Epilogue
MYA
SOME MONTHS LATER
Project Rebuild stretches in front of me.
What was once a forgotten, broken stretch of abandoned buildings now breathes with new life, colorful murals slowly being painted into existence.
This place is going to shelter people. Families. Girls who need somewhere safe. Kids who just need a chance. People who need proof that sometimes life does give you something back.
A worker jogs up to me, clipboard tucked under his arm. “We’re finishing the south wing today. You want the final walkthrough before the inspection tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” I smile. “Let’s do it.”
He heads off and I take a second just to stand there and take it in.
When I first pitched this to the W.H.M. board, there were doubts. I had the ugly assumption that somehow Worth had handed me success on a silver platter. That the board would vote in favor of my project as some polite courtesy to the wife of a powerful man.
But I made them listen. I showed them research, layout plans, long-term projections, outreach integration, measurable impact. Programs tailored to real lives. I sold them the reality that this isn’t charity—this is rebuilding a community with dignity.
And they didn’t say yes because of my last name.
They said yes because I earned it.
It’s empowering knowing that Worth stood on the sidelines and watched me fight without stepping in. He didn’t clear the path for me.
He just believed I could walk it.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
His name lights across the screen.
I brace a smile before I even answer. “Hey, playboy.”
“Hey, pretty girl.” Worth’s voice is warm, silky, wrapped in a smile I can picture without seeing. “How’s my brilliant fiancée?”
“Busy changing lives,” I say, teasing.
“That’s right. I’m proud of you, Mrs. Miller.”
A laugh bubbles out of me, cheeks heating. “Not until tomorrow.”
He hums. “Technicalities.”
“Legalities,” I correct.
“Still my girl.”
Yeah. I always was. Even when I didn’t know it.
“How’s Bri?” I ask, glancing around as sun rays spills across the buildings.
“She’s pretending not to be emotional about the rehearsal dinner,” he chuckles. “Currently sitting on the floor eating cereal straight from the box.”
I laugh softly.
“I’m proud of you,” Worth adds.
My chest tightens. “You’ve said that already.”
“I’ll say it the rest of your life if I need to. Project Rebuild… it’s you, Mya. Every inch of it. You did this. You fought for it. You didn’t need me to make it happen, and that makes me love you even more.”
Tears sting my eyes.
“That’s funny,” I breathe, “because building something real, choosing this life, choosing you… makes me love you more.”
Worth exhales like I gave him something precious. “Tomorrow,” he says softly.
“Tomorrow,” I echo.
We hang up, and I slip the phone back into my pocket, pressing a hand against my chest for just a second before straightening my shoulders.
Across the courtyard, a group of local teens laughs while helping paint one of the murals. A woman watches with a stroller nearby.
This is community. Hope.
Today, I get to stand in the sunlight of what I built for myself.
Tomorrow I marry the love of my life.
And both things feel equally like destiny.
“Oh my God, Worth! Put me down.”
“No chance.” His voice is dark and amused as he carries me over the threshold of our honeymoon suite at the Thompson Hotel, his hand landing on my ass in a lingering sting that makes me squeak.
He finally sets me on my feet, only to crowd me back against the wall, his body pressing into mine. His mouth is on my throat before I can even catch a breath, slow kisses trailing heat along my skin.
“Hi, husband,” I whisper breathlessly.
“Hi, wife,” he murmurs against my pulse, smiling. “God, I’ve been waiting for tonight.”
Worth and I are finally married—again—and it was the best day of my life.
Technically, this was round two. But this time, it felt like our first. Today, we did it in front of our friends, family, and colleagues at Worth’s—our—mansion. Even though it was a bigger celebration than the first time, I still wanted an intimate ceremony, and Worth didn’t object.
We turned the backyard into something out of a dream. Soft white drapery hung from wooden beams, fairy lights threaded through the trees like fallen stars, and blush flowers lined the aisle and bloomed across the arch where we stood.
Brianna walked ahead of me, determined and proud, biting her lip to hold back tears.
Tiana cried openly, fanning her face and whispering dramatic commentary that somehow made the moment even sweeter.
My mom cried. My stepdad squeezed my hand as he walked me down the aisle, whispering that he had never seen me happier.
Worth waited under the arch, smiling at me. We kissed, and everything that had come before this moment finally found peace.
Now here we are.
Worth tilts my chin up, his forehead brushing mine. “Still with me, Mrs. Miller?”
“Yes,” I breathe. “Always.”
