Extended Epilogue
ZOEY
I wake to tiny fingers prying my eyelids open.
"Mama. Mama, wake up."
Our three-year-old daughter, Lily, crouches between Zachary and me, her dark curls—so much like her father's—wild from sleep. Her light blue eyes, inherited from me, stare into mine with the intensity of a toddler on a mission.
"Morning, baby." I pull her against my chest, kissing the top of her head.
"Want pancakes."
"I know you do."
Through the baby monitor on the nightstand, I hear crying. Then more crying, two distinct voices overlapping. Our five-year-old, Connor, and two-year-old, Mason, are awake.
Zachary groans beside me, his arm tightening around both Lily and me. "Too early."
"It's seven-thirty."
"Too. Early."
I laugh, extracting myself from his grip. "You get the boys. I'll handle Lily."
He opens one gray eye, studying me with that possessive look that hasn't dimmed in seven years of being together. "Deal. But you owe me."
"I always owe you."
"Damn right."
He kisses me hard, ignoring Lily's giggles, before rolling out of bed.
I watch him walk toward the nursery down the hall, still admiring the view after all these years.
The tattoos on his back shift as he moves, and I bite my lip, remembering last night when those shoulders were above me, his body claiming mine.
"Mama, pancakes."
"Right. Let's get you dressed first."
Twenty minutes later, I'm in the kitchen flipping pancakes while chaos erupts around me. Connor sits at the table, chattering about the cartoons he wants to watch. Mason bangs his sippy cup, demanding more juice. Lily refuses to sit in her chair, clinging to my leg instead.
Zachary enters with Mason on his hip, depositing him in his high chair before moving behind me. His hands settle on my waist, his body pressing against my back.
"You look good in the morning."
"I look exhausted."
"Still good." He kisses my neck, and I feel him hard against me despite the kids screaming around us.
"Zach—"
"Tonight. After your mom and Raymond pick up the kids."
Heat floods through me. "They're taking them overnight?"
"Yeah. We have the whole night alone."
I turn in his arms, pancake spatula still in hand. "You planned this."
"Of course I did." He smirks. "Need my wife to myself occasionally."
"Occasionally? You had me three times this week already."
"Not nearly enough."
Connor interrupts, tugging on Zachary's shirt. "Dad, can we go to the park?"
"Maybe later, buddy. Mama has work today."
I flip the last pancake onto a plate, then start distributing food to three demanding children. Zachary helps, cutting Connor's pancakes into smaller pieces while I settle Lily in her chair.
We sit together, our family of five crammed around the kitchen table. It's loud and messy and perfect. I catch Zachary watching me, that possessive gleam in his eyes, and I smile.
"What?"
"Just thinking about how fucking lucky I am."
"Language," I remind him, nodding toward the kids.
"They're not listening."
He's right. All three are absorbed in their pancakes, syrup everywhere.
I reach across the table, lacing my fingers through his. "I'm the lucky one."
"We both are."
My phone buzzes with a text from my assistant.
Jessica: Site visit at 9 AM. Contractors waiting.
I show Zachary the message. "I need to leave soon."
"I'll handle the monsters."
"Thank you."
After breakfast, I change into work clothes—tailored pants and a silk blouse—and check my appearance in the mirror. Professional but still me. My wedding ring catches the light, the emerald engagement ring Zachary gave me seven years ago stacked with my wedding band.
Downstairs, I kiss each kid goodbye, lingering on Mason's chubby cheeks before straightening.
Zachary walks me to the car, his hand possessive on my lower back.
"Be good," I tell him.
"I'm always good."
"You're impossible."
At my car, he pins me against the door, kissing me deeply. His hand slides up my thigh, pushing my skirt higher.
"Zach, I have to go?—"
"I know." But he doesn't stop, his fingers brushing the edge of my panties. "Just reminding you who you belong to."
"I know who I belong to."
"Say it."
"Yours. I'm yours."
"Good girl." He steps back, adjusting himself. "Now go. I'll see you tonight."
I drive away, watching him in the rearview mirror. He stands in the driveway, hands in his pockets, watching me leave. Still possessive. Still mine.
The luxury estate Zachary built sits on five acres, all glass and clean lines. Modern but warm, exactly the kind of home I love designing. I park and grab my portfolio, walking through the front entrance where contractors wait.
"Mrs. Steele." The foreman nods. "We're ready for your input on the master suite."
I follow him upstairs, my heels clicking on the hardwood Zachary installed last week. The master bedroom is massive, windows overlooking the valley below.
