She Needed My Blood, But I Needed Revenge - Chapter 16: Chapter 16
You are reading She Needed My Blood, But I Needed Revenge, Chapter 16: Chapter 16. Read more chapters of She Needed My Blood, But I Needed Revenge.
The wedding day unfolded like a page from a fairy tale—utterly perfect in every way.
The garden had been magically transformed into an enchanted oasis, with white roses spilling over every surface and twinkling fairy lights woven through the trees. Rows of chairs flanked the aisle leading to a satin-draped arch, lush with fresh blooms. Golden sunlight bathed everything in warmth, illuminating the beaming faces of our dearest loved ones.
Standing before the mirror, my breath hitched at the sight of my reflection. The gown was a masterpiece—delicate lace giving way to cascading layers of silk that floated around me. My diamond ring caught the light, scattering tiny rainbows across the room.
Dorothea slipped inside, her eyes instantly welling up. "Amanda," she whispered, pressing a hand to her heart. "You're absolutely breathtaking."
I blinked back tears, my smile trembling.
The ceremony was intimate, every word weighted with meaning. We'd written our own vows, pouring every hardship and triumph into them.
"I vow to protect you, cherish you, and love you through every storm," Bryant murmured, sliding the ring onto my finger with steady hands.
My voice wavered as I answered, "And I promise to stand beside you, to love you without limits, and to hold on tight—no matter what."
When the officiant finally declared us husband and wife, Bryant didn't hesitate—he swept me into his arms, and the cheers of our guests melted into the background as our lips met.
We were free. We were complete.
Months slipped by in a blissful haze. Our new home—a sunlit estate on the city's edge—felt like the embodiment of every dream I'd ever tucked away. Mornings were spent wrapped in each other, afternoons planning adventures, evenings whispering about the family we longed to build.
Then, one ordinary morning, everything changed.
I stood frozen in the bathroom, clutching a positive pregnancy test, my hands shaking. "Bryant!" My voice cracked like thin ice.
He was there in an instant, brows knitted in worry. "What's wrong?"
I turned, holding out the test. "I'm pregnant."
For a heartbeat, he just stared. Then his face split into a grin so wide it could've lit up the sky, and suddenly I was airborne, crushed against his chest as he spun us in dizzying circles.
"We're having a baby?" he rasped, voice thick.
"Yes," I choked out, tears spilling freely. "We're having a baby."
The months that followed were a whirlwind of joy. Bryant was my rock—painting the nursery, attending every appointment, his hand never leaving mine.
"Boy or girl?" he mused one night, surrounded by miniature onesies and plush toys in the nursery.
I rested my head on his shoulder. "Healthy. That's all that matters."
He pressed a kiss to my hair. "They'll be perfect. Like their mom."
The day our daughter arrived was equal parts agony and wonder. Bryant never left my side, his grip firm, his voice a steady anchor through the storm of labor.
Then—her cry. Sharp and alive, slicing through the room. The nurse placed her in my arms, and the world narrowed to her tiny, wrinkled face. My heart threatened to burst.
"It's a girl," the nurse announced.
Bryant's tears fell unchecked as he bent to kiss my forehead. "She's perfect," he whispered.
We named her Lily, for the flowers that had witnessed our vows.
Life with her was sweeter than I'd imagined. Our home brimmed with laughter, her gurgles and giggles bouncing off the walls. Bryant took to fatherhood like he was born for it—endlessly patient, endlessly tender.
One quiet evening, Lily asleep in my arms, Bryant turned to me, his gaze as warm as it had been at the altar. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Forever, remember? You and Lily—you're my whole world."
"And you're ours," I murmured, closing the distance between us.
As I took in our little family—the love, the light, the sheer rightness of it—I knew with certainty: This was the life I'd fought for. And I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat.
The garden had been magically transformed into an enchanted oasis, with white roses spilling over every surface and twinkling fairy lights woven through the trees. Rows of chairs flanked the aisle leading to a satin-draped arch, lush with fresh blooms. Golden sunlight bathed everything in warmth, illuminating the beaming faces of our dearest loved ones.
Standing before the mirror, my breath hitched at the sight of my reflection. The gown was a masterpiece—delicate lace giving way to cascading layers of silk that floated around me. My diamond ring caught the light, scattering tiny rainbows across the room.
Dorothea slipped inside, her eyes instantly welling up. "Amanda," she whispered, pressing a hand to her heart. "You're absolutely breathtaking."
I blinked back tears, my smile trembling.
The ceremony was intimate, every word weighted with meaning. We'd written our own vows, pouring every hardship and triumph into them.
"I vow to protect you, cherish you, and love you through every storm," Bryant murmured, sliding the ring onto my finger with steady hands.
My voice wavered as I answered, "And I promise to stand beside you, to love you without limits, and to hold on tight—no matter what."
When the officiant finally declared us husband and wife, Bryant didn't hesitate—he swept me into his arms, and the cheers of our guests melted into the background as our lips met.
We were free. We were complete.
Months slipped by in a blissful haze. Our new home—a sunlit estate on the city's edge—felt like the embodiment of every dream I'd ever tucked away. Mornings were spent wrapped in each other, afternoons planning adventures, evenings whispering about the family we longed to build.
Then, one ordinary morning, everything changed.
I stood frozen in the bathroom, clutching a positive pregnancy test, my hands shaking. "Bryant!" My voice cracked like thin ice.
He was there in an instant, brows knitted in worry. "What's wrong?"
I turned, holding out the test. "I'm pregnant."
For a heartbeat, he just stared. Then his face split into a grin so wide it could've lit up the sky, and suddenly I was airborne, crushed against his chest as he spun us in dizzying circles.
"We're having a baby?" he rasped, voice thick.
"Yes," I choked out, tears spilling freely. "We're having a baby."
The months that followed were a whirlwind of joy. Bryant was my rock—painting the nursery, attending every appointment, his hand never leaving mine.
"Boy or girl?" he mused one night, surrounded by miniature onesies and plush toys in the nursery.
I rested my head on his shoulder. "Healthy. That's all that matters."
He pressed a kiss to my hair. "They'll be perfect. Like their mom."
The day our daughter arrived was equal parts agony and wonder. Bryant never left my side, his grip firm, his voice a steady anchor through the storm of labor.
Then—her cry. Sharp and alive, slicing through the room. The nurse placed her in my arms, and the world narrowed to her tiny, wrinkled face. My heart threatened to burst.
"It's a girl," the nurse announced.
Bryant's tears fell unchecked as he bent to kiss my forehead. "She's perfect," he whispered.
We named her Lily, for the flowers that had witnessed our vows.
Life with her was sweeter than I'd imagined. Our home brimmed with laughter, her gurgles and giggles bouncing off the walls. Bryant took to fatherhood like he was born for it—endlessly patient, endlessly tender.
One quiet evening, Lily asleep in my arms, Bryant turned to me, his gaze as warm as it had been at the altar. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Forever, remember? You and Lily—you're my whole world."
"And you're ours," I murmured, closing the distance between us.
As I took in our little family—the love, the light, the sheer rightness of it—I knew with certainty: This was the life I'd fought for. And I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat.
End of She Needed My Blood, But I Needed Revenge Chapter 16. View all chapters or return to She Needed My Blood, But I Needed Revenge book page.