Chapter Two Hundred And Twenty Four

Chapter Two Hundred And Twenty Four
Camille’s POV

The moment we stepped into our suite, Theo closed the door, turned the lock, and turned toward me with a look that wrapped heat around my entire body.

“It’s been months since our wedding,” he said, walking toward me with slow, certain steps. “Months of peace… months of watching you wake up beside me… months of calling you my wife.”

His hand slipped around my waist, pulling me gently but firmly against him.

“But I’ve owed you something,” he murmured, his voice dipping into that deep tone that always made my heart stutter. “Our honeymoon. The one I was supposed to give you the moment I put that ring on your finger.”

He lowered his forehead to mine, his breath warm, possessive.

“You’re my wife, Camille,” he whispered. “Mine. And now I’m finally taking you away to show you exactly what that means.”

My breath caught. “Today?”

“Yes,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along my cheek. “Right now.”

The seriousness in his eyes softened into something tender. I didn’t protest. I didn’t ask where we were going. I simply nodded, because I trusted him more than anyone alive.

He kissed my forehead. “Pack lightly. I planned everything.”

Ethan arrived a few minutes later, waiting at the entrance with our bags. When we stepped outside, a sleek silver private jet was already parked on the runway, engines humming quietly, the Black Group crest shining under the evening sun.

I froze. “Theo… this is…”

“Mine,” he said with a half-smile. “And tonight, I’m flying you myself.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “You can fly this?”

He leaned close, whispering, “Your husband has more talents than you’ve discovered.”

His confidence stirred something warm and electric inside me. He took my hand and led me up the steps. The jet was beautiful — leather seats, soft lights, panoramic windows showing the sky painted in pink and gold.

We sat together in the cockpit, side by side. Theo slid on the headset and started the controls with calm, practiced ease. The plane lifted smoothly into the air.

Wind met metal. Clouds parted around us.

Theo reached over and took my hand while he flew.

For the first time in a long time, I felt weightless.

“Where are we going?” I whispered.

“Somewhere the world can’t touch us,” he replied, lifting my hand to his lips. “Somewhere you can breathe.”

I rested my head on his shoulder. His warmth, his scent, his steady breathing — all of it wrapped around me like a promise.

We landed at night.

The runway lights glowed softly, guiding us toward a quiet island villa surrounded by whispering waves. Palm trees swayed gently. The air smelled of salt and flowers. Lanterns lit the stone path leading to the villa.

Theo lifted me into his arms before I could protest.

“Theo…!”

“Honeymoon tradition,” he teased. “Let me carry my queen.”

Inside, the villa felt like a dream, warm candles, rose petals on the floor, an open balcony facing a calm moonlit sea. The entire space seemed built for us alone.

“For the next few days,” Theo said as he set me down gently, “it’s just us. No calls. No guards. No interruptions.”

His words wrapped around my heart.

I touched his chest. “Thank you for this.”

“No,” he said softly. “Thank you for choosing me after everything.”

His lips brushed mine, slow, warm, steady. The kiss deepened, blooming into something tender and consuming at the same time. His hands settled at my waist, pulling me closer, holding me like I was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

I kissed him back, fingers sliding to the back of his neck, drawing him in. His breath hitched, his control slipping just enough to show how much he’d wanted this.

He lifted my face in both hands.

“My wife,” he whispered, voice edged with emotion, “you finally belong to me. After all the battles. After everything they tried to destroy.”

My chest tightened. Not with fear, with love.

He kissed me again, deeper this time. There was no rush, no urgency. Just emotion. And heat. And the certainty that we finally had our moment.

Theo guided me toward the bed with slow steps, his hand never leaving my skin. The rest of the night unfolded in soft touches, quiet laughter, whispered promises, and the kind of closeness that healed more than it consumed.

Later, wrapped in his arms, my head on his chest, we listened to the ocean. His thumb traced circles on my shoulder.

“Camille,” he murmured quietly, “our life starts here. Not in the past.”
He kissed the top of my head. “I’m never leaving you again.”

The promise sank into me like light. I closed my eyes, letting myself rest against him. His arm tightened around me, possessive and protective.

We spent the next few days in a world made only for us, swimming in the warm ocean, waking up naked, walking barefoot on the sand, eating fresh fruit on the balcony while laughing about nothing. Theo massaged my shoulders with warm oil, kissing the tension away. I felt myself opening more, trusting deeper, healing parts of me I thought would never recover.

One night, he held me on the balcony as stars glittered above us.

“This is the life I want with you,” he said. “Calm… beautiful… ours.”

I leaned into him, breathing in the sweetness of the night. “It already is.”

He kissed my temple. “Good. Then let’s build everything from here.”

Later, as I lay in bed beside him, a strange flutter passed through my stomach. Soft. Almost unnoticeable. I placed my hand over the spot, wondering…

Wondering if this peace was already planting something new inside me.

I didn’t tell him.

Not yet.

I turned toward him, lay my head on his chest, and closed my eyes.

Our honeymoon had just begun.
Our future was unfolding quietly.
And for the first time since everything went dark… I felt completely safe. Completely loved. Completely his.