Page 114 of Stolen Vows

Something fractures inside me. It’s one thing to know she grew up in a world that didn’t value her for the incredible person she is. It’s another to hear the number. To know she was sold off like an asset on a spreadsheet.

A sharp fury coils in my chest, tight and unyielding. My fingers twitch, itching to tear something apart in her honor.

She takes a shuddering breath, blinking rapidly against the sheen of tears in her eyes. “My happiness, my well-being—none of that mattered.Ididn’t matter. I was a bargaining chip, something they could use to advance the family. They never saw me as a person, just a means to an end.”

Her voice is quiet, but not weak. There’s a thread of defiance beneath it, a steeliness that makes my chest ache.

“Francesca.” Her name is a low rasp, dragged from some deep, aching place inside me. “I don’t give a fuck what number they put on you.” My voice is rough, unwavering. “They don’t get to decide your worth, sunshine. You’re worth more than they’ll ever know. And that’s their loss. You don’t belong to them anymore, remember?”

Her breath catches, something shifting in her expression. She stares at me for a long moment, her golden eyes shimmering with emotion. Then she exhales shakily and crawls into my lap, straddling my thighs.

My hands automatically go to her hips, steadying her as she settles against me. She loops her arms around my neck, her fingers playing with the short hairs at my nape.

“You’re right,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. “I don’t belong to them anymore.” She leans in, her lips brushing the shell of my ear. “I belong to you.”

And for the first time in hours, some of the tension inside me lessens. It’s fucked up, and I know I should correct her. Remind her that she belongs to herself, despite how badly I want to call her mine. But I’m feeling selfish. So I swallow those words down, drowning them underneath layer after layer of crushing expectation.

It’s a sobering and terrifying realization. I never imagined being someone’s safe place before, but nothing has ever felt so right either.

I inhale sharply, my grip tightening on her hips. “Francesca.” Her name tumbles from my lips like a prayer, rough and reverent. She’s giving me something precious, something I’m not sure I deserve, but god, do I want it. Want her. All of her.

She pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, her eyes molten and full of promise. She doesn’t look away. I don’t either.

The space between us is quiet, heavy with something unspoken. And I know—I know—if I touch her right now, if I pull her into me, something will break open between us.

Instead, I run my thumb along her jaw, just once, and let my hand fall away. “Your turn,” I say, voice rough, trying to steer us back to something lighter. Something that won’t make me want to hunt down her parents and burn everything they’ve ever built to the ground.

“Okay.” She exhales a slow breath and slides out of my lap, leaving her legs sprawled out over me. “If you weren’t hacking for a living, what would you be?”

The question catches me off guard.

I lean back against the couch, my palms on her thighs, holding her to me. “Cybersecurity isn’t just hacking,” I remind her with an arched brow. She just grins like she was fucking with me on purpose. It’s building security networks, following patterns, helping people, and stopping bad things before they happen. “I liked baseball when I was younger.”

Her brows lift slightly, surprised. “Like,likedliked? As in, considered going pro?”

A slow smirk tugs at my mouth. “What’s with the double liked?”

She nudges my knee with hers. “Just answer the question, husband.”

I glance at the TV for a second, then back to her. “Scouts came to a few games in college. I had offers.”

Her lips part slightly, and I hate that I like how impressed she looks. “Why didn’t you take them?”

I roll my shoulders, adjusting the way I’m sitting. “Baseball was just . . . a thing I did. Not something I ever wanted as a career.”

Baseball was predictable and mathematical. A numbers game. I liked that about the sport. But I never actually wanted to play.

She tilts her head, considering. “I can see that. You don’t like the attention.”

That gets me. My chest tightens for a second, because yeah. My mouth twitches into a rueful smile. “You’re not wrong.”

She hums, studying me for a long moment. “So cybersecurity, that’s your passion?”

I shrug one shoulder, suddenly feeling exposed beneath her gaze. “It’s what I’m good at. What I’ve always been good at.”

She nods, something thoughtful passing over her expression. “But is it what makes you happy?”

The question lingers in the air between us. Is it what makes me happy? I’ve never really thought about it like that before. Cybersecurity, hacking—it’s always just been what I do. What I’m good at. I never really stopped to consider if it makes me happy. There’s satisfaction in that, sure. But happiness?

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