Epilogue Ivy
Graduation caps are not designed for dignity.
Mine keeps sliding to the left, the tassel smacking me in the cheek every time I turn my head. I’ve adjusted it three times already, but Sebastian notices before I can try again.
“Hold still,” he murmurs, fingers careful as he straightens it. His movements are careful, like I might shatter otherwise.
I smile up at him. “You know the cap isn’t permanent, right?”
His mouth twitches. “I know.”
Drew snorts from my other side. “You don’t, actually. You look like you’re prepping her for surgery.”
Sebastian ignores him.
My dad stands a few feet back, hands in his pockets, watching us with that quiet, heavy look he gets when he’s emotional but refusing to advertise it.
Elizabeth—the woman my dad once stalked—stands beside him, her arm linked casually through his.
She meets my gaze and gives me a warm, genuine smile.
Found family. It still hits me sometimes how strange and right that feels.
I wasn’t going to attend my graduation since I took my courses online—but my family insisted. And now, standing in the auditorium in my cap and gown, I’m glad I listened.
Someone calls my name, and I step forward, heart hammering, the weight of the moment settling into my bones.
When I cross the stage, applause breaks out—louder than I expect.
I spot Sebastian immediately. He’s not clapping at first. He’s just staring at me like he’s imprinting the moment directly into his soul.
Then Drew elbows him, and he starts clapping like his life depends on it.
My dad and Elizabeth are waving and cheering so loudly that others in the audience laugh and join in.
Afterward, there are photos. Some of them are terrible. One where my eyes are closed. One where Drew is mid-blink. One where Mr. Pickles—yes, Drew absolutely snuck him in—looks like a judgmental gargoyle perched in Sebastian’s arms.
Elizabeth insists on taking one of us. He hugs me too tightly and mutters, “You did good, kid,” like it costs him something precious to say it.
Sebastian’s hand finds my lower back almost immediately afterward. Steady. Familiar. Real.
We go to dinner at a small place downtown. Nothing fancy. Warm lighting. Worn wood tables. The kind of place where you can hear laughter without it feeling intrusive.
I notice Sebastian hasn’t eaten much.
My brows lift at the way his knee keeps bouncing under the table, the only crack in his usually perfect control.
He keeps looking over at me like he’s checking that I’m still right there. Like he’s afraid I might disappear between courses.
Halfway through dessert, he exhales slowly and reaches for my hand. “Ivy.”
Something in his voice makes my breath catch.
“I need a minute,” he adds, already standing. “With you.”
Drew raises a brow. “Should we be concerned?”
“No,” Sebastian says, a little too quickly. “Sit. Finish eating.”
Elizabeth smiles into her wine glass like she knows exactly what’s happening.
Sebastian leads me outside, just off the sidewalk where the streetlight spills soft gold across the pavement. It’s quiet and calm.
He turns to face me.
For a long moment, he doesn’t speak.
And then he does something that is rare enough to steal my breath.
“I used to think distance kept people safe,” he says quietly. “I thought if I stayed far enough away, nothing could be taken from me.”
My chest tightens.
“I was wrong,” he continues. “Distance didn’t protect me. It just kept me alone.”
He swallows, thumb brushing over my knuckles.
“You didn’t ask permission,” he says softly, a ghost of a smile touching his mouth. “You didn’t wait for me to be ready. You infiltrated my life and just… stayed.”
I nod, unable to speak.
“I don’t want distance anymore,” he says. “I don’t want control. I don’t want rules built out of fear.”
His eyes hold mine—steady and unflinching. His fingers tighten around mine like he’s afraid I might slip through them.
“I want a life where you’re always close enough to reach.”
He drops to one knee.
The world narrows. The sounds around me fade. All I see is him.
Sebastian Locke—quiet, guarded, and relentless—holding a small velvet box like it terrifies him more than anything he’s ever faced.
“I’m done pretending I don’t need you,” he says.
His voice is steady despite the storm I know lives beneath it.
“Ivy Hart… will you marry me?”
Tears blur my vision.
“Yes,” I breathe. Then louder, because he deserves certainty. “Yes!”
Relief hits his face first. Then joy. Then something so bright it almost breaks him open.
He stands, slides the ring onto my finger—simple, elegant, perfect—and pulls me into his arms.
Behind us, the restaurant door bursts open.
Drew whoops. My dad swears, a huge smile on his face. Elizabeth claps. Someone inside cheers.
Mr. Pickles, somehow having escaped supervision, lets out a loud, indignant meow like he wants credit for this entire development.
Sebastian laughs against my hair.
I laugh when he spins me around, then grabs me and kisses me until I don’t remember my name.
Later, when the night winds down and we’re back home, I curl against him on the couch, my head tucked against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat finally slowing. Mr. Pickles is wedged between us like a furry seal of approval.
Sebastian’s hand is warm where it rests over mine. Over the ring.
“Last year, I almost lost you,” he murmurs.
I tilt my head up, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “But you didn’t.”
He exhales slowly, like he’s finally allowing himself to believe that.
The insanity defense didn’t work. Silas is locked away for decades.
But trauma doesn’t follow court schedules.
I close my eyes, surrounded by love, safety, and the strange, beautiful family we built out of chaos.
I wouldn’t change a damn thing.