Her world stopped.

The restaurant, the lake, the soft murmur of conversation, the distant echo of laughter—it all faded.

The only thing left, the only thing real, tangible, solid—

Was him.

Welby.

On one knee.

The words hadn’t even left his lips yet, but Evelyn’s heart slammed against her ribs, her breath caught in her throat, her hands frozen mid-motion.

Her mind whirled, struggling to process what she was seeing, what was happening, what was real.

Because surely, this wasn’t happening.

Not here.

Not now.

Not to her.

Her stomach twisted in knots, her thoughts colliding at breakneck speed.

Shock. Disbelief. Utter, overwhelming happiness.

Terror. Excitement. Love.

It was too much—all at once, crashing into her with the force of a tidal wave, pulling her under.

And yet—

She didn’t want to fight it.

Didn’t want to swim away.

She wanted to let it take her, drown her in whatever this was, whatever this moment was meant to be.

Her eyes locked onto the ring.

A diamond—simple, elegant, catching the restaurant’s soft golden light and fracturing it into a thousand shimmering sparks.

And his hands—steady, unwavering, strong, the same hands that had held her through everything, the same hands that had changed her, comforted her, protected her.

Welby.

Welby was proposing.

Her Welby.

The man who had stood beside her through every humiliating moment, every battle they had fought against Miranda, every step of this nightmare they had been thrown into.

The man who had held her when she thought she would break, who had stood as a shield for their Littles, who had kissed her like she was the only thing that mattered in the entire world.

And now—

He was on his knee.

In the middle of the restaurant.

In teddy bear overalls.

The sight would have been hilarious if it hadn’t been so completely, utterly perfect.

Because wasn’t this them?

Wasn’t this exactly what their life had become?

Two people trapped in the cruelest joke of a reality—

And yet, somehow, they had found something real in the middle of it.

Evelyn felt her eyes burn, her throat tighten, her hands trembling as she pressed them to her lips.

He was waiting.

Waiting for her to say something.

Waiting for her to breathe again.

Waiting for her to answer.

And all at once, the realization slammed into her like a freight train.

She had been so afraid.

Afraid to push him, afraid to ruin him, afraid to make another mistake, another regret, another scar in his long list of heartbreaks.

But he wasn’t afraid.

Not anymore.

Because he was here.

On his knee.

Holding a ring.

Asking her to be his.

And as time crawled forward, as her chest ached with the sheer weight of emotion, as her hands fell from her lips, and she finally, finally breathed—

She knew her answer.

She had always known her answer.

And with a voice that trembled, that cracked, that was more full of love than she ever thought herself capable of feeling—

She whispered, “Yes.”

And then—

She threw herself into his arms.

The moment the word left her lips—

Yes.

She didn’t think.

Didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t let her mind catch up with her heart.

Because for the first time in what felt like forever—

Her heart was leading.

Her hands were in his hair, her fingers threading through the soft strands, her body crashing against him, weightless, breathless, electric.

Her lips found his, urgent, desperate, the feeling of his warmth pulling her in, grounding her, making everything around them disappear.

The restaurant erupted in soft applause, in quiet gasps, in the gentle chorus of “Awws” and murmured congratulations.

Somewhere, in the fog of overwhelming sensation, she knew people were watching.

She knew she had just thrown herself into Welby’s lap, that the skirt of her dress had ridden up, that her diaper was on full display, crinkled and humiliating and undeniable.

She knew this was a spectacle.

But she didn’t care.

Not right now.

Not when she could feel his heartbeat against hers, their chests pressed together, rising and falling in the same uneven, exhilarated rhythm.

Not when his arms wrapped around her, holding her so tightly, as if she might disappear if he let go.

Not when he kissed her back with just as much passion, his lips moving with aching slowness, reverence, and devotion.

Because this?

This was the first real thing they had owned in so, so long.

This moment.

This feeling.

This is an undeniable truth between them.

She was his.

And he was hers.

They had been forced into roles neither of them wanted, shoved into a life neither of them chose, stripped of their dignity, control, and freedom—

But this?

This was theirs.

This was real.

Welby’s hands slid along her waist, steadying her. His grip was firm yet gentle, his fingers curling against the fabric of her dress. He held onto her like she was something precious, something irreplaceable.