His fingers slide down my waist and he cups my hip, pulling me against him so I can feel exactly how much he wants me.
He kisses me then—hungry and slow, tongue sliding into my mouth like he plans to devour me one taste at a time.
I melt, gripping his shirt, feeling hard muscle underneath, feeling him everywhere.
Then he deepens the kiss. Harder. Rougher. It makes my knees weaken and my brain completely empty.
Worth backs me toward the bed, our mouths never breaking apart, as if he physically can’t stand to not be touching me.
His hands push into my hair, then down, then back up, mapping me greedily.
I pull off his tux jacket and begin to unbutton his shirt, dragging my fingers down his torso, and he laughs against my lips before ripping it off himself and tossing it aside.
God, he’s beautiful.
All power and warmth and mine.
He makes a low sound when my hands continue to explore his chest, sliding over firm muscle, nails lightly scraping his shoulders just to hear him groan. His grip tightens on my waist.
“Careful,” he growls. “You start something, you’d better be ready to finish it.”
“That’s the plan, baby,” I whisper.
His grin turns wicked.
Worth helps me take off my wedding dress. Then, our hands are everywhere. His mouth returns to my skin like he’s starving, kissing, sucking, worshiping every inch he uncovers.
“Worth—” my voice breaks when his lips trail lower, slower, in a deliberate torture.
“Yeah. Say my name like that, pretty girl.”
I tug him back up to me, crashing my mouth against his again, rolling him with me into the mattress, both of us laughing breathlessly before drowning in each other once more.
“My wife,” he whispers against my lips. “My forever.”
Worth disappears down my body, ripping my panties off, and his mouth is on my clit within seconds. His lips suck me in, my back arching off the mattress as a loud moan escapes my lips.
“Fuck. I’m already so close.”
My husband laughs but doesn’t stop, his tongue teasing and his mouth alternating between licking, nipping, and sucking at the sensitive nub. Every thought shatters, leaving nothing but the feel of him—overwhelming me in the best possible way.
And maybe that’s why this feels even more intense. Because the first time we got married, we never made it here. We never consummated a damn thing. We barely had a wedding night at all. One phone call in Paris and we were on the first flight back to Seattle.
Worth slides two fingers inside me, and that’s all it takes for the dam to finally break.
“Yes… yes… yes,” I gasp, the orgasm cresting hard and fast, heat flooding through me, sparks racing all the way to my fingertips.
My breathing still hasn’t settled when Worth lifts his head, his mouth slick with my cum and a wicked smile curving his lips.
“Come here,” he murmurs, voice husky and commanding in a way that curls my toes. “On your knees for me, Mrs. Miller.”
A shiver runs down my spine.
I slide off the bed slowly and kneel in front of him. His fingers thread through my hair, tender and possessive all at once, his thumb brushing my cheek.
“Open your mouth.”
I obey, resting my hands on his thighs, feeling the coiled tension beneath his skin, knowing exactly how desperately he wants me and loving that I get to be the one to unravel him. His breathing stutters when I lean closer, his hand tightening just a little, like he’s barely in control.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “So damn beautiful.”
My lips part at his crown and I slide my mouth over every glorious inch of his cock, struggling to take him in.
“Slower, Kitten. I want to feel each second of you.”
And I do exactly that, taking my time, savoring the way his body reacts, the low sounds he tries and fails to hold back, the way his composure fractures piece by piece until he’s nothing but need and praise and shaking restraint beneath my hands.
“Fuck, Mya.” His head falls back, a broken groan spilling from his lips. “I don’t want to come like this but you make it so damn hard to stop.”
His breathing turns ragged, and before I can push him any further, he slides his hand into my hair and pulls me away.
“Enough.”
Worth helps me up, then turns me smoothly to face the bed, my palms pressed to the mattress, heart pounding in my throat. His body comes up behind mine, hands gliding slowly over my sides, my waist, my hips.
“Look at you,” he breathes. “My beautiful wife.”
His touch drags lower, unhurried, teasing, claiming, sending shivers through me. He leans in, his chest flush to my back, mouth finding my neck, marking a slow path of kisses up to my ear. I gasp when his cock slides against my entrance, using my slick arousal to push deep inside me.
“God, Worth… I’ll never get used to your size.” A moan escapes with the words.
He chuckles softly. “I’ve got you, baby. Take a deep breath for me.”
I do, and he pulls out slowly, almost all the way, before pushing back in. I gasp—half squeal, half curse. “Oh, fuck!”