---- Chapter 11 Elara POV: A year passed. My daughter, Luna, was three months old, a tiny, perfect creature who slept peacefully in my arms. She had my eyes, but she had his determined little chin and a tuft of dark hair that curled just like his. My life was quiet, full, and my own. The residency had ended, but I'd stayed, renting the small cabin I'd first lived in. The art | created here was different. It was filled with light, with hope. It sold to galleries in New York and London. | had my own money, my own success, my own name. | was just Elara. And | was a mother. Dante was a silent, constant presence at the edge of my world. | never spoke to him, but | knew he was there. Sometimes, I'd wake up to find a perfectly stacked cord of firewood on my porch. When a winter storm knocked out my power, a brand- new generator appeared by my back door before the sun went down. He never approached. He never left a note. They were just quiet offerings, left in the dead of night. Through my lawyer, | learned he had set up an irrevocable trust for Luna. A massive one. But he had signed away all legal access, all rights. It was a gift with no strings attached. | held my first local exhibition in the village hall. As | was ---- speaking to guests, | saw him slip in the back. He didn't look like the man | had married. He was leaner, harder, his hands scarred from labor. He looked at my paintings-portraits of Luna, landscapes of the mountains-with a reverence that stole my breath. Our eyes met. He offered me a small, sad smile, then slipped out before | could react. One night, the unthinkable happened. Luna woke up gasping for air. Her skin was hot to the touch, and a terrifying, high- pitched wheezing sound came from her tiny chest with every breath. Croup. A bad case. Panic, cold and absolute, seized me. The local clinic was closed. The nearest hospital was an hour's drive down a treacherous, icy mountain road. | felt the crushing weight of being alone, of my daughter's life resting solely in my hands. There was only one person | could call. My fingers trembled as | found the new number his lawyer had given mine, for emergencies only. He answered on the first ring. "Elara?" His voice was calm, alert. "It's Luna," | sobbed, words tumbling out. "She can't breathe. | don't know what to do." "I'm on my way," he said. "Stay calm. I'll be there in five minutes." He was. He burst through the door, bringing a gust of cold air with him. He took one look at Luna, his face grim but ---- composed. He was no longer the man who panicked. He was capable. He took charge, wrapping Luna gently in blankets while speaking calmly into his phone, his voice laced with an authority | hadn't heard in a year. "| need a medevac. Now. The coordinates are..." Within thirty minutes, the sound of helicopter blades roared overhead. He carried Luna, bundled in my arms, out to the waiting helicopter. He didn't let go of me the entire flight, his presence a solid, reassuring anchor in my storm of fear. We spent the night in a sterile hospital waiting room while doctors worked on Luna. He sat with me, a silent, steady presence. He bought me coffee. He held my hand when | started to cry. By morning, Luna's fever had broken. She was sleeping peacefully in a small hospital crib, her breathing even and clear. The crisis was over. We stood over her crib, watching her sleep. "Thank you, Dante," | whispered, the first kind words I'd spoken to him in over a year. He didn't look at me. He looked at Luna. Then he looked down at his own hands, resting on the rail of the crib. They were rough, calloused, the hands of a carpenter, not a kingpin. The hands of a man who builds, not breaks. ---- "| want to build you a house, Elara," he said, his voice quiet. "A real home. For you and for her. And a studio. A place with perfect light." He finally turned to look at me, his eyes filled with a raw, pleading vulnerability. "| won't pay for it," he said, holding up his scarred hands. "I'll build it. With these. Let me do that. Let me build something good for you." | looked at him, and for the first time, | didn't see the monster who had hurt me. | didn't see the Don who had owned me. | saw a man who had stripped himself down to nothing and was trying, brick by painful brick, to build himself back into someone worthy. He wasn't asking for forgiveness. He was asking for a chance to serve. A chance to build a foundation. | thought of my daughter. | thought of the firewood on my porch, the quiet acts of service. | thought of the future. Slowly, cautiously, | gave a small nod. It wasn't a yes to us. It wasn't forgiveness. It was a beginning. A chance to see what we could build, together, from the ruins. Title: A Princess? No! I'm the Female General! In "A Princess? No! I'm the Female General!" by CrushReel, Adela Taylor, a noble family's daughter, disguises herself as her brother to secure their Duke title by joining the army. Despite facing obstacles, she achieves remarkable success. However, upon her triumphant return, her brother betrays her, setting off a chain of events that will test her resolve and reveal hidden truths. This captivating novel delves into themes of secrets, reincarnation, revenge, murder, and drama. Adela's journey from deception to betrayal is filled with intrigue and suspense as she navigates through a world where power dynamics and family loyalties collide. What sets this story apart is its strong female lead who defies expectations and challenges societal norms in a quest for justice and redemption. Experience the riveting tale of Adela Taylor online at CrushReel and witness the transformation of a princess into a formidable female general.