Epilogue 2
Willow
Three Years Later.
"Willow, congrats. Starting today, you're the Marketing Department's Vice GM."
My hand froze on the mouse. For a second, I honestly didn't trust my own ears.
Three years earlier, I had been a nobody—some junior specialist getting harassed by her boss, getting smeared by coworkers, barely brave enough to raise my voice.
Back then, my biggest wish was stupidly small: get paid on time, save enough to move into a tiny one-bedroom, stop cramming into a shared apartment and listening to roommates slam doors like war drums.
I took the letter. My fingers shook. The gold letters hit the paper hard—"Willow Pierce," crisp as hell. From the open office outside, soft applause rolled in. I looked up.
The same people who used to dodge me like I was contagious stood by their desks now, smiling like they actually meant it.
Tom and Jessica had gotten fired ages ago.
The marketing team in front of me? I had built it.
Every one of them had seen me pull all-nighters rewriting proposals.
Every one of them knew how many times I had drunk myself sick at those greasy business dinners just to land a project.
"Thank you, everyone." I stood and bowed, and my eyes burned.
I wasn't some genius. I didn't have a powerful last name.
I got here the hard way—one brutal step at a time.
And Artyom never handed me anything. If anything, he pushed me harder than he pushed the other directors.
I never forgot the first project I ran on my own—he sent my plan back seven times.
Seven. He even marked my damn punctuation.
I had cried to him, throat tight, asking if he was doing it on purpose—if he was picking on me.
He had just set a mug of milk beside my hand, ruffled my hair, and said, "I don't want anyone saying you sat in that chair because of me. I want you to earn it. I want you standing so damn solid nobody can shake you."
He had done it.
And so had I.
My office door eased open again. I thought Maya had forgotten something. I lifted my head—and Artyom stood in the doorway.
He wore a deep charcoal suit, a white champagne rose pinned at his chest. That usual ice-cold face looked... tight. Almost nervous. I blinked, about to ask what the hell he was doing here, but he had already crossed the room, one measured step at a time, until he stopped in front of me.
"Congratulations, Willow." He took the appointment letter from my hands and read it carefully, like he wanted to memorize it. The smile in his eyes nearly spilled over. "I knew you had it in you."
I opened my mouth—
And he dropped to one knee.
Everything in me locked up. My brain went blank.
Sunlight cut across his dark hair, turning the edges faint gold. He pulled a velvet box from his pocket and flipped it open. The diamond inside flashed so hard it stung.
"Willow Pierce," he said. His voice held steady, but something in it trembled anyway. "Three years ago, you walked into the wrong suite, thought I was a male escort, and tossed me two hundred and fifty bucks like you could pay me to leave."
A laugh broke out of me, and my tears followed right behind it.
"Back then, I thought, what kind of idiot is this woman?" His gaze stayed on my face, gray eyes unblinking. "And then I thought—she was the kind of idiot I wanted to keep forever."
I laughed harder, crying like a mess.
"For three years I watched you go from a girl who couldn't even lift her head in meetings to the Pierce Vice GM who ran her own damn battlefield." Pride roughened his voice. "I've never been prouder of anyone."
He looked up at me. Those gray eyes held my reflection like I belonged there.
"I never believed in love at first sight. Not once. Until you. I saw you at your worst. I saw you at your brightest. And I wanted to stand beside you for every moment that mattered after this."
He swallowed, just once.
"Will you marry me?"
Outside the office, the teasing, the whoops, the noise hit like a wave. I covered my mouth. My tears came faster.
I remembered that hungover morning three years ago—me counting out my last two hundred and fifty bucks, leaving it on a hotel nightstand, and bolting like a coward.
I never would've believed the man I'd mistaken for an escort would kneel in front of me three years later, holding a ring, asking for my hand.
I nodded so hard my neck hurt. My voice shook to pieces.
"I will."
He stood, slid the ring onto my ring finger, then pulled me into his arms. I pressed against his chest and listened to that steady, powerful heartbeat. Warm sunlight wrapped around us.
