Epilogue
Sierra
Two Years Later
Sometimes I still catch myself staring at my husband and wondering how I got this lucky. If someone had told me two years ago that I’d be living in Atlanta as Sierra Madera. Happily married to Royal. Surrounded by friends who have become family.
And, preparing to welcome our first child into the world, I would have laughed in their face. Back then, my life revolved around suspicion, grief, and revenge. Somewhere along that painful journey, I found something I never expected to discover.
I found love. A love forged through heartbreak, forgiveness, and choosing each other every single day despite knowing each other’s darkest secrets.
Moving to Atlanta after our wedding turned out to be easier than I expected. Since I’d always remained involved as chairwoman and part of the board, I could oversee major decisions remotely while an exceptional executive team handled the day-to-day operations.
It gave me the freedom to build a life with Royal without abandoning the company Dad worked so hard to create. And somehow the balance has worked better than either of us imagined.
My mother eventually emerged from the shell she’d hidden inside after Marco’s crimes came to light.
Spending almost a year away from California’s social circles before inevitably returning to them with renewed enthusiasm. She’s currently dating a retired architect who spends more time gardening than attending galas.
And while I once would have rolled my eyes at her relentless search for love, now I simply smile and hope she finds the happiness she deserves. After everything she’s survived, she’s earned another chance.
Then there are Royal’s people.
River and Nadia have become two of my closest friends.
And watching them raise their own growing family has convinced me that chaos somehow follows happiness wherever 4R Ink is involved.
Raiden and Elodie still pretend they’re the sensible ones, though Roman never lets them maintain that illusion for very long.
And Riccardo has transformed the Madera empire into something my father-in-law never could have imagined. Ethical, transparent, and genuinely committed to helping the communities it once exploited. Even Royal’s former admirers have finally accepted reality.
Every now and then, one of the gossip magazines still publishes an old photograph of my husband from his infamous bachelor days. Usually accompanied by speculation about how the city’s most eligible playboy disappeared from the dating scene overnight.
And I secretly enjoy knowing the answer is sitting beside him every evening on our sofa. Or waddling. At nearly nine months pregnant, graceful movement has become more of a memory than a reality.
“You know,” Nadia told me last week while helping me organize the nursery, “I’ve never met anyone who complains about pregnancy and smiles at the same time.”
“I can do both.”
“You absolutely can.”
She wasn’t wrong. My pregnancy has been surprisingly smooth, aside from one persistent inconvenience. I have never been hornier in my entire life. Royal finds this endlessly amusing and encouraging. I blame the hormones.
“You know,” he teased only yesterday, “I’m beginning to think this baby likes keeping me busy.”
“I refuse to discuss that theory.”
“You didn’t deny it.”
“I’m preserving my dignity.”
“You lost that around month four.”
I laughed so hard I nearly cried.
Now, balancing one hand beneath my stomach, I make my way toward his home office, already hearing the rapid tapping of computer keys long before I reach the door. Some things never change. Royal still disappears behind a wall of monitors whenever 4R Ink is investigating another case.
His concentration is so complete that entire hours pass without him noticing the outside world. I pause in the doorway for a moment, smiling to myself as I watch him work. His fingers move effortlessly across multiple keyboards, the familiar intensity settling across his features.
He’s in a black t-shirt and sweatpants, his inked arms on full display, and I stand in the doorway for a moment just appreciating the view.
“Royal.”
He doesn’t look up. “Hmm?”
I walk toward him, the hem of my sundress brushing my thighs. “You’ve been in here for hours.”
“Almost done, princess.” His eyes stay locked on the screen. “Give me ten minutes.”
I stop beside his chair and trail my fingers down his arm, feeling the muscle tense beneath my touch. “I don’t want to give you ten minutes.”
He finally glances up, and I see the moment he registers my intentions. His gaze drops to my chest, where my nipples are already pressing against the thin cotton of my dress, then lower, to where the fabric clings to my rounded belly.
