The Woman He Bought

Epilogue

Four Years Later

Lucien’s POV

I wrapped up the meeting at one of my hotels with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. The investors were still talking—numbers, projections, expansions—but my attention had drifted long before the meeting ended. I answered when necessary, nodded when expected, and signed the documents placed in front of me.

Everything felt slow today.

Unnecessarily slow.

Usually, I thrived in this environment. Business meetings sharpened my focus. Negotiations kept my mind busy. Control came naturally to me.

But not today.

Today, my patience was thinner than usual, stretched tight by something I couldn’t ignore no matter how hard I tried to bury it under work.

It was the date.

I’ve hated this day for years.

Today is my birthday.

Or as I prefer to call it—my bad memory day.

The past never truly disappears. People like to say time heals everything, but that isn’t entirely true. Time simply teaches you how to live around the pain. The memories remain, tucked away in quiet corners, waiting for moments like this to resurface.

Twelve years ago, this day ended in sirens and smoke.

My parents had promised me a celebration that night. A simple dinner. Nothing extravagant. My mother had laughed while teasing my father about forgetting the cake. I remember rolling my eyes, pretending to be annoyed while secretly looking forward to it.

That dinner never happened.

Instead, I received a phone call that changed everything.

Since then, birthdays felt wrong. Celebrating felt like betrayal. Like moving forward meant leaving them behind.

So I stopped.

No celebrations. No acknowledgment. I even lied about my birth month when Elara first asked. She believed me easily back then, trusting and gentle in ways that made lying to her feel worse than it should have.

I told myself it didn’t matter.

It was just another day.

After leaving the hotel, I drove toward home, letting the city lights blur past the window. Traffic crawled slowly, giving my thoughts too much space to wander.

Somewhere along the road, my car slowed without me realizing it.

A flower shop stood on the corner, warm light spilling onto the pavement. Bright colors filled the display window.

And there they were.

Yellow sunflowers.

Elara’s favorite.

She always said they looked like happiness. Like warmth you could hold in your hands.

Before I could think twice, I pulled over.

The shop owner greeted me warmly, recognizing me immediately, but I barely noticed. My attention stayed on the flowers as I picked the freshest bundle.

Simple.

Bright.

Alive.

By the time I got back into the car, the heaviness in my chest had eased slightly.

When I arrived home, the house looked unusually dark.

No lights.

No sound.

I frowned, stepping inside carefully. The silence felt strange. Normally, the house was filled with noise—small footsteps running across the floor, laughter echoing from somewhere, Elara’s voice calling out reminders to the children.

Tonight, there was nothing.

I reached for the light switch.

Before my fingers touched it—

“🎶 Happy birthday to you… 🎶”

I froze.

The lights came on all at once.

And suddenly the house wasn’t silent anymore.

Two small figures ran toward me at full speed.

“Daddy!”

“Happy birthday, Daddy!”

I barely had time to react before Elisa and Elian crashed into me, their laughter filling the room. I laughed in shock, dropping the flowers for a moment so I could lift them both into my arms.

They were four years old now.

Four years of energy, chaos, and joy I never knew I needed.

Elisa, with her mother’s soft eyes and stubborn determination. Elian, endlessly curious, always asking questions that left adults speechless.

My heart tightened as they hugged me tightly, their small arms wrapping around my neck.

Behind them, Elara stepped forward, finishing the song with a smile so bright it made everything else fade away.

She leaned in and kissed me softly.

I was still too stunned to speak.

I never celebrated birthdays. I had made that clear from the beginning. Every time she tried to bring it up in the past, I changed the subject or brushed it aside.

So how—

My eyes shifted across the room.

Friends. Family. Familiar faces smiling knowingly.

And then I saw her.

Grandmother.

Standing near the dining table, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

The culprit.

Elara crossed her arms, pretending to pout.

“So,” she said, narrowing her eyes playfully, “you’ve been lying to me all these years? Wrong birth month and everything?”

