Epilogue
RIVEN
Six months later
I woke up to the smell of toast turning into charcoal.
I sat up, blinking against the light, and reached for the empty spot next to me. Mireya’s side of the bed was already cold, so she must have been up for quite a while. Luckily, the smoke alarm hadn't started screaming yet, which I took as a positive sign.
I pulled on sweatpants and walked toward the kitchen. The scent of burnt bread mixed with something that smelled like eggs—or possibly a failed chemistry experiment.
Emma was standing at the stove, waving a dish towel frantically at a smoking pan. Music was blaring from her phone, and she was singing along quite badly to a pop song I didn’t know. Her eyes never once left the phone screen propped against the backsplash, even as smoke curled up around her.
Mireya was sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of coffee, watching the chaos with a grin she wasn't trying very hard to hide.
“Should we jump in and help?” I leaned over Mireya and pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head.
“No way. This is way too entertaining,” she whispered back.
Emma spun around so fast she almost dropped the pan. “You two are awful. I’m trying to make us breakfast here!”
“And you’re doing such a wonderful job,” Mireya said. Her voice was so serious that it took Emma a second to realize she was being sarcastic.
“You know what? Fine. You can both starve.” Emma scraped the black remains of the eggs into the trash. “I wanted to do something nice before my volunteer shift started, but clearly no one appreciates my hard work.”
“We appreciate it,” I said, gently taking the pan before she could melt it. "But maybe we'll stick to cereal this morning."
Emma rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling. “You two are already ganging up on me. Is this what my life is now? Dealing with a united front?”
"We're not ganging up," Mireya protested.
"You literally just told me to eat cereal instead of cooking!"
“That’s common sense, not a conspiracy against you.”
I poured myself a cup of coffee while they bickered.
I felt a sense of peace in my chest that I hadn't expected to feel again.
This kitchen, this quiet morning, and these people made everything feel right.
Six months ago, a moment like this would have seemed impossible, but now it was just a normal Tuesday morning.
Mireya’s phone buzzed on the counter. She checked the screen and smiled. “My mom wants to grab coffee this afternoon.”
“Amara?” I asked.
“Unless I have a secret second mother I don’t know about.” She started typing a reply. “I’m going to ask if Emma can join us. Mom's been dying to meet her properly."
Emma looked up from her cereal, spoon frozen midway to her mouth. “Really? Your mom wants to hang out with me?”
“She thinks you’re delightful,” Mireya said. “It’s a bit concerning, but I’m not going to argue with her.”
“I am delightful.”
“That’s highly debatable.”
I watched them for a moment. These two women had become so important to each other over the last half a year. Emma had found in Mireya what I'd hoped she would: someone who saw her as more than just my sister, more than just a patient recovering from surgery.
“Coffee sounds like a great idea,” Emma said. “What time are we meeting?”
"Three. I'll be done with surgery by then."
"Perfect. I'll finish homework by two." Emma headed to her room.
Once the door closed, the apartment became nice and quiet. Mireya sipped her coffee while I leaned against the counter, and we both smiled at the energy Emma always left behind.
I walked around the island and pulled Mireya into my arms, breathing in her shampoo mixed with coffee. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being here. For staying. For treating Emma like she matters."
She pulled back to look at me, her brown eyes soft. "She does matter. Besides, where else would I go?"
“I don't know. Maybe a peaceful life without a CEO who can't cook and a sister who tries to burn the kitchen down?”
“That sounds pretty boring to me.”
“It sounds a lot safer.”
“Safety is totally overrated.” She gave me a quick, firm kiss. “Besides, you’re not that bad at cooking.”
“Wow, high praise.”
"I save real compliments for special occasions."
Mireya had officially moved in eight weeks ago.
She didn't stay in the guest room anymore.
She moved right into my bedroom. Her things were mixed with mine in a way that made the apartment feel like it belonged to both of us.
Her medical scrubs were hanging next to my work suits.
Her books were crowded onto my shelves. Her favorite chipped coffee mug sat right next to mine in the cupboard.