“Sierra,” he says, his voice dropping to that rough register that still makes me wet. “You’re insatiable.”
“I’m pregnant,” I correct, sliding onto his lap and feeling his immediate hardness against my hip. “It’s your fault. You did this to me.”
His hands settle on my waist, careful and warm. “And now you’re punishing me for it?”
“Something like that.” I grind against him, and we both groan. “Unless you’re too busy?”
He shuts his laptop with one hand, the other already sliding up my thigh beneath my dress. “Never too busy for you.”
I stand and back toward his desk, hoisting myself onto the edge and spreading my legs slightly. The window behind me faces the garden, the afternoon light streaming in, and anyone walking by could glance up and see us. The thought sends a familiar thrill through me.
“Come here,” I say.
He rises slowly, that predatory grace still intact even after all this time, and stops between my thighs. I reach for the hem of his shirt and pull it up, running my palms over the inked planes of his chest, the familiar ridges of muscle. He lets me explore for a moment, then catches my wrists.
“Lie back,” he commands.
I do, my head resting on his keyboard, my belly rising between us like a moon. He pushes my dress up around my waist, leaving me in just my underwear, and stares at me with that dark hunger that never seems to fade.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his hands sliding up my thighs. “So fucking beautiful.”
He leans down and closes his mouth around my nipple through my dress, and I gasp, arching into him. My breasts have been so sensitive, almost painfully so, and the wet heat of his mouth sends sparks shooting straight to my core.
He sucks harder, his tongue circling, and I feel it building, impossibly fast, a tight coil of pleasure that snaps without warning. I cry out, my body shuddering, and he lifts his head with a satisfied smirk.
“Already?” he teases.
“Don’t,” I breathe, my face flushing. “It’s your fault. You know what pregnancy does to me.”
“I do.” He kisses his way down my belly, reverent and slow. “And I intend to take full advantage.”
He hooks his fingers in my underwear and pulls them down, tossing them aside. Then he spreads me open and lowers his mouth, and I fist my hands in his hair, already oversensitive, already desperate.
“Royal,” I gasp. “Someone could see…”
“Let them,” he murmurs against my thigh, echoing words from years ago. “Let them see what I do to you. Let them see how fucking desperate you are for your husband.”
He licks into me, and I moan, my hips bucking against his mouth. He’s gentle, knowing how sensitive I am, but relentless, his tongue finding every spot that makes me shake. He slides one finger inside me, then two, curling them slowly, and I feel another orgasm building, slower this time, deeper.
“Please,” I whimper, not even sure what I’m begging for.
He sucks my clit into his mouth and pumps his fingers, and I come again, my body trembling, my cry muffled by my own hand. He keeps licking me through it, soft and soothing, until I’m limp and gasping.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh.
I sit up, reaching for him, my hands shaking slightly. “I need you inside me. Now.”
He stands and pushes his joggers down, freeing his cock, thick and flushed and already wet at the tip. I wrap my hand around him, feeling him pulse against my palm, and he groans, his head falling back.
“Sierra,” he grits out. “Fuck. Your hands.”
I stroke him slowly, watching his face, the way his jaw tightens, the way his breathing goes ragged. I love this, love the power of reducing him to this, my controlled, dangerous husband completely at my mercy.
He catches my wrist and stills my hand. “Enough,” he growls. “Or I’m going to come in your hand, and I want to be inside you.”
He positions himself at my entrance and pushes in slowly, carefully, the way he’s learned to be with my changing body. I gasp at the stretch, the fullness, the perfect rightness of him inside me. He pauses, letting me adjust, his forehead pressed to mine.
“Okay?” he breathes.
“More than okay.” I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Move, Royal. Please.”
He starts to thrust, slow and deep, each stroke hitting that spot inside me that makes my vision blur. I grip his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin, and meet him stroke for stroke. The desk creaks beneath us, and I laugh, breathless, at the absurdity of it.
“Quiet,” he murmurs, but he’s smiling. “Unless you want the neighbors to know.”
