Page 283 of Corrupting Camille
Our baby quiets instantly, calmed by the warmth of my body, by Kane’s steady, protective presence beside us. Together, we stare down at this impossible gift we never dared to fully imagine.
“What are you naming him?” Lena whispers softly, voice gentle, awed, her eyes shimmering with tears she doesn’t bother to hide.
I glance up at Kane, my throat tight with emotion. Weeks ago, hidden safely in whispered dreams and fragile hopes, we’d chosen this name together, something strong, something meaningful, something purely ours.
Kane nods, eyes locked fiercely onto mine, giving me permission, no, giving me strength, to say it aloud.
“Elias Diego Rivera,” I whisper, the name tasting like hope on my tongue. “His name is Elias Diego.”
Kane exhales softly, something deep within him finally settling, finally accepting this new reality. He brushes a careful thumb over our son’s tiny, clenched fist.
“Elias Diego,” he repeats softly, like a prayer, like a vow. “Perfectly ours.”
The room is quiet, reverent, everyone around us absorbing the weight of this moment. And as I cradle Elias to my chest, as Kane presses another tender, fierce kiss against my temple, I know we’ve done more than survive.
We’ve created something lasting, something real.
Something beautiful and utterly, undeniably ours.
Later That Night…
The compound quiets once more, settling around us in a comforting embrace, gentle, almost sacred.
Rosa and Lucia sleep peacefully now, curled tight, fighting nightmares side-by-side. Marisol and Reina left fresh-cut flowers in Mateo’s nursery, white roses, violets, soft, hopeful petals scattered gently. Lena, ever irreverent, left a note written in her bold, sprawling script:
Your son is perfect. I’m already planning his wardrobe.
P.S. You’re the baddest bitch I know.
The memory of it makes me smile softly, a quiet laugh stirring somewhere deep in my chest. Lena’s always defied the darkness in her own way.
Now Kane lies beside me, shirtless, moonlight soft against his skin, our son sleeping peacefully between us in his tiny bassinet. The scent of milk and lavender wraps gently around us, tender and new.
Kane reaches out carefully, fingertips skimming my belly, now flat, still aching faintly from bringing our son into the world. His touch moves upward slowly, threading softly through my fingers, gripping tightly as though holding onto a lifeline he never dared trust.
Then, tenderly, reverently, he moves our entwined hands to rest gently over my heart.
“I still hear ghosts,” he whispers, raw and honest, eyes shadowed but gentle.
“I know,” I whisper back, brushing my thumb soothingly over his knuckles. “They’ll always be there.”
He nods slowly, looking down at Elias, sleeping softly, perfectly peaceful. “But now, I hear his heartbeat too.”
Emotion swells sharply in my throat, hot tears pressing behind my eyes. I hear it too, that tiny, steady rhythm, stronger than any pain, any darkness we’ve faced.
He brings my fingers to his lips, pressing a kiss there, gentle yet fiercely possessive. Then he leans carefully toward our son, his expression softening completely, all his walls stripped away as he whispers, voice filled with reverence and quiet fire:
“Te daré un mundo que no tuve. Te protegeré hasta que puedas hacerlo tú mismo. Y si alguien te toca…”
I’ll give you a world I never had. I’ll protect you until you can protect yourself. And if anyone touches you…
He doesn’t finish.
He doesn’t need to.
Because we both know exactly what he’ll do…exactly what he’s capable of.
I watch Kane in silent awe, my fierce, broken, beautiful husband who’d set the world on fire before allowing anything to harm our son. This tiny boy who carries our love, our fight, our hope.
