Page 169 of Undisputed Chaos
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard.
"No more running," I said against her lips. "No more walls, no more secrets. Just this, forever."
"Forever," she agreed, sealing the promise with another kiss.
Outside, the city was waking up, traffic beginning to build, people starting their days, the world continuing to turn in its predictable patterns.
But here, in this room, in this bed, time felt suspended.
The past was gone, burned away with Noah's remains. The future stretched ahead of us, bright with possibility.
I held my angel close as the morning light grew stronger, her heartbeat steady against mine, her breathing evening out as contentment pulled her toward sleep again.
She was mine completely. Not just my girlfriend or my obsession, but my partner, my equal, my chosen family.
Adrian Hills,I thought, testing the name in my mind.
It felt right in a way that nothing ever had before. Like coming home after a lifetime of wandering.
"Sleep, angel," I whispered into her hair. "I've got you."
She drifted off in my arms, and I allowed myself to accept, finally and completely, that this was how the story was supposed to end.
Not with violence or vengeance, but with love. With family.
With the kind of peace that came from finding the one person who looked at all your broken pieces and called them beautiful.
The chaos was over. The healing could begin.
And Adrian Hills, no longer an empty space, finally had a name worth carrying into forever.
EPILOGUE ONE
Isla
The afternoon light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my studio, casting golden rectangles across the concrete floor that Adrian had personally polished to a mirror shine.
Just a few months had passed since that scary day.
This space evolved into something even more magical, a sanctuary that breathed with life and creativity.
I stood before the massive canvas that dominated the far wall, twelve feet of pristine white that had been taunting me for weeks.
Paint-stained fingers gripped the brush handle as I studied the blank expanse, my heart hammering with the familiar cocktail of excitement and terror that came before every new piece.
Just start, I told myself, the same mantra that had carried me through every canvas. Trust the process.
My phone sat propped against a paint-splattered easel, recording everything.
The camera had become as natural as breathing, documenting myprocess for the followers who'd watched me transform from a girl who painted pretty landscapes to a woman who created storms.
The comments on my recent posts told the story better than any memoir could:
"Your art has gotten so raw and colorful.”
"This isn't the same Isla, and I love it!”
"Whatever happened to you, it woke up your soul."