She shivered, melting further into the kiss, her entire body alight with warmth, with certainty, with a love so deep it made her dizzy.

She wanted to stay here forever.

Wanted to pause time, to exist in this perfect, fleeting moment where nothing else mattered.

Not Miranda.

Not the diapers.

Not the humiliations.

Not the world.

Just them.

Just this.

And as the clapping slowly died down, as the weight of reality threatened to creep back in, as she finally, reluctantly, pulled away just enough to meet Welby’s gaze—

She saw it in his eyes.

The same thing she felt in her chest.

The same thing that burned through her veins.

A love so fierce, so unwavering, so undeniable—

That nothing could ever take it from them.

She barely had time to catch her breath, barely had time to process the sheer magnitude of what had just happened before she felt it—

The cool touch of metal.

Sliding onto her finger.

Her ring finger.

Her breath hitched, her chest tightening with a fresh wave of emotion so intense it nearly crushed her.

Welby was placing the ring on her hand.

His hands were steady, sure, unwavering—just like him.

Her fingers trembled as the band slid into place, settling against her skin like it had always belonged there.

And suddenly—everything felt real.

Not just the proposal.

Not just the moment.

But all of it.

Him. Her. Them.

The weight of what this meant, of what they were choosing, of what they were promising.

And just like that—

Another wave of emotions crashed over her, sweeping her under, drowning her in something so powerful, so beautiful, so undeniable that she couldn’t hold it back.

Tears spilled over before she could stop them, warm streaks rolling down her cheeks as a choked sob slipped past her lips.

And then—

She was kissing him again.

Deeply. Longingly. Desperately.

Like she could pour all of her joy, all of her love, all of her euphoria into this one moment, into him, into this kiss.

Her hands grasped at him, pulling him closer, clutching onto him like he was the only thing keeping her standing.

And maybe—he was.

Because in that moment—

Evelyn wasn’t just a woman trapped in a nightmare, forced into a role she never wanted, bound by a system designed to break her.

She wasn’t just Mommy.

She wasn’t just another cog in Miranda’s cruel machine.

She was his.

She was loved.

She was chosen.

And for the first time in longer than she could remember—

She wasn’t just surviving.

She was happy.

The rest of the night passed in a blur, but every second of it was etched into her heart.

Her hand never left Welby’s.

Not in the restaurant, where they continued their meal, stealing glances, fingers entwined, sharing quiet smiles that spoke louder than words.

Not on the walk back to the hotel, where the cool night air wrapped around them, the distant hum of the park fading into the background as their little family made their way home.

Not when Emily and Lucas—beyond drunk, their giggles turning to slurred nonsense before slipping into unconsciousness—passed out in the stroller, their bodies limp and warm beneath the soft glow of the streetlights.

Her eyes kept dancing back to Welby.

She repeatedly found herself unable to stop herself, unable to contain the sheer, giddy warmth flooding her chest.

She felt like a schoolgirl with a crush.

Like she was young again, fresh-faced and hopelessly in love, walking home after a perfect first date.

Except this was so much more than that.

This wasn’t just infatuation.

This wasn’t just giddy butterflies.

This was a deep, soul-rooted certainty.

A knowledge that, despite everything—despite Miranda, despite the system, despite the diapers and the humiliation and the game they were forced to play—

She had found something real.

Someone real.

Someone who had stood beside her, held her when she needed it most, and kissed her like she was the only thing in the world.

Her fiancé.

The thought made her stomach flutter wildly.

Welby was hers.

The walk back to the hotel was quiet. The night settled around them like a soft, comforting embrace.

By the time they reached Welby’s room, Emily and Lucas were fully gone, limp and pliant in the stroller, lost in their alcohol-induced haze.

But before Evelyn and Welby could even think about themselves—

They had to take care of their Littles.

They moved with silent understanding, working together seamlessly, their hands practiced and gentle as they undressed, cleaned, and changed Emily and Lucas.

Fresh diapers, warm pajamas, and soft blankets tucked around them.

Hannah had been just as easy, her body naturally curling into Evelyn’s arms, nuzzling into her chest, her pacifier bobbing rhythmically as she barely stirred.

Evelyn had stolen a glance at Welby, and in that moment, as they stood over their Littles, their family, she had felt it again—

That deep, aching certainty.

They were in this together.