And suddenly, every ugly thing I'd swallowed in my life made sense.
It had all been leading here.
?????
Our wedding was half a month later.
I stood under an arch in the villa garden, wearing an ivory satin dress.
When the breeze moved, the scattered diamonds on my skirt shimmered like I had stars caught on me.
Three years ago, I'd been panicking over next month's rent, getting mocked for being "too fat to get a boyfriend.
" Now I stood in the Sokolov family's private garden, white rose petals fresh under my feet, and the man I'd wanted most in this world waited for me.
Artyom wore a custom black suit. He stood before the officiant, his gray eyes never leaving me for a second.
Even the corners of his eyes looked soft.
He'd originally wanted a wedding that would've lit up all of Europe.
I'd told him I didn't want the circus—just people we actually knew.
So he'd given me what I wanted. The venue was our own garden. The guest list didn't even hit fifty.
At the far end of the red carpet, Little Pudding waddled forward in a mini suit, clutching a basket of petals. He took two steps, stopped, grabbed a fistful, and threw them into the air like it was the greatest job in the world.
"Mommy! Daddy!" he shouted in that tiny baby voice.
The guests cracked up. I looked at his squishy cheeks and couldn't stop smiling. He had been a gift, straight from the universe. I'd once thought both of us would end up buried at that abandoned shipyard. And there he was now, dressed up like a little gentleman, scattering petals for me and Artyom.
Standing beside Artyom was the best man—Ethan.
He looked like someone owed him eight million dollars.
The silver-gray suit fit him perfectly. He looked sharp, tall, unfairly handsome. And still—he wore a miserable face the whole damn time.
When Artyom had asked him, he'd thrown the invite onto the table right in front of me and said, "I'm not showing up just to be your background decoration."
Then he'd turned around and sent me a seven-figure jewelry set as a wedding gift.
That was Ethan. All bark, all heart.
The officiant read the vows. Sunlight slipped through the rose arch and landed on my ring. I turned toward Artyom. He looked at me at the same time. When the officiant asked if he would take me—rich or poor, healthy or sick—his answer hit like a hammer.
"I will."
When it was my turn, my throat tightened. I stared into his eyes and forced the words out, trembling.
"I will."
When he kissed me, applause exploded. Little Pudding clapped below us and yelled, "Daddy kissed Mommy!" I melted into Artyom's arms, breathing in his familiar cedar scent, and the tears slipped down my cheeks, darkening a small patch of his suit.
This wasn't a dream. It was real.
I had married the man I loved. I had a home. I had a child. I had the kind of steady life I used to be too scared to even imagine.
The second the ceremony ended, Ethan walked over with two champagne flutes. He handed one to Artyom and lifted a brow.
"So you got what you wanted."
Artyom clinked his glass against Ethan's, a rare edge of amusement in his voice. "If you're jealous, find your own."
"Jealous, my ass." Ethan clicked his tongue, then looked at me and suddenly smiled. "Willow—if this guy ever treats you wrong, tell me. I wouldn't mind crashing this marriage in front of everybody, grabbing you and Little Pudding, and walking out. I'd take care of you."
I didn't even get a chance to respond. Artyom pulled me tighter into his side and shot Ethan a cold look.
"You won't get the chance. Give it up."
"God, you're stingy." Ethan snorted, but he didn't push it.
I saw the sincerity in his eyes and warmth spread through my chest. He had meant it.
When Lily had kidnapped me, Ethan had risked his neck going with Artyom to get me back.
Later, when I was pregnant and staying at the rehab clinic, he'd shown up with nutrition supplements like it was his job.
He never said the sweet stuff, but he never stopped showing up.
I smiled and lifted my juice, tapping his champagne lightly.
"Ethan, you are a good man. You are going to find your person. And when you do, Artyom and I are going to give you one hell of a gift."
He stared at me for a beat, then his mouth tilted up. He downed the champagne in one go.
He didn't say anything. But the tips of his ears turned red anyway.
After he walked off, Anna approached me with a velvet box in her hands.
