Chapter 246 THE FIRE & THE ROSE [LUCIEN AND SLOANE]
EPILOGUE FOUR
SLOANE’S POINT OF VIEW
The meadow behind the Ravenscroft estate was a sea of emerald, red roses, and wildflowers, a stark contrast to the cold, marble hallways where Lucien and I first began our war….the place it all began.
I sat on a vintage quilt Lucien had shipped in from Dubai for me during my second pregnancy, leaning back on my elbows as I watched my husband. Lucien, the man who once used his sharp, dagger-like words to keep me at a distance, the king of Ravenscroft High who thought he could bully me into submission, was currently flat on his back in the grass. Ever since we’d gotten married, Lucien took it upon himself to ensure I never lacked anything.
Even though I didn’t need it since I wasn’t the scholarship kid from years back in high school, Lucien made sure I never even had to ask before it was provided. Now, we’re together for a family picnic in a private park he rented out just for our privacy. The press never failed to follow us, no matter where we went; so every second of privacy was much appreciated the second we got it.
Currently, I knew Lucien had the guards outside, watching with hawk-like attention so no one would interrupt family time with their nonsense. Ever since I became a singer, popstar, paparazzi, and fans sniffed me out even if I had on a full disguise.
Oftentimes, I got bullied for daring to be private, but Lucien was there to protect me. He made sure to send out lawsuits to whoever spoke ill of me or lied about my name. So now, people don’t dare lie blatantly about my name anymore.
I laughed, the sound hearty as I watched through the lens of the sun-glasses, our four-year-old son, Archer, was standing on Lucien’s chest, shouting about being the king of the mountain, while our eighteen-month-old daughter, Elara, was busy trying to share her mashed strawberries with Lucien’s crisp white button-down shirt.
"Lucien, that shirt costs more than my designer heels," I teased, reaching for a grape from the picnic basket. "Are you really just going to let her ruin it?"
Lucien didn't even flinch as a red smudge appeared on his shoulder, and then his cheek. He reached up, catching Elara’s tiny hand and kissing her sticky knuckles before looking at me. That gaze, the one that used to make me want to slap him or kiss him, usually both, was now filled with a warmth so deep it made my breath hitch with how much I loved him.
"It’s just fabric, Sloane," he murmured, his voice smooth, and still the raspy beauty I knew it to be. "Besides, I remember a time when you used to enjoy ruining my reputation. A shirt is an improvement."
I laughed, the sound carried away by the summer breeze. "I didn't ruin your reputation. I built it. If I hadn't agreed to fake date you to get back at Matt and Roxanne, you’d still be the brooding guy everyone was afraid to talk to."
"And if you hadn't challenged me at every turn," Lucien said, gently lifting Archer off his chest and sitting up, "I would have stayed a monster. You didn't just give me a family, Sloane. You gave me a soul."
The air between us crackled, the same electric tension that had fueled our rivalry years ago, but now it was tempered with a decade of devotion. Archer ran off to chase a butterfly, and Elara crawled toward a dandelion, leaving us in a pocket of sudden, intimate silence.
Lucien moved closer, his hand sliding into the hair at the nape of my neck. He pulled me toward him, his forehead resting against mine.
"I hated you so much back then," I whispered, my eyes fluttering shut as I breathed him in: sandalwood, expensive cologne, and the scent of our children.
"No, you didn't," he countered, his lips brushing mine. "You were obsessed with me. Just as I was obsessed with finding a way to break you, only to realize I was the one who was already broken."
He kissed me then, a slow, deep, possessive kiss that tasted like the victory we had won together; the joy and bliss we found in our new, blooming family. It wasn't the frantic, desperate kiss of two teenagers trying to fake it for the toxic crowd at an elite high school; it was the steady, grounded kiss of a man and his wife who had survived the fire and come out forged in gold.
"I love you, Sloane Ravenscroft," he whispered against my lips. "The girl who was too stubborn to lose, and the woman who taught me how to win."
I pulled back just an inch, smirking at him with that same fire he fell for. "I know, Lucien. I'm the best thing that ever happened to you."
"The only thing," he corrected, pulling me back in as the sound of our children’s laughter filled the meadow, the perfect soundtrack to a legacy that started with a lie and ended with the truth.