And then came the moment of hesitation.

The part of the routine they had grown used to.

They had to ask.

Welby and Evelyn exchanged a look, neither of them needing words to express the concern laced in their eyes.

Would Miranda make them beg? Would she make them perform again? Would she twist this into something humiliating?

But when Welby asked—

The tabs simply released.

No text.

No taunt.

No punishment.

Just… open.

Evelyn had barely registered the relief flooding her chest, too grateful to question it.

They weren’t going to push their luck.

Not tonight.

Not when this day—this perfect, impossible, beautiful day—had already given them so much.

So they stripped.

Let their humiliations drop to the floor.

And together—

They stepped into the warm embrace of the shower.

Just the two of them.

No Littles to care for.

No Miranda watching.

No expectations.

No roles.

Just Evelyn.

And her fiancé.

The moment the warm water cascaded over them, steam curling around their bodies, wrapping them in something intimate, something real—

They fell into each other.

Welby’s arms were around her instantly, pulling her flush against him, their bodies slick with heat, with tension, with something deeper than either of them could put into words.

A flurry of kisses, desperate and hungry, pressed against her lips, her jaw, her neck—everywhere he could reach.

Evelyn gasped into him, her fingers threading through his hair, tugging slightly, tilting his head just enough to kiss him deeper, longer, needier.

Every touch ignited something inside her, something primal, something she had buried beneath years of control, of restraint, of refusing to let herself want.

But now—

Now she wanted.

And so did he.

His hands gripped her waist, sliding lower, tracing the curves of her hips, pulling her even closer.

She could feel everything—the rise and fall of his chest, the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch, the way his breath hitched when she kissed him just right.

The water rushed down their skin, soaking them and drenching them, but neither of them cared.

There was only this.

Only the soft, wet sound of lips meeting, of sighs mixing with steam, of hands, roaming, discovering, relearning each other.

She clung to him, pressing into him, feeling every part of him against her, feeling his strength, his warmth, his love.

Because for once—

There was nothing else.

No Miranda.

No diapers.

No control hanging over their heads.

Just two people, lost in the heat of the moment, lost in each other, lost in something so achingly real that it stole the breath from her lungs.

Her soft moans filled the steam-laden air, the heat of the shower mixing with the heat between them, her body arching into Welby’s touch.

Every kiss, every brush of his hands against her skin, every whisper of breath against her neck sent her spiraling deeper, drowning in the pure, unfiltered pleasure of being his.

And then—

He grinned.

That knowing, mischievous, utterly devilish grin sent a thrill through her veins.

Before she could register what he was doing before she could even think—

Something pressed against her lips.

Soft.

Familiar.

And then—

A pacifier slipped into her mouth.

Evelyn’s eyes went wide, her breath hitching sharply as she instinctively tried to pull back, to question, to protest—

But Welby’s voice was low, warm, teasing.

“Gotta keep those moans under control, sweetheart.”

Her entire body burned.

Humiliation, arousal, amusement—a swirling storm of emotions crashing into her all at once.

And yet—

She didn’t spit it out.

She just stared at him, wide-eyed, her cheeks burning, her lips still wrapped around the pacifier.

The next half-hour passed in a blur of heat, steam, muffled sounds, pacified moans, hands and lips, and something raw, something real.

When they finally emerged from the shower, their bodies still warm and buzzing, Evelyn felt lighter.

Freer.

For the first time in as long as she could remember, she had been allowed to just… exist.

Welby handed her a towel, his touch lingering for just a second longer than necessary, his eyes still holding that playful glint.

She rolled her eyes, cheeks still flushed, but she smiled.

A real, genuine, joyful smile.

And together, they stepped into the bedroom.

And then—

His phone buzzed.

The warm afterglow faded instantly, her stomach tightening as she grabbed it off the nightstand.

A text.

From Miranda.

Her breath caught as she read the words.

"Get diapered."

Evelyn swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the phone.

Because of course.

Of course, Miranda wouldn’t let them have this.

Not for long.

Not without reminding them exactly who was in control.

Her joy was still there, still humming beneath the surface, but reality had come crashing back down.

And now—

She had a choice.

To fight.

Or to play along.

Welby met her eyes, his expression unreadable.

But she could see it in his face—the same war, the same frustration, the same unspoken words.

They couldn’t win.

