Epilogue
EPILOGUE
CAST
T wo Years Later
Our daughter is perfect—a spitting image of Willow, with large doe eyes and delicate black curls that kiss her forehead. She has Vincent's blue eyes, his pink lips, and, for some strange reason, Damien's smile. She is more than any of us deserve, named after Damien’s mother—our little Rose.
And our son is a fighter. The first time Vincent held him, he wrapped his tiny fingers around his and didn’t let go until he was fast asleep on his chest. He has Willow’s hazel eyes and Damien’s blonde hair. He was born silent, which only makes him more like Damien. Just like their mother. We named him after her father—Teddy, our Theodore.
It’s been two years since Willow gave birth, two years since she endured a brutal pregnancy—recovering from heart surgery while carrying twins. The toll it took on her was more than any of us could have imagined, but she fought through it. And the moment she was finally out of the hospital, she told us she needed to paint again. Now, every one of us has a mural in our rooms, each one uniquely hers, constantly evolving with every brushstroke she adds.
The walls of my room are coated in shades of black and grey, the colors swirling together like storm clouds. Only hints of red pierce through the darkness, like flames licking the edges of a memory. She tells me with everyone else she dreams in colors, but with me she sees everything clearly, in black and white with a hint of wild color.
I watch her now, as she sleeps peacefully in my bed. The soft rise and fall of her chest. Her wild curls spread across the pillow like a halo. I can’t help but smile, marveling at how perfect she is, how perfect she always will be, and for a moment, I forget about everything else. She’s the reason I wake up every morning. She’s the reason I’m better than I was. The softest of sighs escapes her lips.
I hear the soft creak of the door before Damien steps inside. His silhouette lingers in the doorway for a moment, just enough to make sure he’s not interrupting the calm we’ve found in the stillness of this room.
“They’re asleep,” he says quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if to keep the peace. "Both of them."
I nod, barely acknowledging the words as I turn my attention back to Willow. She stirs, her lashes fluttering as she slowly wakes, her eyes searching for mine through a haze of sleep.
“Willow,” I murmur softly, my voice rough with affection. “Baby, wake up.”
Her eyes crack open slowly, meeting mine with that sleepy, almost dazed expression she only shows in the morning, like she’s still caught between dreams and reality .
“There’s a dress picked out for you,” I continue, brushing a lock of her hair away from her face, the strands tangled and wild, a reflection of her creativity. “Vincent chose it. We have a few things to get to tonight.”
She blinks at me, then at Damien, still standing in the doorway, his arms crossed casually, waiting. “W-where are we going?”
I can’t help but smile as she slowly sits up, that sleepy grin pulling at the corners of her lips. I lean down, kissing her softly again, then pull away with reluctance.
“It’s a surprise, come on get dressed,” I whisper.
A few minutes later, the guys and I get dressed in Vincent’s room. Vincent is already perfect in his dark suit that fits him like it was made for his exact measurements—which, knowing Vincent, it probably was. Damien fumbles with his bowtie, muttering under his breath as his usually steady hands betray his nerves. I check my reflection one more time, smoothing down my jacket, wondering if I should have gotten a haircut yesterday.
The door opens and Octavia walks in, her face lighting up as she takes us in. I can't help but smile—she looks so much like Willow when she smiles like that.
"Oh my, don't you all look handsome," she says, eyes glistening as she pulls out her phone and starts snapping photos before any of us can object. "Willow is going to absolutely melt when she sees you three."
She moves to Damien first, reaching up to fix his crooked tie with motherly efficiency. "Honestly, Damien, after all these years you still can't tie this properly. "
"Nerves," he admits with a small smile that rarely graces his serious face.
"Eleanor and I have the kids all taken care of," Octavia says, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "They're all tuckered out, the little angels."
She turns to me next, fussing over my collar. I stand still, letting her straighten what doesn't need straightening, knowing this moment means as much to her as it does to us. Octavia is in remission now, her hair has grown back in a stylish silver bob. It's been two years since her last treatment. Eleanor and she have become best friends, even living in a shared apartment a few floors below us. They've formed their own little family, much like we have.
