Epilogue
April
The Voss estate, the home Anthony inherited from his parents, isn’t quite like the way I once imagined rich people’s houses were. It’s loud and warm and messy, the kind that leaks through open French doors and makes the summer air feel alive.
Upstate sunlight pours over the lawn in thick, golden sheets.
Someone’s laughing near the patio. Someone else is clinking glasses.
There’s the faint hiss of Anthony’s grill and the smell of char and herbs and something sweet baking inside.
The whole place feels like it’s exhaling, like it’s been holding its breath for years and finally decided it’s safe to breathe.
I’m barefoot in the grass, a soft sundress skimming my knees, and our daughter is tucked against my chest like she was made to fit there.
Two months old and already determined, her tiny fist curled under her chin, cheeks full, dark lashes resting on skin so perfect it feels impossible.
She makes a small coo; the sound bubbling up like a secret, and my whole body softens in response.
Across the yard, Anthony stands at the grill with his sleeves rolled up, tongs in one hand, beer in the other, laughing at something Joseph Brant just said.
It still catches me off guard—seeing Anthony laugh like this, seeing him without the armor, seeing him in a world where no one is trying to take anything from him.
Brant looks easy, too, loosened by sunlight and friendship, like the gala and the boardroom and all the sharp edges were another lifetime.
Angela sits on a blanket nearby, hair swept up, face brighter than it’s been in years.
She’s back at work part-time now, steadier, less haunted.
Ava runs wild on the grass with a toy sword, fully in remission, shrieking with joy while Nicky’s new fiancé pretends to be defeated in a dramatic death scene that has Ava giggling up a storm.
Nicky herself is on the porch with a glass of wine and that smug, satisfied look that says she’s proud of herself and would rather die than admit it to anyone but me.
Karen is gone like a bad dream you can’t quite remember.
Aidan Snow vanished from the press months ago—no triumphant interviews, no smug headlines, just silence like the world finally got bored with his teeth.
North/Snow went into liquidation. For the first time in a long time, nothing feels like it’s about to explode.
Anthony catches my eye from across the yard. His gaze softens instantly, like a reflex he doesn’t fight anymore. He sets the tongs down, wipes his hands on a towel, and walks toward me with the slow confidence of a man who knows exactly where he belongs.
He doesn’t say anything at first when he reaches me.
He just leans in and kisses my shoulder—bare skin, gentle mouth, a private touch that still makes my stomach flip, even after everything.
Then he dips his head and kisses Helly’s hair, lingering like the scent of her is something he wants to keep in his lungs.
“God, she’s perfect,” he murmurs.
“I know,” I whisper, because I do. “It’s ridiculous.”
We settle under the shade of an old tree at the edge of the lawn, his arm wrapping around my back, pulling me in until my body fits against his like it always has.
Our daughter wiggles, offended by the world, then relaxes again, her little mouth making soft sounds like she’s trying to practice speaking already at two months old.
Anthony looks at her, then at me, and there’s that familiar heat in his eyes, but it’s no longer sharpened into control. It’s just calm.
“We should have another,” he says casually, as if he’s suggesting dessert or telling me my work is fine.
I choke on a laugh. “Anthony. I’ve barely recovered from her.”
He smiles against my shoulder. “I’m serious.”
“I had a baby two months ago,” I remind him, rolling my eyes like it’s a shield. “Can you at least try to be patient?”
He hums, thoughtful, the sound vibrating through my bones. “Fine,” he says. “We’ll wait.” His hand slides to my thigh, warm and possessive without being heavy. He leans in close, voice low enough that only I can hear, and adds, “Natural means again this time.”
I laugh, the idiocy of his contract flashing in my mind, catching me off guard. Of course he would say it like that, like it’s a promise and a dare. “You’re so lucky I didn’t have a lawyer look over that,” I tell him.
“I absolutely am,” he snorts, mouth brushing my ear.
Helly coos, a happy little bubble of sound, as if she approves. Anthony’s arms tighten around both of us, not trapping, just holding, anchoring, wrapping us into something solid.
I look out at the lawn at Angela smiling, Ava screaming, Nicky laughing, Brant raising his glass, the house glowing behind us, and my chest fills with something that used to feel impossible.
This is our family.
Safe. Whole. Weirdly together and fulfilled nonetheless.
“I love you,” I murmur.
“Love you too,” he answers, pressing a kiss to my temple.
“I was talking to Helly.”
He rolls his eyes and lets go of me, smirking as he walks backward toward the grill again. “Brat.”
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