Page 50 of Knotting on Heaven's Door

He was tall. Strong. A bit rugged in that charming, protective way some alphas wore like armor. And his hand was on her waist like it belonged there.

Adam.

I didn’t need to ask.

I justknew.

For a moment, I couldn’t move. The sight of her like that—young, in love, unburdened—hit something deep inside my chest.

She looked… full of hope. Like she’d believed in forever. The silence stretched around me, thick with something sacred.

Carefully, I crouched down and picked up the photo. Smoothed the edges. Wiped away a bit of dust with my thumb. Then, without thinking, I said quietly, like the words were more for him than for me—

“If she lets me… I promise to give her the life she deserves. The kind of happy ending you’d have wanted for her.”

The words hung in the air like a vow.

And for just a second, I swore the quiet shifted.

Not approval. Not forgiveness.

But maybe—acceptance.

“Sebastian?” Mia’s voice called from outside. “We good?”

I gently set the photo back in the box, like it was something holy, and stood.

“Yeah,” I called back, voice steady but low. “Coming.”

And as I stepped into the fading sunlight, the box sealed behind me, I carried more than furniture out of that unit.

I carried the weight of a promise. One I wasn’t sure I had the right to make. But gods help me—I meant every damn word.

Mia and Peter didn’t linger after helping carry everything up the two flights of stairs—bless them both. Mia was her usual calm, efficient self, barking directions and rolling her eyes when Peter nearly dropped the lamp. He also made three inappropriate jokes, two of which I mentally filed away to use on Liam later.

Once they were gone, I stood in the middle of the room surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and a lumpy mattressleaning in the corner like it knew its time had come.

The sofa bed took up most of the living space, but it already made the place feel more solid. Like I wasn’t just passing through. I set up the lamp on the end table, found the right spot for the mugs—yes,hermugs—and hung a battered framed art print I’d bought the other day at a garage sale.

Still sparse. Still nothing like the penthouses and beach villas I once knew.

But… it wasmine.

And it smelled like her.

No matter how many times I changed the sheets, flipped the cushions, aired the damn thing out, the scent clung to the fabric. Fresh waxed floors, clean citrus, soft musk. Ada.

It wrapped around me like a tether.

I lay down on the new bed and stared at the ceiling. The air was too still. The night too loud in my head. I rolled over, then back. Then over again.

With a groan, I reached for my phone.

Me:Thanks again for the furniture. Place looks almost like an actual home now.

I didn’t expect a response right away.

But she answered.

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