EPILOGUE — Bennett
Six Months Later
“ M r. Mercer, we'll be landing in approximately fifteen minutes.”
I nod to the flight attendant, my attention focused on the sleeping woman beside me. Layla's head rests on my shoulder, her breathing deep and even, completely unaware that we're about to begin our descent into what I hope will be the most important day of our lives.
Six months. Half a year since she moved into the penthouse, bringing color and warmth and life to spaces that had been designed for aesthetic perfection rather than actual living.
Six months of waking up to her sleepy smile, of hearing her laugh echo through rooms that had known only silence, of learning what it means to build a partnership instead of simply acquiring assets.
The transformation has been remarkable—not just personal, but professional as well.
NeuraTech is now in clinical trials, advancing faster than even the most optimistic projections thanks to the combined resources of Mercer Capital and James Tech.
The Carmichael campus still bustles with innovation, Robert having settled comfortably into his role as Chief Innovation Officer.
He's even stopped glaring at me during family dinners, which Layla counts as significant progress.
My board eventually embraced the new partnership model, especially after the first quarterly numbers proved my point about the advantages of building rather than dismantling.
Harris still grumbles occasionally, but with three other companies successfully transitioning to similar structures, even he can't argue with the results.
The change hasn't been without challenges.
I still occasionally catch myself slipping into old acquisition habits during meetings, thinking in terms of immediate profit rather than long-term value creation.
But every time I start to regress, I think of Layla, of her fierce defense of her father's legacy, her belief that business can be ethical without sacrificing success, the way she showed me that some things are worth more than money.
Beside me, she stirs as the plane begins its descent, her eyes fluttering open like a sleepy cat.
“Are we there?” she asks, voice husky with sleep.
“Almost,” I say, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Just starting our descent.”
She stretches before peering out the window, her eyes widening as she takes in the view below—terracotta rooftops, azure water, and rolling hills dotted with olive groves.
“Lisbon?” she gasps, turning to me with delighted surprise. “We're in Portugal?”
“Surprise,” I say, enjoying her reaction. I've been deliberately vague about this trip, refusing to give her any details beyond “pack for warm weather and bring your passport.”
“I thought we were going to the Bahamas,” she laughs. “You sneaky billionaire.”
“I have my moments.”
She studies my face with those sharp eyes that see everything. “You've been unusually secretive about this trip.”
“Have I?”
“Definitely. Usually you give me a detailed itinerary complete with restaurant reservations and backup plans for backup plans.” Her eyes narrow playfully. “What are you up to, Mercer?”
I shrug, fighting to keep my expression neutral. “Maybe I wanted to be spontaneous.”
“You've never been spontaneous a day in your life,” she says, laughing. “Except for that first trip here.”
“Which is precisely why this trip is special,” I tell her, taking her hand. “It's where we found our way to each other.”
Her features soften. “Is that what this is? A sentimental journey?”
“Something like that.” I lift her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. The truth is, I've been planning this trip for months. Every detail has been carefully arranged, from the private villa overlooking the ocean to the ring box currently burning a hole in my jacket pocket.
The ring itself took six weeks to design. A flawless emerald that matches her eyes, set in platinum with small diamonds forming a pattern inspired by neural pathways. A reminder of the technology that brought us together, reimagined as something beautiful and eternal.
As the plane touches down, I find myself uncharacteristically nervous. I, who have negotiated billion-dollar deals without breaking a sweat, am anxious about asking one simple question.
But then, nothing about Layla has ever been simple.
The car waiting for us is elegant and discreet, the driver offering only a polite nod as he loads our luggage.
Layla gasps when we pull up to the villa, its white walls gleaming in the golden afternoon sun and bougainvillea cascading over terraced gardens that lead down to a private stretch of coastline.
“Bennett, this is... completely over the top,” she says, but her wide eyes and delighted smile betray her true feelings.
“Wait until you see inside,” I tell her, guiding her through carved wooden doors into a space that perfectly blends traditional Portuguese architecture with modern luxury. High ceilings, cool tile floors, walls of windows that frame the ocean like living art.
“You've outdone yourself,” she declares, spinning in the center of the main room. “Please tell me we get more than a weekend here.”
“A month,” I say casually, watching her reaction.
She stops spinning. “A month? You're not serious.”
“Completely serious.”
“But the board meeting next week. The NeuraTech trials. We can't just vanish for a month.”
“We can,” I assure her, moving closer. “Everything's been arranged. Caleb is handling the legal aspects. Landon is overseeing the trials. Your father is actually enjoying being back in the CEO seat temporarily.”