“Alright guys, get moving, and remember to record, or I will never forgive you.” Octivia chastises and I smile at her. Ever since Octivia and Willow have patched things up they have been inseparable, only allowing Vincent’s mother, Elenanor into their close circle.
“We promise we will record Octi.” Damien nods, kissing her on the cheek as he moves towards the bedroom door.
Vincent nods, pulling her into a small hug before we exit the bedroom and the minute my eyes land on Willow I lose my breath.
She’s stunning, wearing a silk dress like it was made for her—the low plunging back leaves just enough to the imagination and the way the fabric clings to her curves, accentuating her in ways I didn't think were possible.
Her beauty is different now, more profound. The curves that came with motherhood suit her, add a warmth to her presence that makes her all the more captivating. She’s not just beautiful—she’s radiant.
“Damn, Willow,” Damien mutters, his voice laced with awe. “You look... incredible.”
I watch her smile, the slightest of blushes coloring her cheeks as she tilts her head, looking at all of us in turn.
“I’m not sure I’m ready to go out in public like this,” she jokes, her voice playful, but I can hear the underlying note of disbelief. Like she still can’t quite wrap her mind around the beauty she exudes.
"You don't have to be ready," Vincent says with a grin, his tone teasing yet warm. "You're already perfect."
I step forward then, unable to keep the grin from spreading across my face. I reach out to pull her close, my hand grazing her back, where the dress plunges. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate. The way she melts into my touch only makes my heart race harder.
“You’re more than perfect, baby,” I whisper, my lips brushing her ear. “You’re ours.”
"So, where exactly are we headed?" Willow asks as I help her with her shawl, completely unaware of what awaits her tonight.
Damien and Vincent exchange a quick glance before Damien smoothly steps in. "We thought we'd take a little drive out to Vincent's place. There's something special we want to show you."
"Vincent's house?" Willow raises an eyebrow, looking between the three of us. “So I got all dressed up to go to one of the houses? ”
"I've had some renovations done. Thought you might want to see them." Vincent shrugs a small smile on his lips.
“Well, I need to grab my overnight bag then,” Willow says, starting toward the bedroom.
I catch her hand. "Already packed. It's in the car."
She gives me a curious look. “You knew we were staying over?”
"Just being prepared," I say, fighting to keep my voice casual.
She hums as if she doesn’t believe me, and Damien slides his arm around her waist leading her down the stairs and to the elevator. Once we’re all inside she turns to Vincent with narrowed eyes.
“So what’s really happening tonight, Vinny?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about Princess,” he winks and she turns to Damien, knowing she won’t get anything out of me.
Damien clears his throat. “We’re celebrating. I have some news about the contract I've been negotiating.”
“And?” She beams.
“Sixty-five million for four seasons.” He nods.
"That's amazing!" Willow's face lights up as we make our way out of the elevator and walk towards Vincent's Range Rover parked outside.
"See, just a night of good news, Princess." Vincent says, holding the door open for her.
I slide into the back seat right to her, and she turns to me with narrowed eyes. “See, if we were just celebrating Damien, he would be okay with a beer and a blowjob. ”
“Trouble,” Damien groans.
“No no, Damien. Let her talk.” I tease. “Are you offering a blowjob, Carina?”
Vincent slides into the driver's seat. “Cast, don’t mess up her makeup.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” I wink, and Willow blushes the prettiest shade of pink.
“Mm,” Damien hums, his eyes locked onto hers in the rearview mirror. “Maybe mess it up a little.”
I glance at Vincent, who’s clearly trying to hold back a grin, his fingers tapping idly on the steering wheel.
“I think she’s earned it already, don’t you?” I add, my voice low in her ear, making her shiver against me. “What do you think Carina, have you earned my cock?”
Willow’s eyes flicker between us, the corners of her mouth curving up into a knowing smile. “I’ve always earned it.”