“I have a surgery at ten,” she said while checking her phone. “It’s one of Dr. Bree’s cases. My second one this week.”
"The valve replacement?"
"Mitral repair with complex reconstruction." Her eyes lit up the way they always did discussing her work. "She specifically requested me to assist."
Pride swelled in my chest. It wasn't that worried, protective feeling I used to have.
It was genuine pride in what Mireya had achieved over the last six months.
Her reputation at the hospital was hers alone.
She had earned it through her own skill and all those hours spent proving herself in the operating room.
“You’re going to be amazing,” I said.
“I know.” She grinned at me. “But it’s still nice to hear you say it.”
“Someone’s getting cocky.”
“And you love it anyway.”
She was right. I loved everything about her—the way her confidence had grown and how she walked through the hospital with her head held high. I loved how easily she had stepped into my life and made it so much better just by being there.
My phone buzzed with a text from Cassian, reminding me not to be late to the board meeting at two.
I groaned.
"Bad news?" Mireya asked.
"Just a board meeting. Two hours of politics and budget discussions."
“My poor CEO.” Her voice was teasing, but she squeezed my hand gently. “How terrible for you.”
“It is terrible. I really miss surgery,” I said. “But Cassian’s been stressing about the new surgeon coming in. You know him, he likes getting along with everyone. I think the new one is under his department, and they’d have to work closely together.”
“Ah, yes,” she replied. “I’m sure he’ll get along with whoever it is.”
Cassian had been talking nonstop about the new trauma surgeon. I didn’t know why, but the mention of it would always make him squirm.
“Anyway, I still miss surgery.”
“You literally scrubbed in last week, Riven.”
“That was just for one case. And Cassian spent the whole time joking that I’d gone soft.”
“Well, you have gone soft.” She poked me in the stomach playfully. “Look at you. You’re drinking coffee at eight in the morning instead of being elbow-deep in someone’s chest.”
“I'm still adjusting to this new role.”
"You're doing great." She said it like the most obvious thing in the world. "You've restructured three departments, secured funding for new equipment. The nurses say morale is significantly better since you took over."
“Have you been gossiping about me?”
“I talk to everyone about you. It’s my favorite thing to do.”
“What exactly do you tell them?”
"That you're adequate."
I pulled her close and kissed her for real this time. She laughed against my lips. “Okay, fine. You’re much better than adequate.”
“Just better?”
“Significantly better. You’re actually exceptional.”
“Now who’s the one inflating egos?”
“Still you. I’m just being honest.”
We stood there in our kitchen, wrapped in each other's arms. I thought about how impossible this would have seemed a year ago. Having Mireya in my space and my life felt so natural that I couldn't remember what my mornings were like before she was here.
“Are you happy?” she asked quietly.
The question caught me off guard. “What do you mean?”
“Is this the life you really want?”
I pulled back to look at her. Something flickered in her brown eyes—a softness undercut by the faint tension at the corners.
She was still learning to trust that this was all real.
I could see it in the way she braced for my answer, as though I might wake up one day and regret choosing her over the cold, controlled life I had lived for three years.
“I am so happy,” I said firmly. "This is exactly what I want."
She kissed me again, and we stayed like that until our phones buzzed at the same time. She had a reminder for her surgery, and Cassian was asking me where the budget reports were.
“Duty calls,” Mireya said, pulling away reluctantly.
“Unfortunately.”
We moved through the apartment in a bit of synchronized chaos. Mireya gathered her gear while I looked for the tie I had misplaced. We navigated around each other easily, like two people who knew each other's patterns perfectly.
At the door, she paused. "Dinner tonight?"
"I'll cook."
"That sounds dangerous."
"I'm better than Emma."
“That’s a very low bar to clear.”
I kissed her goodbye and watched her walk toward the elevator. She looked back once, smiled, and that same certainty settled in my chest. Choosing her was the best decision I’d made in a long time.