Not yet.

So, with a heavy breath, with a reluctant acceptance, with fingers still trembling slightly from all the emotions running through her—

She turned toward the stack of diapers waiting on the nightstand.

Because tonight, they would obey.

She felt the warmth of his hand on her shoulder—steady, grounding, impossibly gentle yet firm.

A touch that radiated through her skin, burning hotter than the lingering heat from the shower, spreading from where his fingers pressed down her arm, across her chest, deep into her core.

Her cheeks flushed instantly, and her breath caught as she allowed herself to be guided, led, and placed into position.

She knew she shouldn’t feel this way.

She knew she should be resisting.

She knew she should fight the shame, humiliation, and undeniable power Miranda held over them.

And yet—

As Welby gently lowered her onto the bed, his touch never wavering, she felt something else creeping in.

Something dangerous.

Something warm.

She swallowed hard, her gaze locked onto his, searching for some kind of hesitation, some kind of reluctance in his movements.

But there was none.

Only acceptance.

Only care.

Only him, kneeling before her, his hands moving with slow, practiced precision as he reached for the diaper.

The soft crinkle of plastic sent a violent shiver through her, her fingers gripping the bedsheets beneath her.

This was wrong.

This was humiliating.

She had been forced into this situation, which should have made her feel small, weak, and powerless.

And yet—

Welby’s hands slipped beneath her thighs, lifting them with ease, his grip strong but tender, guiding her legs up and apart before sliding the thick padding beneath her.

Her entire body burned, her stomach twisting into something complicated, something she didn’t want to name.

The cool air hit her, reminding her of how exposed, vulnerable, and utterly helpless she had been made to be.

And yet—

Her heart fluttered.

Because it was him.

Because it was his hands smoothing the diaper into place, gently pulling the front up over her, positioning it with the kind of care that spoke of more than just compliance.

Because it was his voice, soft and soothing, murmuring barely above a whisper—

“I’ve got you.”

The tapes were pressed down, locking her in, sealing her fate—and yet, she didn’t feel trapped.

She should have felt ashamed.

She should have felt humiliated beyond words.

But as Welby’s hands lingered just a moment longer, smoothing over the diaper’s soft shell, ensuring everything was perfect—

All she could feel was warmth.

All she could feel was him.

Her fiancé.

The man who had just asked her to spend her life with him.

The man who had just kissed her with everything he had, who had held her, who had made her feel like more than just a prisoner in Miranda’s game.

And now, here he was, caring for her, tending to her, touching her in a way that made her feel seen, loved, and protected.

Evelyn’s breath shuddered, her lashes fluttering as she forced herself to meet his eyes.

His expression was unreadable, but his gaze was gentle.

There was no mockery.

No power play.

Just Welby.

Just love.

The warmth of his hands still lingered on her skin, a phantom sensation that sent a shiver down her spine as she grasped his hand and pulled herself upright.

Her legs immediately spread apart, the thick, crinkly diaper forcing her thighs into an unnatural gap, reminding her with every movement of exactly what she had just allowed him to do.

Exactly what they had both been forced to become.

And yet—

As she pivoted, her grip tightening, and pushed him onto the bed, she wasn’t thinking about Miranda.

She wasn’t thinking about the humiliation.

She wasn’t thinking about the soft rustling of the plastic around her waist or the undeniable absurdity of this moment.

She was thinking about him.

Welby.

His face was still flushed from the heat of the shower, his hair damp and tousled, his smug, knowing grin never once faltering as she straddled him—nude, vulnerable, exposed.

The air between them thickened, charged with something heavy, electric, and intoxicating.

She felt the heat rising in her cheeks, burning beneath her skin, pooling low in her stomach.

They had just showered together.

They had just touched each other, kissed each other, and memorized each other’s bodies in ways they had never dared before.

And yet—

This?

This was somehow more intimate.

Because this was trust.

This was her hands on him now, her fingers tracing the same careful motions, her touch lingering as she reached for a fresh diaper and spread it out beneath him.

This was her taking care of him.

Repaying his kindness, his tenderness, his unwavering presence.

Welby’s grin never wavered, even as she took the powder, the soft scent of talc and lavender filling the air between them as she dusted his skin, her fingers rubbing the fine powder into place.