I rubbed the back of my neck, caught.

“If not for Grandmother,” she continued, “I’d still believe you. But it’s fine.” Her expression softened, her voice gentler now. “From today onward, we’re celebrating your birthday. Every year.”

Something warm settled in my chest.

I leaned forward and kissed her again, careful because the twins were still clinging to me.

The house slowly filled with laughter and conversation. Music played softly in the background. Someone handed me a drink. Elisa dragged me toward the cake while Elian insisted on explaining the decorations he helped choose.

I watched it all unfold, feeling strangely overwhelmed.

Because this—this warmth, this noise, this happiness—was something I once believed I would never have again.

Years ago, this house felt cold. Empty. Built for appearances rather than life.

Now it felt like home.

My friends laughed freely, no longer careful around me the way they used to be. Elara’s friends moved easily through the space, teasing her, helping with the children, sharing stories from years ago.

Somewhere along the evening, I found myself standing still, simply watching.

Elara stood near the table, one hand resting protectively on her stomach as she laughed at something Ciara said. The soft glow of the lights made her look almost unreal.

Eight months pregnant.

Again.

The twins were already arguing nearby about who would get to hold their baby sibling first. Elisa insisted she was older by three minutes and therefore had priority. Elian loudly disagreed.

I shook my head, smiling.

Four years ago, I almost lost everything.

The memory came back suddenly—the hospital hallway, the fear, the helplessness. The sound of machines. The doctor’s voice telling me her condition was critical.

I remember thinking that if she survived, I would spend the rest of my life making sure she never felt unsafe again.

And somehow, she did survive.

Not just survive.

She healed.

Weeks after the fire, she woke up slowly, her voice weak but her eyes searching for me immediately.

The first thing she asked wasn’t about herself.

It was about the baby.

I still remember the way her face crumpled when I told her the truth—how we had nearly lost them both, how strong she had been without even knowing it.

And then the miracle came.

Two heartbeats.

Twins.

The moment the doctor confirmed it, I cried openly for the first time since childhood.

The investigation that followed ended everything. Ethan and Lisa Coast were arrested. The truth about the fire, about the past, about the deaths they caused finally surfaced. Justice came slowly, but it came.

And with it, peace.

Real peace.

Not the quiet that comes from fear—but the kind built from safety and trust.

A small hand tugged at my sleeve, pulling me back to the present.

“Daddy,” Elisa whispered, “make a wish.”

The cake sat in front of me now, candles flickering softly.

I stared at the flames for a moment.

For years, fire meant loss.

Pain.

Endings.

Tonight, it meant something different.

I glanced at Elara. She smiled at me, her eyes warm, steady, full of love that never asked for anything in return.

I didn’t need to wish for anything.

I already had everything.

I blew out the candles.

Cheers filled the room instantly, followed by laughter when Elian tried to grab frosting before the cake was cut.

Later that night, after everyone left and the house finally quieted, I stood by the window with Elara resting against me. The twins had fallen asleep upstairs, exhausted from excitement.

She slipped her hand into mine.

“You’re quiet,” she murmured.

“Just thinking,” I said.

“About your parents?”

I nodded.

She squeezed my hand gently.

“I think they’d be happy,” she said softly. “Seeing you like this.”

I looked down at her, at the woman who turned revenge into love, pain into healing, and loneliness into family.

For the first time in years, the memory of this day didn’t hurt.

It felt… complete.

Twelve years ago, my parents promised me a birthday they never got to give.

Tonight, surrounded by laughter and love, it felt like that promise had finally been fulfilled.

I wrapped my arm around her carefully, resting my hand over her stomach as our unborn child shifted beneath my palm.

A loving wife.

Beautiful children.

A home filled with warmth instead of silence.

For the first time in my life, my birthday no longer felt like a curse.

It felt like a blessing.

And as I turned off the lights and followed my family upstairs, one thought settled quietly in my heart—

This was the life I fought for.

This was forever.

The End.