Chapter 71

• The scent of woodsmoke and baking bread drifted from the open windows of their cottage, a comforting aroma that spoke of home, of warmth, of belonging. Sunlight streamed through the glass, illuminating dust motes dancing in the golden rays. It was a simple cottage, nestled amidst rolling hills, far removed from the city’s clamor and the shadow of Cleo’s past. But within those humble walls, a love story of epic proportions unfolded, a tale whispered in shared glances, in the gentle touch of hands, in the quiet understanding that passed between them without words.
• Cleo hummed a tuneless melody as she arranged wildflowers in a worn ceramic vase, her movements graceful, her spirit light. The scars of her past were still there, faint etchings on her soul, but they no longer held dominion over her. They were reminders, not shackles. They served as testament to her strength, to her resilience, to the incredible journey she had undertaken. Rowan watched her from across the room, his heart overflowing with a love that was both profound and peaceful. He had seen the darkness in her eyes, the fear that had once consumed her, and now he saw only the radiant glow of a woman who had emerged victorious from the crucible of her suffering.
• He approached her, his footsteps silent on the wooden floor, and gently took her hand. Her fingers, once clenched tight in fear, now rested easily in his, their intertwined hands a symbol of their enduring connection. He raised her hand to his lips, kissing the delicate skin with reverence, a gesture that spoke volumes of his undying love and unwavering devotion.