I move closer, my lips brushing her ear as I whisper, “I would give it to you, but tonight’s supposed to be all about you, Carina.”
“And what exactly do you mean by that?” she asks, her voice a breathless tease, fingers tracing lightly along my wrist, leaving fire in her wake.
“How many times do you think I can make Willow cum before we get to Vincent’s?” I ask, looking at Damien through the rearview mirror.
He whistles lowly, “At least three times.”
“No, if you make her cum three times she’ll be too tired for tonight,” Vincent looks at me with stern eyes and I sigh .
"I guess one can do," I sigh, my fingers already tracing a path up Willow’s thigh. The soft fabric of her dress slips aside as I move higher, my touch deliberate, teasing. Her breath hitches, and I can feel the tension in her legs, the way she’s already trying to hold herself together. "Do you think you can only cum once while I play with you, baby?"
Her eyes widen, her lips parting as she shakes her head no. A small, desperate sound escapes her, and I chuckle, low and dark. "What happened to you doing as I say, hmm?" My thumb presses against the warmth of her inner thigh, just barely brushing where she wants me most. She jerks, a gasp slipping out, and I feel her pulse beneath my fingertips.
"I-I can’t do it," she whispers, her voice trembling, her eyes pleading.
"I don’t like that word," I say, my voice sharp, cutting through the air. I glance over at Damien, who’s watching us from the passenger seat, his eyes dark, his jaw tight. "Do you like that word, Damien?"
"Absolutely not," he growls, and I feel Willow shiver beneath my hand.
"I am going to play with your pretty pussy until we get to Vincent’s house," I say, leaning in closer, my lips brushing against her ear. "Which is about 45 minutes from here, and you’re only going to cum once. Are we clear?" My hand slides higher, my fingers pressing against the damp fabric of her panties, and she whimpers, her hips lifting off the seat.
"C-Cast, I just—" she pants, her hands gripping the edge of the seat, her knuckles white.
"Are we clear?" I nip at her neck, my teeth grazing her skin, and she hisses, her body arching into me .
"Yes," she breathes, her voice barely audible, and I smile, satisfied.
"Good girl," I murmur, my fingers finally slipping beneath the thin barrier of her panties. She’s so wet already, so warm, and I can’t help but groan as I feel her slick against my skin. "Look at you," I say, my voice low, rough. "Already so desperate for me. You’re going to be such a mess by the time we get there, aren’t you?"
She doesn’t answer, her head falling back against the seat, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. I don’t need her to. I already know. My fingers slide lower, parting her folds, and I press one finger inside her, slowly, so slowly,just to feel the way she tightens around me. "Fuck, Willow," I breathe, my own pulse quickening as I push deeper, curling my finger just enough to make her squirm. "You’re so tight. How are you going to last like this?"
"Cast—" she gasps, her hips rocking against my hand, but I don’t let her take control. I pull my finger out, just enough to tease her, and she whines, her hands clutching at my arm.
"Tell me," I say, my voice firm, my eyes locking with hers. "Tell me who’s in charge here."
"You are," she whispers, her voice breaking, and I smile, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple.
"That’s right," I say, my finger sliding back into her, deeper this time, and she moans, her legs trembling. "And you’re going to be such a good girl for me, aren’t you? You’re going to take it, and you’re only going to cum once."
She nods, her eyes closing, her lips parted as she breathes in shallow gasps. I can feel her body starting to tighten around me, her hips rocking in small, desperate circles, and I know she’s close. Too close. I pull my hand away, leaving her empty, and she cries out, her eyes flying open, her hands clutching at me.
"What are you—" she starts, but I silence her with a look, my fingers still wet with her arousal.
"Not yet," I say, my voice calm, steady. "You’re not going to cum yet. You’re going to wait. You’re going to wait for me."
She nods, her eyes wide, her body trembling with need, and I smile, slipping my fingers back inside her. She gasps, her back arching, her hands gripping the seat as I start to move, my fingers thrusting in and out of her slowly, so slowly, just enough to keep her on edge.
