Chapter 219: THE END

Emily leaned back, her voice calm but sharp as a blade. “If his money weren’t enough to pay for that debt, he could’ve borrowed from my husband. Art would lend a hand in a second. Do you think we’d let Lisbon suffer? That’s family.”

I opened my mouth, shut it again, then finally said, “It wasn’t that simple.”

Dolores, who had been quiet until now, piped up with a wicked grin: “Sounds exactly that simple to me.”

I groaned, pushing my plate away. “I hate this breakfast.”

Maria smirked. “No, you hate that we’re right.”

Emily reached over, patting my hand with infuriating patience. “You can cook eggs perfectly, Aya, but when it comes to love, you’re absolutely useless.”

And just like that, they all laughed while I sat there, fuming, knowing deep down that maybe—just maybe—they weren’t wrong.

The next day.

The kitchen smelled like butter and syrup, like mornings were supposed to smell. I was flipping pancakes trying to act normal, when Emily waddled in with her gelato—at eight in the morning. Pregnant privilege, I guess. She barely sat down before the air shifted.

Nathaniel appeared in the doorway.

Mess. He looked like a mess. Disheveled hair, eyes rimmed with exhaustion, a wrinkled shirt with a faint coffee stain across the chest. Not his usual smug perfection. And yet… somehow still infuriatingly attractive.

"Can we talk?" he rasped. His voice cracked like he hadn’t slept.

I wanted to say no. I wanted to ignore him, to shove another pancake on the griddle and pretend I didn’t feel my heart skidding against my ribs. But Emily, with her smug pregnancy glow and zero shame, stuffed a spoonful of gelato in her mouth and raised her brow.

“Leave it to Maria. You—room. Now,” she ordered, pointing her spoon like a general commanding soldiers.

“We have a living room,” I protested weakly.

“Living room echoes. And Dolores has ears sharper than a wolfhound,” Emily deadpanned, licking her spoon. “Go. My gelato says you need privacy.”

I shot her a look, but she just smirked, so I turned and led Nathaniel upstairs. Every step made the air thicker, like the whole house knew what was about to happen.

When we entered my room, I crossed my arms fast, trying to build some kind of armor. “Well. You’ve got two minutes before Maria starts fake dusting outside the door to eavesdrop.”

Nathaniel shut the door behind him. Didn’t sit. Just stood there, running his hand through his already-messy hair. His eyes locked on me, so raw and unguarded I had to look away.

I hated that I still felt it—the tug, the stupid gravity between us.

“So,” I said, trying to sound unaffected but hearing the wobble in my own voice, “what’s left to talk about?”

Nathaniel’s jaw ticked. His hand raked through his messy hair again like he was holding back a storm. Then, quietly—too quietly—he asked:

“Why did you leave?”

The words hit me like a gut punch. No teasing. No smug grin. Just raw, heavy pain.

I swallowed. “You know why.”

“No.” He stepped closer. “I don’t. Because from where I was standing, we were—” His voice cracked, and he clenched his fists like he was physically holding himself back. “We were finally something. And then you just… vanished. No note. No explanation. Just gone.”

I couldn’t look at him. My eyes burned. “Nathaniel, it’s not that simple.”

“It is.” His voice sharpened, frustration spilling through. “You left because of Hawk. Because of that old-school, debt-tying nonsense. But newsflash, Aya—I’ve handled my family’s messes my whole damn life. You think I couldn’t handle this one? You think I’d ever let them sell me off to some blonde Barbie when I already—”

He stopped short. Like the words had escaped before he could drag them back.

My breath hitched. “When you already what?”

His eyes locked on mine, fierce, unflinching. “When I already chose you.”

I froze. My heart slammed against my ribs, like it was trying to break free and leap straight into his hands.

“Nathaniel,” I whispered, shaking my head, “you don’t understand. If you go against Hawk, your family loses everything. The land, the farm, the people—”

“And you think walking away from me fixes that?” he shot back, his voice rough, almost breaking. “You think breaking my heart makes the debt vanish?”

I flinched, because he said it—breaking his heart.

Silence wrapped around us, thick, suffocating. His chest rose and fell hard, his eyes searching mine like he was trying to pry open the truth I’d buried.

“I couldn’t stay,” I whispered finally, tears slipping before I could stop them. “Because if you had to choose between me and them, I’d rather take myself out of the equation than watch you lose everything.”

Nathaniel’s face crumpled, and before I could blink, his hands were on my shoulders, grounding me. “God, Aya,” he murmured, his forehead nearly touching mine, “don’t you get it? It was never a choice. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

My knees went weak. My heart screamed yes, but my fear whispered no.

I choked out, “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

But then his thumb brushed the tear off my cheek, and his voice came low, ragged, undeniable.

“I mean every damn word.”

And for a moment, I almost believed him.

I kissed him like he was my air.

Then…

The kiss slowed, softened, but it didn’t lose its intensity—it only shifted. From desperate fire to something terrifyingly tender. His lips brushed mine again and again, and I felt it—his restraint, his need, the weight of words he hadn’t said.

I broke the kiss first, panting, my forehead pressed against his chest. “Nathaniel…”

He tipped my chin up, forcing me to meet those stormy blue eyes. “Say it.”

“What?” My voice was barely a whisper.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” he said, his tone sharp but his eyes pleading. “Say it, and I’ll walk out that door. But if you do…” His thumb brushed my cheek, lingering where the tears had dried. “If you feel it too, Aya… I need to hear it.”

My heart pounded so loud I thought he’d hear it. I opened my mouth, closed it, opened it again. Every wall I’d built, every excuse I’d clung to, collapsed under his gaze.

“I tried,” I whispered, shaking my head. “God, I tried so hard not to. But I do.”

His breath hitched.

“I love you,” I admitted, voice breaking, the words finally ripping free. “I love you, Nathaniel Lisbon. And it scares me to death.”

For half a heartbeat, he just stared at me. Then his smile broke—bright, relieved, unguarded. His laugh was raw, shaky, like he couldn’t believe what he’d heard.

“I love you too,” he said, firm, without hesitation. “Hell, Aya—I think I loved you the second you burned my hands. I loved you the moment you threw that watermelon at me in the market.”

I let out a wet laugh. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot,” he said, before kissing me again—deeper, hotter, no holding back this time.

One kiss bled into another, our hands frantic and greedy. His jacket slid off my shoulders, my fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. The months of pretending, of denial, burned away in the heat between us.

We stumbled toward the bed, laughter and gasps tangled with kisses. His hands skimmed down my back, reverent and hungry, and I felt my body melt into his like it had always belonged there.

“Are you sure?” he murmured against my lips, even as his breath shuddered.

I cupped his face, brushing my thumbs across his cheekbones. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

And then words didn’t matter anymore.

The world narrowed to the warmth of his skin, the way he whispered my name like a prayer, the way he held me as if I was both fragile and the strongest thing he’d ever touched. We kissed, we laughed, we cried, and we loved—fully, recklessly, endlessly.

By the time dawn filtered through the curtains, tangled limbs and whispered “I love you’s” were all that remained.

And for the first time since this entire mess began, I didn’t feel like I was pretending.

I felt like I was home.

The end.