EPILOGUE
ELLIOT
It’s been over one year since the Hunt that changed everything.
I stand in the center of my rebuilt gallery, watching the evening light filter through the custom skylights, casting golden patterns across the polished concrete floors.
The space breathes around me—twice the size of what was lost, with soaring ceilings and floating walls that can be reconfigured for each exhibition.
“Mr. Chambers?” My assistant Emma approaches with a clipboard. “The caterers want to know where to set up the champagne station.”
“By the north wall,” I tell her. “Near Bianca’s ‘Renaissance’ series.”
Emma nods and hurries off. I drift toward Bianca’s latest collection—a stunning progression of canvases that capture moments of rebirth and transformation.
The centerpiece shows a phoenix rising from charred remains, its wings unfurling in shades of amber and gold.
When she first showed me the sketches, I nearly wept at the symbolism.
The insurance payout covered the basic reconstruction, but it was Julian’s investment that transformed this space into something extraordinary. The expanded LGBTQ+ wing has already received national attention, bringing artists to Ravenwood who would never have considered showing here before.
I run my fingers along the edge of a display pedestal, still marveling that this is real—that something so beautiful could emerge from such destruction. Tonight’s anniversary showing marks not just the resurrection of Chambers Gallery but also my own rebirth.
“Admiring your empire?” Julian’s voice carries across the room, and I turn to find him leaning against the doorway, dressed impeccably in a charcoal suit that hugs his frame.
My heart still skips when I see him.
“Just thinking about how far we’ve come,” I say as he crosses the room to stand beside me.
“It’s strange,” I say, leaning into Julian’s touch as his hand finds the small of my back. “A year ago, I was still living in fear of my mother’s disapproval. Now she’s just...”
“A patient,” Julian finishes, his voice gentle.
I nod. “She’s been at Ravenwood Psychiatric for eleven months now, after serving her sentence. The doctors say she’ll likely be there indefinitely.”
The memory of my single visit rises unbidden—Julian beside me, the hospital therapist across the room, and my mother, a shell of herself, slumped in a chair.
Her eyes had been vacant most of the time, her movements sluggish from medication.
The doctors had explained her diagnosis: paranoid schizophrenia, likely untreated for decades.
It explained so much about my childhood, about the inconsistent figure who could be loving one moment and terrifying the next.
“Do you regret not going back?” Julian asks carefully.
“No,” I answer truthfully. “That moment when she looked at me—really looked at me—and apologized... it was enough. Whether it was the medication or a genuine moment of clarity, I accepted it. I had to.”
Julian’s arm tightens around my waist. “You showed more compassion than most would.”
“It wasn’t compassion as much as acceptance. The mother I knew is gone. Maybe she was never fully there to begin with. What remains is someone who needs professional help I can’t provide.” I turn to face the phoenix in Bianca’s painting, its wings spreading wide. “I’ve made my peace with that.”
And I have. The closure wasn’t dramatic or perfect—just a quiet realization that some relationships can’t be saved, only released.
My life has moved forward while hers remains suspended in the sanitized corridors of Ravenwood Psychiatric, a place where she’s safer than she ever was with her demons unleashed.
I look around at the packed gallery and feel a surge of pride.
My friends have all shown up to support me—not just as gallery patrons, but as the family I’ve chosen.
Mike and Derek are by the bar, laughing with a group of collectors.
They’ve been my rocks this past year, never once treating me differently after I came out.
If anything, our friendship has deepened.
Bianca stands near her painting, Knox’s hand resting possessively at the small of her back as she explains her technique to an admiring crowd.
Across the room, Lia gestures animatedly while Vane watches her with that intense gaze that seems to miss nothing.
Xavier and Mira are engaged in conversation with the critic from ArtForum, Xavier’s hand clasping Mira’s in a rare public display of affection.
Even though Theo and Victor have shown up, a friendship or perhaps something deeper has developed after that night at Julian’s penthouse. Victor still insists he’s straight despite seeming to spend a crazy amount of time with Theo, a contradiction no one mentions to his face.
And then there’s Julian, moving through the crowd with effortless grace in his custom Armani.