"Look at her," I say, glancing up at Vincent, who’s still watching us, his eyes dark, his hand gripping the wheel. "Look at how good she’s being for me. Aren’t you proud of her?"
"Fuck, Cast," Vincent growls, his voice rough.
"She’s doing so well," I say, my fingers curling inside her, and she moans, her body shaking. "But she’s not going to cum yet. Not until I tell her to. Isn’t that right, Willow?"
"Yes," she whimpers, her voice barely audible, and I smile, my fingers moving faster, harder, just enough to make her cry out.
"Good girl," I murmur, my lips brushing against her ear. "You’re being such a good girl for me. Just a little longer. Just… a little… longer…"
She whimpers, her body trembling, her hips lifting off the seat as she thrusts against my hand. I can feel her unraveling, her control slipping, and I know she’s close—so close.
“Don’t you cum,” I growl, my voice sharp and commanding. “Not yet. ”
She gasps, her body jerking as she fights the wave of pleasure threatening to consume her. Her moans are desperate, raw, and it’s all I can do not to let her fall. But I won’t. Not yet.
From the front, Damien’s groan is louder now, his hand moving faster, harder, his eyes never leaving Willow. I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he’s struggling to hold on, and it’s almost as satisfying as watching Willow fall apart beneath me.
“Cast, please,” Willow whimpers, her voice cracking. “I can’t— I need?—”
“What do you need, baby?” I ask, my voice soft, teasing. “Tell me what you need.”
“I need to cum,” she gasps, her body jerking with every thrust of my fingers. “Please, I need it.”
“Not yet,” Vincent growls, as my lips brush kisses along her collarbone. “You’re going to wait. You’re going to hold it. Do you understand me?”
She nods frantically, her body trembling, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. I can see the effort it’s taking her, the way she’s fighting to hold on, and it’s intoxicating. Her body jerks, her moans growing louder, more desperate, and I can feel her clenching around me, so close, so desperate, and it’s beautiful.
“Do you think I should let her cum?” I ask.
“I don’t know, Trouble looks so fucking beautiful when she’s begging.” Damien taunts.
“No. no. no. Please,” Willow protests, her body jerking almost violently around me.
“Please what, princess? ”
“Please let me cum. I’ve been so good.” She whines, her voice turning into a rasp.
I take a deep breath before curling my fingers just how she likes and growling in her ear.“Cum for me.”
Her body jerks, her back arching off the seat as she cries out, her voice raw and desperate. I can feel her clenching around me, her orgasm ripping through her, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“That’s it, baby,” I murmur, my fingers thrusting harder, deeper, prolonging her pleasure until she’s trembling, her body jerking with every wave. “That’s my good girl.”
Her body is limp, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she comes down from her high. I can feel her clenching around me, her body still trembling, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. My eyes flicker over to the GPS and I click my tongue at her.
“You still have 25 minutes left baby,” I murmur, my lips brushing against her ear.
“What?” she pants out in a panic, just as I plunge two fingers back into her sweet cunt.
Willow
“Close your eyes,” Vincent whispers as we approach the dining room doors.
I hesitate for a moment, the flicker of uncertainty tugging at my chest. “If this is what I think--”
“Just trust us,” Damien interjects from behind, his voice low and smooth, carrying that gentle authority that makes my pulse quicken with anticipation.
I comply, my heart beating a little faster as I close my eyes. The world becomes muffled around me, but my senses sharpen—the faint sound of the doors opening, the subtle change in the air. The fragrance of roses and vanilla surrounds me, sweet and heady, and something musky that makes my breath catch.
“Now,” Cast’s voice calls out, thick with excitement.
I open my eyes, and the sight before me steals the very breath from my lungs.
