful. Relief. Joy. Gratitude. And something deeper, more fundamental, more transformative than anything I'd ever experienced before.

Love. Not possession. Not obsession. Not the need to control or dominate or own. But love—the willingness to risk everything for her happiness, her freedom, her choice. Even if that choice had led her away from me.

But she had chosen me. Had placed her hand in mine. Had decided, in this moment of newfound freedom, to come with me rather than stay with what remained of her family or strike out on her own.

"Let's go home," I said softly, the words a question as much as a statement, an acknowledgment that "home" might mean something different now, something we would need to define together rather than by my dictates alone.

She nodded, her fingers tightening around mine, her eyes never leaving my face. "Home," she agreed, the word carrying a weight, a meaning, a promise that transcended the simple syllable.

We turned to leave, still hand in hand, passing Connor who stood watching with an expression that mingled sadness and understanding and something like approval.

"Take care of her," he said quietly as we passed, the words directed at me but loud enough for Grace to hear. "Or I'll finish what I started today."

The threat was clear, unambiguous, delivered with the calm certainty of a man who had just killed his own brother to protect his sister. I nodded, acknowledging both the warning and the care behind it, the genuine concern for Grace's welfare that had driven Connor's actions today.

"I will," I promised, meaning it more deeply than any vow I'd ever made. "With everything I am."

We left the O'Sullivan estate as we had arrived—through the front door, past guards who now looked at us with uncertainty rather than hostility, into the bright afternoon sunlight that seemed to symbolize the new beginning, the fresh start, the possibility of something different from the darkness that had defined our relationship from its inception.

As we drove away, Grace beside me in the passenger seat, I glanced at her profile—the strength evident despite the bruise on her cheek, the quiet dignity that had never left her despite everything she had endured at her father's hands and at mine.

"Where do you want to go?" I asked, the question encompassing more than just our immediate destination, more than just the physical location where we would spend the night. "Anywhere. Your choice."

She turned to look at me, her eyes meeting mine with a clarity, a certainty, a resolve that took my breath away.

"With you," she said simply. "Wherever that is.

Whatever that means. I choose you, Rafe.

Not because I have to. Not because I'm afraid.

But because I want to. Because I see you. All of you. And I choose you anyway."

The words hit me with physical force, knocking the air from my lungs, making my heart stutter in my chest. This was what I had wanted from the beginning, what I had tried to force through captivity and control, what I had finally understood could only come freely or not at all.

Her choice. Her surrender. Not coerced, not manipulated, not born of fear or necessity, but freely given. A gift beyond price, beyond value, beyond anything I had ever dared to hope for.

"I love you," I said, the words escaping before I could consider them, filter them, control them as I had controlled every other aspect of my life for so long.

"I love you, Grace. Not as a possession.

Not as a prize. But as a person. As yourself.

As the woman who has changed everything about who I thought I was, who I could be. "

She smiled then—a small, tentative thing, but real. The first genuine smile I'd seen from her in too long. "I know," she said softly. "I've always known, even when you didn't. Even when you couldn't admit it to yourself."

The understanding in her voice, the acceptance, the forgiveness implicit in those simple words, undid me in ways violence never could, never had.

I reached for her hand again, needing the contact, the connection, the tangible proof that she was here, that she had chosen me, that we were moving forward together into whatever came next.

Her fingers intertwined with mine, warm and solid and real. A promise. A beginning. A choice freely made by both of us, for the first time since our paths had crossed.

As we drove away from the O'Sullivan estate, from the death and violence and old patterns that had defined both our lives for too long, I felt something unfamiliar settle in my chest—not the cold calculation that had guided me for years, not the obsessive need that had driven me to take her against her will, but something warmer, steadier, more sustainable.

Peace. The peace that comes from knowing you are exactly where you're meant to be, with exactly who you're meant to be with, moving toward a future that holds possibility rather than certainty, choice rather than control, love rather than possession.

What began as a kidnapping had ended with a kingdom. And this time, no one would take her crown.

Or mine.