CHAPTER 116: HOME

The private jet touched down just after sunset, casting the skyline in molten gold. Through the tinted windows of the black car waiting on the tarmac, Ella watched the city rise to meet them—glass, steel, and noise replacing the silence of the Amalfi coast.

Nicholas sat beside her, one arm draped along the back of the seat, the other resting between them, fingers tangled loosely with hers. He hadn’t let go of her hand since they’d left the villa.

As the car pulled into the underground garage of his penthouse building, Ella felt the shift. The world was louder here. Sharper.

Still, she wasn’t afraid of it. Not this time.

The elevator opened directly into the private foyer of Nicholas’s penthouse, and soft lighting spilled over the polished floors. A housekeeper passed quietly down the hallway, offering a polite smile and a murmured, "Welcome home, Mr. Carter. Ms. Ella," before disappearing without pause.

Ella stood still for a moment, blinking.

It smelled the same—clean linen, cedarwood, and something warm and expensive that clung to Nicholas’s skin. But there was something else layered underneath now. A new feeling. Not tension. Not foreignness.

Familiarity.

Nicholas set down their bags just inside the door and turned to look at her. "Feels different now, doesn’t it?"

She nodded slowly. "Yeah... it does."

He stepped closer, brushing her hair over her shoulder. "Want to shower? Change? I’ll ask Rosa to have something light brought up."

Ella hesitated. "You don’t want to order something in?"

His lips curved. "You’ve been eating handmade pasta in Positano. I’m not going to insult your tastebuds with delivery pizza."

That made her laugh—a soft sound that broke the tension like a breeze through heavy air.

"Okay. I’ll go change."

As she walked toward the bedroom, she noticed subtle changes she hadn’t before. A pale cashmere throw she’d picked out on a rainy shopping day draped across the couch. Her favorite mug—ivory with a small chip at the handle—resting beside the espresso machine. A framed photo of them, candid and laughing, had been quietly added to the bookshelf.

The staff had cleaned. The lights were set. Someone had remembered her preference for jasmine oil in the diffuser.

But it all felt... lived in. And hers.

She pulled on one of Nicholas’s soft old t-shirts and a pair of cotton shorts, twisting her damp hair into a loose bun before padding barefoot into the living room. A tray had been placed discreetly on the coffee table: fresh fruit, warm bread, tea, and a note from Rosa in delicate handwriting: Welcome home. Let me know if you’d like something more filling later.

Nicholas was already there, barefoot and in grey sweatpants, flipping through a folder on the counter. He looked up when he heard her.

And paused.

"Jesus," he murmured, setting the folder aside. "I just got home and already I’m ruined."

She rolled her eyes but smiled, curling onto the couch and pulling the throw blanket over her legs. "It’s your shirt."

"Exactly the problem."

He crossed the room, stole a grape from the tray, and sank down beside her, stretching an arm along the back of the couch. She leaned into him instinctively, tucking herself under his arm, her cheek against his chest.

"You’re warm," she mumbled.

"You’re cold," he replied, pulling her closer. "Let me fix that."

They sat like that for a while, eating in silence, the only sounds the occasional soft clink of porcelain and the muted buzz of the city beyond the windows. Somewhere down the hall, staff moved soundlessly—clearing luggage, preparing for the next day—but neither of them noticed. The penthouse was quiet. Intimate.

Nicholas pressed a kiss to her temple. "Tired?"

Ella nodded, her eyes closing as she nestled deeper into his side. "But not the bad kind. Just... full."

He didn’t speak for a moment. Then he said quietly, "I missed this place. But I missed you in it more."

Her brows furrowed slightly as she lifted her head. "What do you mean?"

He looked at her, brushing his thumb along her cheekbone. "I’ve lived here for years, Ella. And it never felt like a home until you started leaving pieces of yourself behind."

Her throat tightened.

"You mean mugs and cardigans and that one time I took over your closet?" she teased, trying to keep her voice light.

"No," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "I mean your laughter in the hallway. Your shampoo in the shower. Your voice at midnight telling me your weird dreams. You.

Your presence."

She looked away, blinking too fast.

Nicholas touched her chin and turned her back toward him. "Hey," he said. "It’s okay."

"I don’t know how to explain it," she whispered. "This is the kind of life people like me don’t get used to. And yet... being here now, with you, doesn’t feel strange anymore. It just feels... safe."

He leaned forward and kissed her softly. "That’s all I ever wanted for you."

They sat in silence for a while longer, curled against one another as the day faded.

Eventually, Ella broke the stillness with a soft sigh. "I know this is the calm before the storm."

He tilted his head. "What storm?"

"The world. Reality. Emails. People who’ll suddenly remember I exist because I’m connected to you now."

Nicholas was quiet, then spoke carefully. "Let them remember. That doesn’t mean you owe them anything."

She looked up at him, her expression vulnerable. "You’ll help me through that?"

"I’ll walk through all of it with you."

Ella’s lips curved into something soft and steady. "Okay. I believe you."

He pressed one last kiss to her forehead, then reached over and grabbed the remote.

"Movie?" he asked.

"Only if you let me fall asleep halfway through and don’t complain."

"You falling asleep on me is the best part."

She laughed as he turned the volume down low and pulled her tighter against him, both of them sinking into the familiar hum of home—not perfect, not silent, but safe.

And finally theirs.