Epilogue 3 Amanda
Alessio and I leave the island a few days after the wedding.
Honestly?
Neither of us wants to.
We'd happily stay there forever.
Well, I would.
Less keeps muttering something about “too many billionaires in one place” and “Jack needs supervision before he starts another international incident.”
But eventually reality catches up to us.
And unfortunately, reality means paperwork.
So much paperwork.
The day after we get home, we report to Sigma headquarters at Volkov Towers to finally close the book on everything that happened.
I sit beside Less in one of the conference rooms with my hand wrapped tightly in his.
He never lets go.
Not once.
And honestly?
Neither do I.
It turns out Matthew Carter—the creepy billionaire who wanted to hire me to sing privately for him forever—really was a stalker.
Just not the stalker.
Apparently he'd been following my career obsessively for years.
Sending gifts.
Creating fake accounts.
Trying to manipulate situations to gain access to me.
Enough that Sigma and several very expensive attorneys made sure restraining orders were put into place.
He wasn't happy.
On the other hand, Less was thrilled.
“Wish they'd let me punch him,” my husband mutters under his breath.
Ah, my husband.
God, I still love saying that.
But Matthew Carter wasn't the monster who kidnapped me.
Brielle was.
As it turns out, she'd worked wardrobe on several productions I'd been involved with over the years.
I'd seen her around.
Smiled at her.
Thanked her.
But we hadn't really crossed into what I thought was a real friendship until this show.
Not truly.
And by then, she was already sick.
Really sick.
Years of therapy.
Years of treatment.
Years of trying.
And somewhere along the way, she'd stopped taking her medication.
Stopped seeing her therapist.
Stopped asking for help.
The downward spiral that followed had been going on for months.
Maybe years.
No one really knows.
And that hurts.
Because despite everything—despite the fear, despite the betrayal, despite the violence—part of me still misses the woman I thought she was.
Part of me still feels sad for her.
I tell Less that one night while we're lying in bed together.
His hand immediately starts stroking through my hair.
My favorite thing.
“You didn't fail her, Rusty,” he says softly.
“But maybe I should've noticed something.”
“You're not a doctor.”
“I know.”
“You're not responsible for saving everyone.”
I sigh.
“I just wish she'd asked for help.”
“So do I.”
His fingers continue their slow journey through my hair.
Comforting.
Steady.
Home.
“But none of this was your fault,” he says firmly. “She was already falling apart, Sweetheart. And nothing you did caused it.”
I press closer to him.
“Promise?”
“I'll promise you that every day for the rest of our lives if I have to.”
And because he's Alessio—he means it.
The following season, life begins moving forward again.
The show becomes a massive success.
Oliver Pax even smiles once.
Which apparently makes Broadway headlines.
Chance and Leandra Madoc remain two of our biggest supporters.
And I've signed on to record an album with several Broadway stars.
But the project means more than music.
Because every penny of the profits is going to mental health awareness charities.
To education.
To treatment.
To helping people before they reach the point where Brielle did.
Because maybe if one person gets help—one person chooses to get well—then something good can come from all the heartbreak.
Later that night, after I sign the contracts, I come home to find Less making dinner.
Or trying to.
Smoke fills the kitchen.
“Baby?” I call.
“Everything's under control!” he yells.
I immediately open every window.
“Alessio, are those flames?”
“Technically.”
I burst out laughing.
He turns.
Sees me smiling.
And just like always, his entire face softens.
“Hey, Rusty.”
“Hey yourself.”
Then he abandons the burning pan completely and comes straight to me.
Because that's who he is.
He wraps me in his arms.
Kisses me slowly.
Sweetly.
Like he still can't believe I'm his.
“Missed you,” he murmurs.
“I was gone two hours.”
“Longest two hours of my life.”
I laugh against his mouth.
And suddenly I realize something.
For years, I chased standing ovations.
Awards.
Dream roles.
Success.
And I got all of it.
But this?
Coming home to the man I love.
Laughing in our kitchen while he nearly burns down the apartment.
Being wrapped in his arms.
Being somebody's wife.
Being loved exactly as I am.
This is the real dream.
And this time?
I intend to enjoy every second of it.
The end.