The rest of the day passed in the usual blur of meetings and budget reviews. I even consulted on a complex cardiac case where people still valued my surgical opinion even if I wasn't the one holding the scalpel.
I stayed a few minutes longer than necessary, watching through the observation window as they worked. My hands had gone still at my sides without me realizing it, like they were waiting for something they no longer belonged to.
I forced myself to turn away before the instinct to step in got any stronger.
Cassian stopped by my office around three, sat down, and studied me.
“You look different,” he finally said.
“Different how?”
“You don't look like you’re about to murder someone anymore.”
“I was never going to murder anyone, Cassian.”
“That’s debatable.” He grinned. “But seriously. You seem… I don't know. You seem content.”
The word fit perfectly. “I am.”
“Is it because of Mireya?”
I nodded solemnly. “Mireya. Emma. This job. It's all of it.”
Cassian nodded slowly. “Good. You deserve to be happy after everything you’ve been through.”
I looked away, a tightness in my throat I didn't bother fighting.
“Bree mentioned that Mireya is doing excellent work,” Cassian said, changing the subject. “She says Mireya is one of the best assistants she has ever worked with.”
After he left, I finished my work while thinking about the evening. I was looking forward to dinner with Mireya and maybe a movie. Those ordinary moments felt extraordinary because we were choosing to spend them together.
I left the hospital at six and drove through the traffic. Normally it would have annoyed me, but today it didn't. I got home to find Mireya already in the kitchen. She had changed into leggings and a big sweater, and she was chopping vegetables with total focus.
“How was the surgery?” I asked, dropping my keys on the counter.
“It was perfect. No complications at all. Bree said I have a gift for knowing what she needs before she even says it.” She glanced at me. “I already knew that, of course, but it’s nice to hear it from someone who isn't my boyfriend.”
“I'm not obligated to give you compliments.”
“You’re dating me. That’s basically the same thing.”
I moved behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist. “You are impossible.”
“And you love it.”
“I really do.”
“How was the coffee with your mom and Emma?” I asked.
“It was chaotic. My mom spent the whole time asking Emma questions and telling embarrassing stories about me.” She turned around in my arms. “Apparently, I was a very serious child who organized all my dolls by their height and medical condition.”
“That sounds exactly like you.”
“Emma thought it was hilarious. They really bonded over how intense I am.”
“That also sounds like you.”
She elbowed me gently. “My mom loves her. She keeps saying Emma reminds her of Lyra at that age, lots of energy and questions.”
“How is Lyra doing?”
“She’s good. She's coming over this weekend.”
We cooked together—well, Mireya cooked while I tried to help and mostly just got in the way. She was patient with me, only elbowing me twice when I took up too much space. The meal we made was much better than anything I could have done on my own.
We were halfway through dinner when Emma walked into the kitchen.
“I forgot my—” She stopped and looked at the two of us at the table with our food and wine. She let out a loud groan. “You two are so gross.”
“We’re just eating dinner, Emma,” I said.
“You’re practically cuddling while you eat. There’s a big difference.” She poured herself a glass of orange juice. “I'm leaving before I have to see any more of this.”
We heard the door close, and we looked at each other and laughed.
“She’s not wrong,” Mireya said.
“About us being hopeless?”
“About us being gross.” She reached across the table and took my hand. “But I think I kind of like it.”
“I like it, too.”
We finished eating and cleaned up together, then settled on the couch watching city lights through the window. No big speeches or drama. Just quiet peace. Just us.
Mireya curled against my side, and I pulled her closer, breathing in her scent, feeling her steady breathing against my chest.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For this life. For building something real.”
I kissed the top of her head. “Thank you for letting me.”
We stayed like that for a long time. I thought about how far we had come from that supply closet where she had collapsed. We were building a future together, one choice at a time.
It wasn't perfect. Emma still set off smoke alarms, Mireya still worked too many hours, and I still had days when being CEO felt overwhelming.
But this life was ours. Genuinely, undeniably ours.
And for me, that was more than enough.
Cassian returns in Book 2: His to Heal