His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, his arms resting lazily behind his head as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

As if he were completely at peace with the ridiculousness of this moment.

And maybe—maybe he was.

That could be the difference between them.

He had already accepted this.

He had already come to terms with what they were forced to be.

He had already found a way to make peace with his reality.

Evelyn wasn’t there yet.

But as she pulled the front of the diaper up, snug against his hips, taping it securely into place, smoothing the plastic shell with slow, deliberate care—

She realized something.

She wasn’t afraid of this anymore.

Not with him.

Not when his playful, smug grin turned softer, his eyes filled with something deeper, something unspoken.

Not when she could feel her lips twitching into a small, reluctant smile, amusement bubbling beneath the surface.

Not when she could feel the tension slipping from her shoulders, the weight of the day melting into something easier, something lighter.

As she pulled the last tape into place, she felt the familiar soft glow beneath her fingers—the final, humiliating signal that the diaper was locked, sealed, unremovable.

But before she could dwell on it—

Welby’s hand found hers.

Warm. Steady. Unshakable.

And in one smooth motion—he pulled her down onto him.

A gasp slipped past her lips, her body colliding against his, her breath catching in her throat as he turned out the lights, plunging the room into a soft, moonlit dimness.

And then—

She was wrapped in his arms.

Cradled.

Held.

Nestled against his chest, her body tucked effortlessly into the curve of his own, his warmth seeping into her skin.

Her head rested against his, her cheek pressed to his bare skin. The rhythmic, steady beating of his heart filled her ears.

And for the first time all-day—

She felt safe.

Truly, completely safe.

No eyes watching.

No demands.

No forced performances.

Just this.

Just him.

The soft rise and fall of his chest beneath her.

The slow, soothing strokes of his fingers against her back, tracing lazy circles, anchoring her.

The quiet, contented sigh slipped from his lips as he tightened his arms around her just a little more.

She breathed him in, the scent of him—warm, fresh, familiar, real.

Her eyelids grew heavy, the exhaustion of the day finally settling deep into her bones.

She could stay like this forever.

Wrapped in his embrace, listening to his heartbeat, letting herself believe that just for tonight, they had won.

They could have this just for tonight.

Just for tonight, they could be two people in love—without fear, without restraint, without Miranda.

And as she curled in closer, sighing softly against his skin, her fingers resting lightly against his chest—

She let herself believe it.

The world outside their little cocoon faded, swallowed by the comforting darkness of the hotel room, the soft rustle of sheets, and the faint hum of the air conditioning.

But none of it mattered.

Because all Evelyn could feel was him.

Welby.

His warm breath against her hair, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek, the rhythmic, grounding beat of his heart.

His arms wrapped around her, holding her close, protectively, lovingly, as if letting go wasn’t an option.

She had never felt so small.

Not in the infantilizing way Miranda forced upon her.

Not in the way the diapers made her feel helpless.

But in a way that made her feel cherished, treasured, and protected.

She felt… wanted.

Like she belonged here.

Like this was where she was meant to be.

His hand moved slowly, lazily, up and down her back, a gentle, absent-minded caress trailing over her skin, smoothing over the soft fabric of the oversized nightshirt she had pulled on after her humiliating diapering.

The touch was soothing, hypnotic, impossibly tender.

Every slow, deliberate stroke melted the last remaining bits of tension from her body, unraveling every tightly wound thread of anxiety she had held onto.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and a soft sigh slipped past her lips as she sank into his warmth and presence.

Welby.

Her fiancé.

Her partner.

Her home.

For the first time in so, so long, she wasn’t fighting.

She wasn’t fighting Miranda.

She wasn’t fighting the system.

She wasn’t fighting herself.

She was letting go.

Letting herself breathe.

Letting herself belong to him.

And as she drifted, her mind dipped into something warm, something sweet, something untouched by the nightmare they lived in.

Dreams.

Of a life before all of this.

Of picnics beneath golden trees, of soft laughter under moonlit skies, of kisses stolen between shared smiles.

Of what could have been.

Of what could still be.

Welby’s hand continued its gentle, sleepy rhythm, never stopping, never breaking the moment, never letting her feel anything less than utterly adored.

She breathed him in one last time, the scent of him, the warmth of him, the love of him.

And as she slipped fully into sleep, into dreams full of love and sweetness and soft, blissful memories