“A month,” she repeats, sinking onto a plush sofa covered in cream linen. “Are we playing hooky again, Mr. Mercer?”
I move to sit beside her, taking her hand in mine. Her engagement ring finger is bare, but if everything goes according to plan, that won't be the case much longer.
“We are,” I confirm. “But this time, we have something to celebrate.”
“What's that?” she asks, curiosity dancing in her eyes. “This seems elaborate, even by your standards.”
My heart pounds as I slide from the sofa to one knee before her, producing the ring box from my pocket. Her breath catches, one hand flying to cover her mouth.
“Layla Carmichael,” I begin, opening the box to reveal the emerald nestled within.
“You changed everything. My business philosophy, my priorities, my understanding of what it means to build something lasting. You showed me how to create instead of destroy, how to value legacy over quick profit, how to love without reservation.”
Tears spill over, tracking down her cheeks as she stares at the ring.
“I had an entire speech prepared,” I admit, “with carefully chosen words and perfectly structured arguments.
But now that I'm here, looking at you, all I want to say is this: I love you more than I knew was possible. I want to build a life with you, a family, a legacy together that matters. Will you marry me?”
For one heart-stopping moment, she simply stares at me, tears flowing freely. Then she launches herself forward, nearly knocking me backward as her arms wrap around my neck.
“Yes,” she breathes against my lips. “Yes, Bennett. Of course, yes.”
Relief and joy surge through me as I slide the ring onto her finger, watching as she examines it in the golden light streaming through the windows.
“The pattern,” she whispers, holding her hand up to catch the light. “It looks like?—”
“Neural pathways,” I confirm.
“Oh, Bennett'.” She kisses me then, with all the passion and tenderness that has defined our relationship from the beginning. When we finally break apart, she's laughing and crying at the same time.
“I can't believe you planned all this,” she says, wiping her eyes. “The secrecy, the location, the ring—it's perfect.”
“You deserve perfect,” I tell her, framing her face with my hands. “You deserve everything.”
“I already have everything,” she says softly. “I have you.”
The words land heavy. Not painful, but overwhelming in their simplicity and truth.
This woman, who could have anyone, chooses me.
Not the billionaire or the CEO, but me. The man who's still learning how to build instead of tear down, how to love without conditions, how to be worthy of someone as extraordinary as her.
“Come here,” she whispers, pulling me up onto the sofa beside her. “I want to kiss my fiancé properly.”
Fiancé. The word sends a thrill through me that no business deal has ever matched.
I gather her close, marveling at how perfectly she fits against me, how right this feels.
Outside, the Portuguese sun begins to set over the Atlantic, painting the sky in shades of coral and gold.
Inside, we're lost in each other, in the promise of forever, in the knowledge that whatever challenges lie ahead, we'll face them together.
“I love you,” I murmur against her hair. “My brilliant, stubborn, transformative future wife.”
“I love you too,” she replies, settling more comfortably in my arms. “My reformed corporate shark turned benevolent billionaire.”
We sit in comfortable silence, watching the sunset paint patterns across the water, her new ring catching the fading light. In a few hours, we'll call our families, share our news with friends, begin planning a wedding. But for now, it's just us and the promise we've made to each other.
A wrong number that led to the right person. A business deal that became something far more valuable. A love story that started with complications and found its way to this perfect simplicity.
“So,” Layla says eventually, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest. “What's our first act as an engaged couple?”
I consider the question seriously. “Dinner on the terrace? Champagne under the stars? Fucking you until you can't walk? Whatever you want.”
She tilts her head up to look at me, her eyes sparkling with mirth and love and infinite possibility.
“I want all of it,” she says. “Tonight, tomorrow, forever. All of it with you—especially the fucking part.”
“In that case, I wouldn’t want to disappoint,” I say as I lean down to kiss her again, lifting her in my arms and carrying her to the bed, sealing our engagement with the promise of everything still to come.
And it’s as I undress her that I realize that I, Bennett Mercer—master of acquisitions, builder of empires, collector of assets—have finally found the only thing truly worth having.
Forever with Layla Carmichael.
I can think of no greater fortune.
The Curves and Capital series will continue with DIAL L FOR LAWYER
Marketing director Serena Morgan's career implodes when she's accused of selling company secrets.
Her only hope? The brilliant lawyer she's been avoiding for six months—Caleb Kingsley.
He'll save her career, but his price isn't money.
It's the one thing she can't afford to give: a chance at her heart.
coming soon: lapublishing.org