She wore a deep purple dress, hair pinned neat, a gentle smile on her face.
When I'd first met her, she'd been stern, unreadable, hard to get close to.
Over time I learned the truth—she just didn't know how to show feelings.
But she was softer than anyone. When I'd been pregnant and couldn't eat, she'd learned to cook the dishes I liked and had staff bring them to the clinic every day.
"Willow. This is for you." She offered the box.
I opened it. A sapphire necklace lay inside, the main stone big and smooth, catching the sun with a deep, dark glow. It screamed money.
"This..." I froze, instinctively trying to push it back. "Anna, it is too much. I can't take it."
"Silly girl." Anna clasped my hand and pressed the box into my palm. "This is the Sokolov sapphire. It has been passed down for generations."
Her smile softened, eyes shining.
"I never had a daughter. And Artyom... he was cold from the day he was little. I worried he'd never build a family in this life. Then you showed up."
She studied my face like she was measuring something precious.
"I watched you fight your way here. Kind. Tough. You didn't lose your line, no matter what they threw at you. You earned this."
She stepped closer and fastened the necklace around my neck. Her fingertips were warm as they brushed my collarbone.
"This is your home now," she said quietly. "And I'm your family."
I touched the sapphire, still warm from her hands, and my tears dropped all at once.
"Thank you, Mom..."
Anna's eyes reddened too. She pulled me into a hug.
"Good girl. As long as I'm here, nobody's going to bully you."
I clung to her and cried like a kid.
I'd spent most of my life feeling like a weed no one wanted—taking every storm alone. And now I finally understood I could have a mother, too. I could be loved. I could be protected.
After Anna went off to greet other guests, a few reporters crowded in—journalists from Artyom's own newspaper group, there to cover the wedding. One female reporter raised her mic. She hesitated, then forced the question out.
"Mr. Sokolov, everyone knew you never planned to marry. Now that you've married Ms. Pierce, there have been rumors saying Ms. Pierce's looks and figure don't match you. Aren't you afraid people will laugh at you?"
The garden went dead quiet.
My stomach dropped. I turned to Artyom.
Over the years, I'd stopped caring about those questions. Artyom hadn't. He hated them.
He laced his fingers through mine and held tight, then looked straight at the reporter.
"Laugh at me? Why would I give a damn?" His voice stayed calm, but it cut like steel. "I married the woman I love. I didn't marry some decoration built to fit other people's standards."
He glanced at me, and his eyes softened.
"Looks and a body aren't the most valuable things about Willow. Her soul is. She is kind. She is honest. When things get hard, she doesn't bow her head and whine—she gets up and handles it."
His gaze sharpened again.
"Any man who only knows how to talk about a woman's body and face? He just can't handle a woman this good. That's the truth."
He turned fully toward me, gray eyes warm as sunlight.
"In my eyes, she is more beautiful than every woman I've ever met."
Applause burst out around us. The reporter flushed, smiling awkwardly.
"I'm sorry. That was inappropriate. Congratulations, and best wishes."
I leaned into Artyom and looked at the lively garden—Little Pudding chased Ethan across the lawn, squealing. Anna sat in the lounge area chatting with old friends. Warm sun rested on our shoulders. The air smelled like white roses.
I wasn't that Willow anymore—the one crushed under body-shaming and survival.
I'd made it through every ugly thing.
Now I had a husband who loved me, a child I adored, a mother-in-law who treated me like her own daughter, friends who meant it when they showed up. I used to think fate had it out for me.
Turns out, all that misery had been the price of getting here.
Artyom lowered his head and kissed my forehead.
"What are you thinking about?" he murmured.
I looked up at him and smiled, shaking my head.
"Nothing. Just... I feel so happy."
He squeezed my hand, warmth sliding through my skin and straight into my chest.
"You are going to be even happier," he said.
I knew it.
The wind lifted, and white rose petals fell everywhere—onto my skirt, onto his shoulders, onto our intertwined hands. The road ahead was long. But I knew, no matter what came, he was going to keep holding my hand.
And we were going to keep walking.