Epilogue
Sabrina
One year later.
A nd so here I am, back in Vegas.
Full circle, I guess you could say.
Or maybe it’s all just an elaborate PR stunt orchestrated by the universe to prove that sometimes, against all odds, happy endings actually happen.
Even to cynical, slightly-too-independent PR consultants and reckless, emotionally constipated billionaires.
We’re at Marco Fiore’s place. Not a casino this time, thank god, but his gorgeous, sprawling desert oasis of a home. It’s his son’s first birthday party.
Mia, now a confident, babbling two-year-old, is currently engaged in a high-stakes negotiation with Dominic and Tatiana Rossi’s equally adorable (and equally opinionated) toddler over a bright red plastic shovel.
Future CEOs, both of them. Or maybe just future reality TV stars. The jury’s still out .
Leo is beside me, his hand resting possessively on the small of my back, a silent anchor in the happy chaos. He’s laughing at something Nico, Dom’s brother, just said, his green eyes crinkling at the corners.
He’s not the haunted, driven man I first met in that Vegas pool lounge. Nor the angry, defensive stranger who confronted me in my Brooklyn apartment. Nor even the raw, vulnerable man who laid his soul bare on my IKEA rug.
This Leo is… settled. Happy.
It’s a good look on him. A really, really good look.
He catches me watching him, and he leans in, his lips brushing my ear.
“You okay, Mrs. Maxwell?” he murmurs. His voice still sends electricity down my body, even after all this time.
Mrs. Maxwell.
The name still feels… new. A little unreal. But the large, sparkly diamond on my left hand, the one that occasionally blinds unsuspecting strangers when the sun hits it just right, is pretty damn real.
As is the matching gold band on Leo’s own hand.
Yeah. We did that. Six months ago. A private ceremony in the penthouse garden, surrounded by our closest friends and family.
No press.
No PR spin.
Just… us.
“Couldn’t be better, Mr. Maxwell,” I whisper back, inhaling his familiar scent.
Our friends are all here. Dom, Nico, and Tatiana, as mentioned already. Sam Carter. Christopher Blackwell and Lucy Hammond-Blackwell. Jess. Amara.
It’s a far cry from that first disastrous Vegas trip, the one that started this whole insane, improbable journey. No GHB-laced cocktails this time. No accidental bikini top malfunctions. Just… friends. Family. Laughter.
And a whole lot of Black Forest cake.
Which, for the record, is strictly for celebratory purposes this time. Not the usual ‘my-life-is-a-raging-dumpster-fire-and-only-multiple-layers-of-chocolate-and-cherries-and-whipped-cream-can-soothe-my-existential-dread’ type of cake.
No, sir.
This is a top-tier, ‘holy-shit-I-actually-got-a-happy-ending’ cake.
A significant upgrade to my emotional eating portfolio, if I do say so myself.
Leo’s extreme sports safety fund, Maxwell Safety Innovations, is thriving. He’s already invested in three companies that are developing groundbreaking protective gear and advanced training technology.
His sponsored wingsuit team, ‘Team Legacy’ (Mia’s idea, apparently, via a series of enthusiastic babbles and pointed finger-waving), just pulled off an incredible run at a smaller European competition, plastering the Maxwell Capital logo across the sports pages for all the right reasons this time.
He’s still involved.
Still passionate.
But from the ground.
As a mentor, investor, and innovator.
Not… a daredevil.
And Maxwell Capital? It’s stronger than ever. Turns out, investors actually like stability. They like a CEO who’s focused, driven, and not actively trying to kill himself on a regular basis. One who invests in companies because he actually believes in them, not because he intends to flip them for a quick buck when they IPO.
Who knew?
My PR strategy, the one built on ‘Leo Maxwell: Responsible Leader, Devoted Father, Visionary Investor,’ has not only salvaged the firm but propelled it to new heights.
I still run my own firm, of course. Leo’s investment gave me the freedom to expand, to hire a small team, to finally get that fancy downtown office with the windows.
I specialize in family-friendly corporate messaging and crisis communications for clients who aren’t actively trying to give me a heart attack.
It’s… good.
Fulfilling.
And Leo? He’s my biggest cheerleader. My silent partner. My occasional, very biased, and surprisingly insightful focus group of one.
“You know,” he murmurs, his arm tightening around me as we watch Mia finally wrest the red shovel away from the Rossi heir. Definitely her father’s daughter. “I was thinking…”
“Uh oh,” I tease, nudging him with my elbow. “That’s usually when things get… expensive. Or complicated.”
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to my temple. “This time… it’s just… an idea.” He looks down at me, his green eyes soft and serious. “Maxwell & Taylor. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Officially, I mean. As partners. In everything.”
My heart swells. I hate turning him down. But I have to.
I know he’ll understand.
“Leo,” I say, my voice a little shaky. “We’ve talked about this before. Honestly? I love what I’m doing with Taylor Strategic. I’m good at it. It’s… mine.”
“I know,” he says. “And I wouldn’t ask you to give that up. Ever. But… the option’s there. Whenever you’re ready. If you’re ever ready. No pressure. Besides.” His hand slides from my waist to rest gently on my still-flat stomach. “We’re already partners in the most important venture of all.”
My breath catches. My own hand covers his.
Yeah. About that.
“Speaking of new ventures,” I say, a slow smile spreading across my face, “I think… I think Mia might need to start preparing for a new seed round in the ‘Maxwell Family Expansion’ fund, effectively diluting her current majority shareholder status.”
Leo’s gazes drops to my stomach in disbelief, then back up to my face. A look of such joy dawns in his eyes that it makes my own sting.
“Sabrina?” he says. “Are you… are you serious?”
I nod, my smile watery. “Yep!” I try for a light tone but fail miserably. “Estimated arrival time: approximately seven months.”
He lets out a whoop of pure delight, swinging me around, heedless of the curious glances from our friends.
“Holy shit!” he roars. “Another one? We’re having another baby!”
“Yep,” I laugh, tears of joy (and a little embarrassment) streaming down my face. “Apparently, you’re even more potent than your investment portfolio!”
He gives me a deep, soul-binding kiss right there in the middle of Marco Fiore’s backyard, in front of all our friends.
Later, as the party winds down and the desert sun dips below the horizon, Leo and I find ourselves standing a little apart from the others. Our hands are intertwined. Mia has finally collapsed in a heap of exhausted toddler contentment on a picnic blanket, her head pillowed on Dom’s lap.
“You know,” Leo says, his voice quiet as he squeezes my hand, “I used to think… that the only way to feel truly alive was to be up there.” He gestures vaguely towards the vast, open sky. “Dancing with oblivion.”
He turns to me, his green eyes filled with a love so absolute it steals my breath.
“But I was wrong. So fucking wrong. This…” He brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss first to my knuckles, then to the diamond that still feels a little too big for my finger. “This is where the real adventure is. Building this . With you. With Mia. With our next child.”
He lays his other hand gently on my stomach. “This is the only fucking legacy that matters. This is the only thrill worth chasing. The quiet peace of knowing you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, with the people you were always meant to find.”
And as I look at him, at this man who has journeyed from reckless daredevil to devoted father, from emotionally constipated billionaire to… my partner, my husband, the love of my life... I know, with an absolutely certainty that settles deep in my soul, that he’s right.
The greatest adventures aren’t found in the fall.
They’re found in the landing.
In the messy, complicated, terrifying, and utterly beautiful business of building a life .
Can’t stand the thought of leaving behind Leo and Sabrina just yet?