---
---
Chapter 20: The Epilogue — His Peace
Months had passed since everything changed.
The world moved on — quietly, steadily — and so did they.
Lucas Alvarez was still the man everyone feared and respected in the corporate world. His company, Alvarez Industries, continued to rise under his firm but fair leadership. Every morning, he dressed sharply in a dark suit, kissed Vierrah's forehead, and left the mansion for the city.
The mansion was vast and serene, sitting on the hillside overlooking the sea. It was surrounded by tall trees, white marble pathways, and gardens full of roses — Vierrah's favorite.
The staff remained — Liza, the maid who'd been with them since the beginning, and Marco, Lucas's trusted bodyguard who guarded not only their home but also their peace. Yet even they could tell how different everything had become.
The once cold, commanding boss now smiled more often. He still gave orders, yes — but now with warmth in his voice instead of thunder.
Every evening, when his car pulled up to the gates, Vierrah could always tell. The sound of the engine was steady, familiar. The guards would greet him with quiet respect, and Lucas would nod politely before stepping out.
No matter how exhausting his day had been, he always carried one thing home with him — his calmness, something he fought so hard to build.
---
Inside the mansion, Vierrah would often wait in the grand living room. Sometimes she read, sometimes she painted, sometimes she simply sat on the couch and listened to the sound of the ocean outside the tall windows.
When Lucas arrived, he never failed to find her.
"Home," he would say in that deep, softened voice as he set his briefcase down.
Then he'd walk straight to her, still in his suit, still smelling faintly of rain and cologne, and wrap his arms around her shoulders from behind.
"You're late," she'd tease.
"I missed you too much," he'd whisper. "Traffic had to suffer."
"You can't just threaten traffic, Lucas," she'd say, laughing.
"I could try," he'd reply, his tone half-serious, half-playful.
That was him now — still powerful, still intense, but tender in all the right ways.
He'd sit beside her, loosen his tie, and pull her closer, resting his head on her shoulder like a boy too tired to pretend he wasn't in love.
---
Marco, from a respectful distance, often witnessed this routine. The man who once terrified board members now melted in the arms of the woman who once challenged him.
"Sir seems more relaxed lately," Marco said to Liza one afternoon while watching them from the hallway.
Liza smiled knowingly. "Miss Vierrah changed him."
"No," Marco replied after a moment. "I think they changed each other."
---
Despite his calm demeanor at home, Lucas was still every inch the businessman when he stepped into his office. Meetings, contracts, and decisions filled his days.
He was still sharp, commanding, and brilliant — but not ruthless. His employees no longer feared him; they respected him. His leadership no longer came from intimidation, but from quiet authority.
Still, no matter how busy he got, he never missed dinner at home. He always made time for it — his one sacred routine.
"Cancel the rest of my appointments," he'd often tell his secretary by five o'clock. "I'm going home."
And when asked if there was anything urgent he had to finish first, he'd simply answer:
"There's someone more important waiting."
---
The mansion transformed in the evenings. Liza would set the dining table with candles, Marco would check the perimeter, and Vierrah would wait in the garden as the sun dipped below the horizon.
Sometimes she'd see his car approach through the gate lights — sleek, black, and steady — and she'd smile to herself.
He was coming home.
When Lucas walked in, the air changed. The house felt more alive.
"You're early today," she'd say, surprised.
"I missed you too much to stay longer," he'd answer with a grin, slipping off his coat and reaching for her hand.
And then, like clockwork, he'd hug her — tightly, as if he had been holding his breath all day just to exhale in her presence.
"You know," she'd tease, "you're still as clingy as before."
He'd chuckle. "You call it clingy. I call it devotion."
"Hmm," she'd hum playfully. "Same thing."
---
After dinner, they would often sit on the terrace, overlooking the sea. The moon would rise high, silver light spilling across the garden, and the waves would whisper softly below.
Lucas would pour them both wine while Vierrah wrote in her journal — the same leather one she had carried since their hardest days.
Tonight, as she wrote, she read aloud softly, her voice blending with the sound of the sea:
> "Sometimes love isn't about owning someone.
It's about freeing the part of you that once needed to control."
Lucas looked up at her, his expression soft but heavy with meaning.
"You wrote that about me," he said.
"About us," she corrected gently.
He nodded, gaze fixed on her as if trying to memorize her face in the moonlight. "You freed me, Vierrah."
"No," she whispered, placing her hand on his. "You freed yourself. I just stood beside you while you did."
He leaned closer, kissing her hand. "Still. You're my peace."
---
The staff had grown used to their quiet intimacy — the little gestures, the morning kisses, the way Lucas would insist on walking her to bed even when she wasn't sleepy.
He'd often trail her through the mansion, half teasing, half protective.
"Lucas, I'm just going to the kitchen," she'd laugh.
"Then I'm going to the kitchen too," he'd reply simply.
Sometimes, while she read on the couch, he'd lie down with his head on her lap, closing his eyes as if her presence alone was rest enough.
"You're clingy," she'd murmur.
"I'm in love," he'd answer, without opening his eyes.
---
One evening, after a particularly long day, Lucas came home visibly exhausted. His tie was loose, his voice quieter.
Vierrah met him by the door. "Rough day?"
He nodded. "Meetings, calls… everyone wants a piece of me."
She touched his cheek. "And what do you want?"
He smiled faintly, eyes soft. "This."
Before she could answer, he pulled her close — slow, steady, like gravity itself was urging him toward her.
He breathed her in, his lips brushing against her forehead. "You're the only thing that makes all of it worth it."
The confession was quiet, but true.
---
Later that night, after everyone had gone to bed — the guards on patrol, Liza asleep in her room — Lucas and Vierrah sat in the garden, barefoot on the grass.
The stars above were bright, scattered across the sky like shattered glass.
"You ever think about how far we've come?" she asked.
He nodded slowly. "Every day."
"Do you miss the chaos?"
He thought for a moment. "Sometimes… but not in the way I used to. I think I miss the noise because I lived in it too long. But peace — this — it's better. Harder, but better."
She smiled. "I like this version of you."
He looked at her, eyes soft with sincerity. "You made this version possible."
Vierrah laughed gently. "You always say that."
"Because it's true," he replied.
---
She opened her journal again, writing her final entry under the moonlight:
> "He's calmer now.
Kinder.
Still deeply in love.
He still follows me around the house, still holds my hand even when we're just walking down the hallway, still kisses me like every moment might be the last.
But it's not fear anymore. It's love."
When she looked up, Lucas was watching her, a smile tugging at his lips.
"Are you writing about me again?" he teased.
"Maybe."
He leaned closer. "Can I read it?"
"Not yet."
He grinned. "Then I'll just have to make sure the next page is about me too."
---
The clock struck midnight. The sea whispered below.
Lucas wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder.
"You know," he murmured, "I used to think peace was silence. Emptiness. But now…" He paused, smiling faintly. "Now I know peace is coming home to you."
She closed her journal and leaned against him. "Then you've finally found it."
He kissed the side of her head. "No," he whispered softly. "You found it for me."
---
That night, as the mansion slept — guarded by Marco's steady watch and the calm rhythm of the waves — Lucas lay awake beside Vierrah, her breathing slow and peaceful.
He stared at the ceiling, at the faint glow of the moon through the curtains, and smiled to himself.
He had built empires. He had conquered enemies. He had lived through storms that nearly broke him.
But here, in this quiet place, in the warmth of her presence,
he had found the only victory that ever mattered — peace.
He turned toward her, brushing her hair from her face.
"Good night, my peace," he whispered.
And for once, sleep came easily.
---
End of the story....