Selene's POV
Naomi takes the children for the night without being asked.
"You three need to celebrate," she says, already loading car seats and diaper bags. "Properly. Without interruption."
I don't argue.
The house is quiet when we return—quiet in a way it hasn't been since before the lawsuit, before the injury, before Cassian's shadow stretched across everything. Just us. Just the sound of our own breathing in the space we've defended.
Mateo opens champagne. The cork hits the ceiling, foam spills everywhere, and we're laughing—actually laughing, without the edge of exhaustion or fear that's been underneath everything for months.
"To victory," Axel says, raising his glass.
"To surviving," Mateo adds.
"To us." I clink my glass against theirs. "Whatever comes next."
The champagne is expensive—a gift from Diane, delivered with a card that said simply You earned this. It tastes like relief, like freedom, like the first breath after nearly drowning.
Two glasses in, Mateo sets down his glass and looks at me with an expression I haven't seen since before everything went wrong.
"I want you," he says simply. "Both of you. I want to celebrate properly."
The heat that sparks through me isn't just desire—it's release. All the tension of the trial, the weeks of preparation, the months of fighting, channeling into something better. Something we've earned.
"Bedroom," I say. "Now."
They don't need to be told twice.
We barely make it through the door before hands are everywhere—Mateo's on my waist, Axel's in my hair, mouths finding mouths in a tangle of need. I taste champagne on both of them, feel the urgency that's been building finally breaking free.
"Wait." Axel pulls back slightly, hands framing my face. "I want this to last. We finally have time."
He's right. No babies to wake. No crisis looming. No court date tomorrow.
Just us.
We undress slowly, savoring. Mateo peels off my shirt like he's unwrapping something precious, mouth following his hands down my throat, across my collarbone. Axel works on the rest, his fingers knowing exactly where to touch, exactly how to make me arch into him.
"Beautiful," Mateo murmurs against my skin. "Dios mío, you're beautiful."
I reach for both of them, one hand on each chest, feeling their heartbeats under my palms. "Bed. I want to feel both of you."
We tumble onto the mattress, a tangle of limbs sorting itself into intention. Mateo pulls me on top of him while Axel positions himself behind me, and I'm caught between them—the place I've been missing, the place that feels like home.
"Tell me what you want," Axel says against my ear, his hands sliding around to cup my breasts. "Anything. Everything."
"I want to forget," I say, and my voice breaks slightly. "I want to feel something other than fear."
"We can do that."
Mateo guides me down onto him slowly, filling me with a groan that rumbles through both our chests. The stretch is perfect, familiar, exactly what I need. I rock against him, finding our rhythm, while Axel's hands explore every inch of skin he can reach.
"That's it, cariño." Mateo's accent thickens when he's like this, Spanish threading through English. "Take what you need."
I do. I take everything—the pleasure building at the base of my spine, the sound of Mateo's breath catching, the feeling of Axel pressed against my back, hard and waiting. When I lean forward, kissing Mateo deeply, Axel's hand slips between us, fingers finding exactly the right spot.
"Oh God—" The sensation is overwhelming, dual attention making my thoughts scatter. "Don't stop."
"Never," Axel promises.
They work together the way they always do—Mateo setting the rhythm, Axel adding layers, both of them focused entirely on me. It's worship and possession at once, claiming and surrender, exactly the celebration we needed.
When I come the first time, it's with both their names tangled together, wave after wave cresting as they hold me through it. I'm still shaking when Axel asks, low and urgent, "Can I—"
"Yes." I twist to kiss him. "Yes, anything, please—"
The shift takes coordination we've practiced. Mateo pulls out slowly, repositioning while I stay braced above him. Axel moves behind me, hands on my hips, and the first push is almost too much—too full, too everything.
"Okay?" His voice is tight with control.
"More than okay. Move."
He does. They both do—trading off, finding a rhythm that shouldn't work but does, always has, always will. I'm caught between them, taken and taking, and there's no room for fear or doubt or the numbers that have been haunting Mateo's thoughts.
Just this. Just us. Just the sound of skin and breath and whispered declarations.
"I love you," I manage, the words torn from somewhere deep. "Both of you—I love you—"
"We love you," Mateo says, pulling me down to kiss him. "Always. Through everything. Through all of this."
"Mine," Axel adds, the word growling against my shoulder, and the possessiveness in his voice tips me over the edge again—orgasm crashing through me so intensely my vision whites out, my body clenching around both of them in waves that seem to last forever.
They follow me over—Axel first with a groan that vibrates through my whole body, his grip bruising on my hips as he shudders through release. Then Mateo moments later, pulling me tight against his chest as he comes with my name on his lips, mixed with Spanish endearments I've learned to recognize even when I don't catch every word.
We collapse in a heap of sweat and satisfaction, breathing hard, not speaking. Just existing together in the aftermath, hearts pounding in syncopated rhythm.
For a long moment, we just lie there. Tangled. Complete.
"The envelope," Mateo says eventually, his voice rough. "We never decided what to do with it."
"It's in the safe." I don't move from my position between them. "We could open it now. If you want."
Silence stretches.
"No." Mateo's voice is certain. "I don't want to know which one is mine. I want them all to be mine."
"They are," Axel says. "All three. All ours."
"The envelope stays sealed," I decide. "We keep it for them. For when they're old enough to choose whether they want to know."
"And until then?"
"Until then, we're their parents. Full stop." I press a kiss to Mateo's chest, reach back to squeeze Axel's hand. "The numbers don't matter. The names don't matter. What matters is this—showing up, loving them, choosing each other every day."
"That's very philosophical for post-sex," Mateo observes.
"Shut up. I'm having a moment."
He laughs—genuinely laughs—and pulls me closer. "I love your moments."
We stay like that, wrapped together, as the night settles around us. The champagne bottle sits forgotten on the nightstand. Somewhere outside, the city continues its noise, indifferent to our small victories.
Tomorrow there will be logistics—thanking Diane, releasing a statement, figuring out what happens next with the league. The world will keep demanding pieces of us, asking questions we don't want to answer, passing judgment on choices that aren't theirs to make.
But tonight, we celebrate.
Not just the trial victory. Not just surviving Cassian's campaign to destroy us.
The family we chose. The love we built against all odds. The future we're claiming, whatever it holds, whatever threatens come next.
The truth exists somewhere—which two children belong to Axel, which one is Mateo's. An envelope in a safe, sealed and waiting. But we've decided it doesn't define us.
Choice does. And we choose this. Every time.