"The clients want a spa-like feel," I explain, gesturing to where the soaking tub will go. "Marble countertops, heated floors, a walk-in shower with multiple heads."
"Got it."
We discuss lighting, paint colors, fixture finishes. I take notes, sketch quick diagrams, consult with the tile supplier about custom mosaics. This is my sanctuary work—creating homes that reflect who people really are. Spaces where they'll live and love and grow.
Zachary builds the bones. I give them soul.
Two hours later, I finish the site visit and head to my firm's office downtown. Hart-Steele Interior Design occupies the tenth floor of a building Zachary owns. He gave me the space five years ago when I told him I wanted to start my own company.
"Build your empire," he'd said. "I'll support you."
And he did. Financially at first, then with referrals, then by partnering on projects where his construction expertise met my design vision.
My firm operates as a sister company to his original real estate development business, creating a seamless workflow between structure and aesthetic that our clients love.
Now my firm has twelve employees, a portfolio of high-end residential designs, and a waiting list of clients.
I'm living the dream I had in college. The one I told Zachary about that night in his office when he asked about my future.
Jessica greets me at reception. "Your eleven o'clock is here."
"Already?"
"They're early. Very eager."
I check my appearance in the bathroom mirror, refreshing my lipstick before heading to the conference room. A couple in their fifties sits at the table, expensive clothes and confident postures. Old money.
"Mr. and Mrs. Lawson." I shake their hands. "Thank you for coming in."
"We've heard wonderful things about your work," Mrs. Lawson says.
For the next hour, I walk them through my portfolio, discuss their vision for their new estate, explain my design process. They're impressed, asking detailed questions, clearly knowledgeable about architecture and design.
"We'd like to hire you," Mr. Lawson announces when we finish. "When can you start?"
"I'll have Jessica send over the contract this afternoon."
They leave happy, and I return to my office, closing the door. My phone rings immediately.
Zachary.
"How'd the meeting go?"
"They hired me."
"Of course they did. You're brilliant."
"You're biased."
"Doesn't make it less true." His voice drops lower. "What are you wearing?"
"Zach—"
"Answer me."
"Gray pants. Blue blouse."
"The silk one?"
"Yes."
"Fuck. I'm picturing ripping it off you tonight."
Heat pools low in my belly. "You're impossible."
"You love it."
I do. Even after seven years, three kids, and countless fights about his controlling nature, I still love everything about him.
"I have work to do."
"Fine. But tonight, you're mine. No interruptions."
"I'm always yours."
"Damn right."
He hangs up, and I sit back in my chair, smiling. Some things never change.
I leave the office at three, heading home. When I pull into the driveway, I see Raymond's SUV parked out front.
Inside, controlled chaos greets me. Connor and Mason run circles around Raymond in the living room, shrieking with laughter. My mom sits on the couch with Lily, reading a picture book.
"Mama!" Lily launches herself at me, and I catch her, spinning her around.
"Hi, baby. Were you good for Grandma?"
"So good," my mom confirms, standing to hug me. "They've all been angels."
I kiss her cheek, still marveling at how far we've come.
Five years ago, we barely spoke. Now she's here every week, actively involved in her grandchildren's lives.
She and Raymond reconciled with us slowly, attending our wedding four months after Zachary proposed, then gradually becoming part of our family again.
"How was work?" she asks.
"Good. Landed a new client."
"That's wonderful, sweetheart. I'm so proud of you."
Raymond corrals the boys, leading them to the kitchen for snacks. I follow, helping distribute juice boxes while my mom settles Lily at the table.
The front door opens, and Zachary walks in. He's still in his suit, tie loosened, looking exhausted and gorgeous. His eyes find mine immediately, that possessive heat flaring despite our parents watching.
"Hey." He crosses to me, pulling me close for a kiss that's slightly too long for polite company.
"Zach," I murmur against his mouth. "My mom?—"
"I know." But he doesn't let go, his hand possessive on my hip.
My mom clears her throat. "Hello, Zachary."
"Carol. Raymond." He nods at them but keeps me tucked against his side.
We gather around the dinner table—two adults, three kids, two grandparents. It's loud and chaotic, food everywhere, kids interrupting constantly. But it's ours. Our family. Hard-won and precious.
After dinner, my mom announces they're taking the kids overnight.
"Sleepover at Grandma and Grandpa's!" Connor cheers.
Mason and Lily join in, excited about the special treat. Zachary and I pack overnight bags while the grandparents wrangle the kids into car seats.
At the door, my mom hugs me. "Enjoy your evening together. You two deserve it."
"Thank you, Mom."
"I love you, sweetheart."
"Love you too."