The dining room is bathed in a warm, golden glow, flickering from hundreds of candles scattered across every surface. The light dances like stars, casting shadows that make the space feel intimate, secretive, and impossibly romantic. Rose petals are strewn in a path leading toward a table draped in midnight blue silk, its sheen almost liquid in the candlelight. Crystal glasses catch the light, scattering it like constellations across the room, and the air feels heavy with the promise of something profound.
“What is all this?” I whisper, my voice barely audible as I take it all in, unable to move.
Vincent places a gentle hand at the small of my back, guiding me forward. “Take a seat,” he says softly, his voice rich with affection.
I do as he says, sinking into the chair. The coolness of the fine wood against my legs contrasts with the warmth of the room. But it doesn’t feel like I’m just sitting at a table—it feels like I’m stepping into something monumental, something new. And yet, it feels like I’ve been here all along, destined for this moment.
On my plate sits a leather portfolio, bound in deep burgundy with gold embossing that catches the candlelight, catching my attention like a beacon.
“Open it,” Vincent says.
With trembling fingers, I flip it open, and what I find inside takes my breath away. The parchment is thick and elegant, the calligraphy at the top unmistakable in its beauty: Declaration of Eternal Union .
My gaze skims down, the words like a dream unfurling in front of me:
"We, the undersigned, do hereby declare our intention to unite in a bond of marriage and devotion that transcends traditional boundaries. We pledge ourselves to one another—four souls becoming one family—until death parts us."
I look up, my heart hammering against my ribs, the world spinning as I try to process the weight of what I’ve just read. “What is this?” My voice cracks, and I wish for a moment that I could blink away the tears that have started to form.
“Keep reading,” Cast says, his voice gentle, but with an intensity I can’t ignore.
My hands are shaking as I move down the page, reading each clause. Protection, devotion, responsibilities. Each section outlines our relationship—our bond—and how it’s grown over the years. How I am cherished, cared for, respected, and loved.
The final paragraph is the one that takes my breath away: “This contract represents not a limitation of freedom, but the willing surrender to a bond more profound than any one of us could create alone. In signing this document, we four become inseparable—in body, heart, and soul—from this day forward.”
Below, three signature lines are already filled with their distinctive handwriting. The fourth one is empty.
I look up, my heart pounding, to find all three of them watching me, their eyes locked on me with the kind of intensity that leaves no room for doubt.
“There’s more,” Vincent says softly, his voice just above a whisper.
Cast reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet box. When he opens it, my breath catches in my throat.
Inside is a ring unlike anything I’ve ever seen before—three bands, intertwined in a perfect, harmonious weave. One band of yellow gold, one of white gold, and one of rose gold. The yellow band holds sapphires that match Vincent’s eyes. The white band features black diamonds that radiate Damien’s energy. The rose gold band is studded with emeralds, just the same shade as Cass’s gaze when he’s lost in thought. Where the bands meet, they form a perfect setting for a single, breathtaking diamond that shines with an inner fire.
The three of them rise, moving with the grace and fluidity of a single unit, and they kneel before me, forming a triangle with me at its center.
“Willow,” Vincent begins, his voice reverberating in the quiet space. “You came into our lives like a fucking storm.”
“You became our comfort when we didn’t know we were looking for it,” Damien adds, his voice low, like a secret shared only between us .
“And now, we can’t imagine a future without you at its center,” Cast says, his voice thick, as though every word is a prayer.
Together, they ask in perfect unison: “Will you be our Queen and marry us? All of us?”
Tears blur my vision, my heart swelling with a kind of joy I never thought possible. These three men—each so different, yet so completely aligned in their love for me—kneel before me, offering not just their hearts, but a future. A family. A home.
I press my hands to my mouth, and through the haze of tears, I whisper, “Yes.”
And then louder, “Yes!”
The ring slides onto my finger, fitting perfectly, as though it had always been meant to be there.
“Sign it,” Vincent murmurs, pressing a pen into my hand, his eyes filled with so much hope, so much love, that it aches in my chest.
I take the pen, my heart pounding, and lower it to the empty line. My new ring catches the light as I sign my name—the final piece that completes us all.