His hair catches the gallery lighting, and I feel that familiar tightening in my chest. Eleven months of waking up beside him, of building a life together in his penthouse that gradually became our home, and I still can’t believe this is my life.
Julian catches my eye across the room and makes his way to me, slipping his arm around my waist.
“The show is a huge success,” he murmurs against my ear.
“Everything I’ve dreamed of,” I agree, meaning far more than just the gallery.
We circulate for another hour before Julian’s hand tightens slightly on my arm. “Follow me,” he whispers. “There’s something I want to show you.”
My body responds immediately to his tone. After a year together, I know what that voice usually means, and heat spreads through me at the thought of Julian pulling me away for a private celebration.
He leads me down the hallway to my office, opening the door to reveal the space transformed with dozens of flickering candles. The soft light bathes the room in a golden glow, but there’s something about the arrangement that seems deliberately planned rather than spontaneous.
My brow furrows in confusion as I step inside.
I step into my candlelit office, confused by the romantic setup. “Julian, what are you—”
My words catch in my throat as Julian turns to face me. His eyes, usually so guarded, shine with vulnerability I’ve only glimpsed in our most private moments. Then, in one fluid motion that steals my breath, he drops to one knee.
“Elliot,” he says, his voice wavering slightly as he pulls a small velvet box from his jacket pocket.
My heart pounds against my ribs so hard I think it might break through. Time seems to slow as Julian opens the box, revealing two platinum bands nestled against black velvet, catching the candlelight in brilliant flashes.
“I claimed you for a year,” Julian says, looking up at me with such naked emotion that tears spring to my eyes. “But I want forever. Marry me, Elliot.”
A sob escapes me—not of sadness but of overwhelming joy that burns through every cell in my body. After decades of hiding, of shame, of believing I’d never have this, the man I love kneels before me, offering everything I never dared to dream possible.
“Yes,” I manage through my tears, my voice breaking on that single syllable. “God, yes, Julian.”
His hands tremble slightly as he takes the smaller band and slides it onto my finger. The cool platinum warms instantly against my skin; physical proof this isn’t a dream.
As Julian rises, I can’t help but marvel at how far I’ve come—from a man trapped in shadows, denying his own truth, to someone standing fully in the light, loved completely and fiercely for exactly who he is.
Julian cups my face, thumbs brushing away my tears. “I love you,” he whispers, the words he once found so difficult to say now flowing freely.
“I love you too,” I answer, pulling him into a kiss that tastes of salt and promise.
We return to the gallery floor hand in hand, my new ring catching the light.
Julian pulls me close and kisses me deeply in front of everyone—my friends, collectors, artists, critics.
And for the first time in my life, I don’t search the room for disapproving eyes.
I close mine and kiss him back, our future stretching bright and boundless ahead.
Thank you for reading Kindred Kings! Did you enjoy it? If so, the next book in the series is available to pre-order:
Double Trouble: A Dark Romance
Dancing prepared me for many things—but not for being stalked and devoured by The Dexter twins.
The moment I agreed to enter the Hollow’s Hunt, I sealed my fate. Now, I’m being stalked through this twisted labyrinth by not one but two predators who share more than just blood.
Ace watches from the shadows with a gaze that strips me bare, his pursuit leaving me nowhere to hide. Every step I take, he’s already anticipated. Every breath I draw, he’s counting. His control is terrifying—and, God help me, intoxicating.
Then there’s Cyrus, raw passion and barely leashed violence. Where his twin analyzes, he devours. His touch burns like wildfire across my skin, consuming reason and leaving only desperate want in its wake.
But it’s what exists between them that truly haunts my dreams. The way they move in together, finishing each other’s thoughts, sharing glances laden with secrets no one else is meant to understand.
Their connection transcends brotherhood, slipping into something forbidden that makes my pulse race.
They don’t just share blood—they share everything. And now, they want to share me.
“You were made for us, little dancer,” Ace whispers against my neck while Cyrus’s hands grope my hips. “Running only makes the game more exciting.”
As their dark world envelops mine, I’m faced with an impossible choice: keep fighting against the current that pulls me toward them, or surrender to the dangerous ecstasy of being owned by both.
Because in this hunt, there are no winners—only survivors. And the Dexter twins have never let their prey escape.