Page 32 of The Beast's Captive Bride
"That's the last time I want to hear you say that," she says, sudden fierceness in her tone. "That you don't deserve this. Deserve us." Her hands frame my face, forcing me to meet her gaze. "You deserve every bit of happiness, Cullen Blackwood. Every moment of joy. Every blessing that comes your way."
"Amber—"
"No." She cuts me off with uncharacteristic sharpness. "Listen to me. The past is done. The man you were—the man shaped by pain and betrayal—he's not gone, but he's not all of you anymore." Her expression softens, thumb stroking over my cheekbone. "You're my husband. The father of my child. The man who builds rose gardens and feeds chickens and holds me like I'm the most precious thing in the world."
"You are," I murmur, turning to press a kiss to her palm.
"So are you," she insists. "To me. To our baby. You are everything, Cullen. And I need you to believe that you deserve this life we're building. This love. This family."
Looking into her eyes, feeling the conviction in her words, the strength of her love, I find I finally can believe it. Not because I've atoned for my sins or balanced some cosmic scale, but because she sees goodness in me, and I trust her vision more than my own.
"I believe you," I say simply, and it feels like setting down a burden I've carried too long. "I'll try to see myself as you see me."
Her smile is worth every moment of doubt, every struggle to redefine myself beyond the man shaped by Richard Lockhart's betrayal.
"Good," she says, rising on tiptoe to press a kiss to my lips. "Because that's how our child will see you too. As their father. Their protector. Their hero."
Hero. The word should feel false, applied to a man who once kidnapped a young woman to punish her father. Instead, it feelslike a promise I can strive to fulfill—not a declaration of what I am, but of what I'm becoming.
"Come inside," Amber says, tugging gently at my hand. "You've worked enough for today. I want my husband to hold me while this little acrobat does their daily workout."
I allow her to lead me back toward the house, this home she's transformed with her presence. Behind us, the rose garden waits in silent promise, buds preparing to open, vines ready to climb. Ahead of us, a future brighter than any I dared imagine when hate was my only companion.
As we cross the threshold, Amber's hand in mine, our child moving between us, I finally let myself believe what she's been telling me all along: this is where I belong. This is what I deserve. This woman, this child, this life rising from the ashes of my revenge—it's mine. All mine. And for the first time in my life, that possessiveness feels not like a claim staked in fear, but like a gift received in gratitude.
My wife. My child. My forever. My family.
