DO NOT COPY
CONNECTED TO KILLIAN MONTENEGRO
Ten years later
By now, your life was whole in a way that felt almost sacred. Archiel Castellan, patient, steady, loving — the man who never rushed you, who had waited for your heart to truly heal — held your hand as you stepped into the skeleton of your new home. The walls were bare, but your imagination filled every corner. Light fell in gold across the unfinished floors, and you could already see the warmth that would one day live here.
“Wait here, love,” Archiel said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His smile was easy, affectionate. “I want to show you the genius behind all this. Mr. Montenegro, my wife is here.”
Your breath caught.
Killian.
He turned, and the world seemed to still. The years fell away, the years of love, heartbreak, and healing — all compressed into the moment your eyes met. The faint smile he wore for Archiel faltered the instant he saw you. His lips trembled, but he didn’t speak.
Archiel, unaware, stepped forward. “love, this is Killian Montenegro — the architect I told you about. The designs you’re seeing? His work. He’s brilliant.”
Killian bowed slightly. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mrs. Castellan,” he said, voice fragile, cracked in all the right places.
You whispered, “Likewise.”
“Yes,” Killian said softly, finally lifting his eyes to yours again. “That’s what I do. I build homes.”
Archiel’s hand tightened gently around yours. “See? He understands the soul of a house. But, love… what do you think? Should we move the window here? I want the sunlight to fall just right for the dining room. And the view of the garden — do you think it should open wider?”
You smiled, letting yourself relax into the gentle rhythm of him — the way he included you, how he sought your opinion, how he made you feel that your voice mattered. “Yes,” you said softly. “Move the window. And the garden… let it open just enough to catch the afternoon sun.”
Archiel leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I want you to love this house, just like I love you. Every corner, every detail… it should feel like home. Not just for us, but for our baby too.”
You pressed your hand to your belly instinctively. “It already feels like home,” you whispered.
He smiled, the kind of smile that made your chest ache in all the right ways. “You know,” he whispered, his fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, “I can’t wait to see our mornings together — the baby’s laughter filling these halls, the smell of breakfast, your smile greeting me every day. This… all of this… it’s ours.”
“You think about the future that much?” you asked softly, leaning into him.
“All the time,” he said, voice low and reverent. “I think about holding you close, seeing our little one grow, the tiny hands, the quiet nights, the chaos and the peace — all of it. And I can’t wait to do it with you.”
Killian cleared his throat softly, a reminder of the years and the ghosts still between you. But he didn’t step closer. He didn’t speak. His eyes lingered on you for a heartbeat longer, and then, with a faint, almost invisible nod, he excused himself.
“I’ll leave you two to it,” he said quietly. “You deserve this.”
And just like that, Killian walked away, leaving only the echo of what once was, and the undeniable reality of what you had now.
Alone with Archiel, your hand in his, the mansion stretching around you like a promise yet to be fulfilled, the world felt right again.
He tilted your face up to his, his lips brushing your forehead in a soft, lingering kiss. “Ich liebe dich, meine bessere Hälfte,” (I love you, my better half) he murmured — the first time he said it aloud to you, a quiet declaration meant for you and the tiny life growing inside you. “I love you… and I love our little one, too.”