Chapter 155

Chapter 155
Lily’s POV

The soft light of Sunday morning creeps into my room at June’s Upper East Side apartment, where Mom and I have been staying since our surgeries.

My body’s still tender, my ribs aching faintly, the scars from Dad’s fists but my heart’s alive, buoyed by Crew’s love.

I’m stirring from sleep when June bursts in, her giggle a bright spark, as her eyes dance with mischief as she holds a large, elegant white box, tied with a satin ribbon.

“Wake up, Lil!” She chirps, her voice bubbling with excitement, her recovery from Fig’s betrayal—his drugs, her stolen baby—is something I admire. “You’ve got a delivery, and I’m dying to see what’s inside!”

I push my hair from my eyes, squinting at her, a smile tugging at my lips despite the groggy haze.

The gray morning light floods in as she flings open the curtains, making me groan and bury my face into my pillows.

“June, it’s break,” I mumble, my voice thick with sleep. “Let me sleep in.” My heart flutters, though, knowing this box is from Crew—his love, his surprises, a fire that keeps me warm after the nightmare of Dad’s violence, June’s pain, and our fight to heal.

“No way!” June laughs, her grin infectious, setting the box on my bed and nudging my shoulder.

“This came an hour ago, and I’ve been losing it waiting for you to open it. It’s from him, isn’t it?”

Her tease is playful, her eyes gleaming, her joy a balm to the shadows of her loss. I sit up, as June places the box in my lap, anticipation bubbling, a giddy rush that makes my heart race.

I know it’s from Crew, but what’s inside? My fingers tremble, my love for him—his kisses in Vermont,and his mansion.

“Come on, Lil, open it!” June squeals, bouncing on the bed,like a little child. Her excitement was contagious.

“Okay.”I laugh, hoping it’s nothing too wild, and untie the ribbon, lifting the lid to reveal layers of white tissue paper.

Beneath them, a smaller box wrapped in shimmering pink paper catches the light, and I tear it open, my breath catching.

Inside is a stunning pink designer dress, its fabric soft and flowing, perfect for my frame.

Nestled beside it, a tube of pink lip-gloss, a sleek designer handbag, and a pair of elegant heels, all matching, all breathtaking.

My heart leaps, tears pricking my eyes, Crew’s thoughtfulness a fire in my chest.

Then I see it—a cream envelope with my name in his bold handwriting. I open it, my hands shaking, and read:

Lily, will you be my prom date? Yours, Crew.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, my voice trembling, tears spilling as I clutch the letter, my heart soaring.

Prom is months away, but Crew’s thinking of me, planning, loving me, and I’m overwhelmed, my love for him a tidal wave, his gesture a vow after the hell I've been through.

June squeals, grabbing the dress, holding it up, her eyes wide.

“Lil, this is gorgeous! He’s so into you!” Her joy is pure, her recovery a light, her happiness for me,makes me smile, despite the ache of our shared wounds.

I grab my phone, my fingers fumbling, texting Crew, my heart pounding.

Crew, I just opened the box. I’m so surprised—everything’s perfect, the dress, the gloss, the bag, the heels. I love them.

I hit send, my tears falling, my smile unstoppable, his love a fire that burns away my scars.

His reply is instant:

Glad you love them, Lil. They’ll look perfect on you—your skin, your body, made for that dress. Prom date?

My cheeks burn, my heart racing, and I type:

Yes, I’d love to be your prom date.

I’m blushing, my love for him—his arms, his cock, his heart in Vermont—a blaze, June’s giggle beside me a tease I welcome.

He texts back:

Can’t wait to see you in it, baby. It’ll hug every curve, your perfect body. You’re my everything.

My blush deepens, my pussy tingling, his words a caress, his vision of me a fire I feel. June peeks over, her grin is wicked.

“Oh, he’s got it bad,” she teases, her voice playful, her eyes dancing. “You’re blushing like crazy, Lil! So, are you two official yet?”

Her question is light, but it lands heavy.

I giggle, my voice shy, picking up the dress, its pink fabric soft in my hands, a symbol of Crew’s love, our future.

“We’re… taking it step by step,” I say, my smile warm, my heart full. “He’s my everything, but we’re figuring it out.”

My words are honest, my love for him a fire, but cautious, my scars—Dad’s fists, Mom’s sacrifice, June’s loss—reminding me to savor this slowly.

June laughs, nudging me, her joy a spark. “Step by step, huh? Girl, he’s planning prom already—you’re basically married!”

Her teasing makes me laugh, my tears dry, her strength a light, her love a tether after her pain, my pain.

I hold the dress to my chest, imagining prom—Crew’s arms, his eyes on me, his “I love you”—and I’m alive, my heart soaring, Dad’s shadow fading, Fig’s cruelty a distant echo.

“He knows me,” I whisper, my voice soft, my eyes on June, her smile a gift. “The dress, it’s perfect for me.”

She nods, her eyes glistening, her recovery a fire I admire, her love for me a shield.

I think of Mom, healing in her room, her lung stronger, her smile when she saw me post-surgery, and I’m grateful, my prayer—Please, let us be free—answered.

June grabs the heels, twirling them, her giggle infectious.

“You’re gonna slay prom, Lil,” she says, her voice warm.

“Crew’s lucky.”

I smile, my heart full, my love for her, for Crew, for Mom, a blaze.

I text Crew again:

I can’t wait either. Thank you, for everything.

His reply:

You’re my warrior, Lil

It makes me blush, my heart is his, our future a light.

June’s tease, her joy, her strength, weaves with mine, our scars—Dad, Fig—a fire we’ll outshine, together, step by step, no matter the dark.

“He got his eyes hooked on you.”

I blush hard.

“Of course he does.”

Then we giggle like little girls as we dance around the room.