“Maybe I do,” I tease, and he thrusts harder, making me gasp.
He keeps that pace, relentless and deep, his hands braced on either side of my head. I watch his face, the concentration there, the love and lust mingling in his dark eyes. He’s beautiful, this man, this husband, this father of my child.
“Touch yourself,” he commands. “I want to feel you come around me.”
I slide my hand between us, finding my clit, and circle it slowly. The sensation, combined with the steady pressure of him inside me, builds quickly, a heat gathering at my core, spreading through my limbs like wildfire.
“Royal,” I gasp, my body tensing. “I’m close…”
“Come for me,” he growls, his pace faltering slightly. “Come with me, Sierra. Now.”
The orgasm crashes through me like a wave, like a flood, endless and overwhelming. I cry out, my body convulsing around him. He follows, burying himself deep and spilling inside me with a ragged groan.
We stay like that for a moment, breathing hard, connected, complete. He presses gentle kisses to my forehead, my cheeks, my lips.
“I love you,” he whispers as he leaves the warmth of my sex.
“I love you too,” I breathe back.
Then I feel it. A strange pressure, a warm gush between my legs that has nothing to do with what we just did. I freeze, my eyes widening.
“Royal,” I say, my voice strangely calm. “I think my water just broke.”
He pulls back, his face a mask of shock and panic. “What? Now?”
I nod, and absolute chaos erupts.
???
Royal
Nothing in my life has ever prepared me for the moment I hear my daughter cry for the first time.
I’ve faced armed criminals without hesitation. I’ve stared down men capable of unimaginable violence. I’ve infiltrated trafficking rings, dismantled criminal organizations, and spent years believing I understood fear.
I was wrong.
Fear is standing in a delivery room, listening to the woman you love struggle through labor while knowing there is absolutely nothing you can do except wait and stay by her side. River, Roman, Raiden, Riccardo, Nadia, Elodie, Cora, and Yvonne are in the waiting room.
I called everyone during the drive to the hospital, my hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped my phone twice. And somehow they’ve all arrived before I have time to process what’s happening.
Then the doctor smiles up at me. “Congratulations.”
I don’t remember crossing the room. One moment, I’m standing beside Sierra, her hand gripping mine. Next, I’m staring down at the beautiful bundle. The nurse places the baby in Sierra’s arms, and she cradles her with a joyful cry.
Sierra looks exhausted. Beautiful. Radiant. She’s cradling the tiniest human being I’ve ever seen against her chest, tears glistening in her eyes as she looks up at me.
“Come see,” she whispers.
I don’t trust myself to speak. Instead, I walk to the bedside, gently taking the seat she makes for me before carefully wrapping one arm around both of them. Our daughter opens her eyes, and my heart is gone. Just... Gone.
“I can’t believe she’s real,” I whisper.
“I know.”
We never found out the baby’s sex during the pregnancy. We wanted this surprise, and somehow it makes the moment even more perfect.
“Have you thought about a name?” I ask quietly.
Sierra smiles. “I have.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve been keeping it to myself.”
That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. “What is it?”
She looks down at our daughter before answering. “Rosalie Chase Madera.”
Emotion immediately tightens my throat.
“Rosalie for your mother and Chase, for my father,” she says as she meets my eyes.
I close my eyes, feeling overwhelmed by the flood of emotions. And when I open them again, tears blur my vision. I can’t speak. Not for several seconds.
Finally, I lean over and kiss Sierra gently. “Thank you.”
She smiles through her own tears. “Do you like it?”
“I love it.”
I look down at our daughter again. “Hello, Rosalie.”
Her tiny fingers curl instinctively around one of mine. I have never felt more humbled. Or more protective. Or more grateful.
“I love you,” I tell Sierra quietly.
“I love you too.”
“And I love her.”
“I know.”
“No matter what happens...” I look at the incredible little family we’ve somehow built together. “...I’ll spend the rest of my life protecting you both.”
Sierra rests her head against my shoulder as Rosalie sleeps peacefully between us. The future doesn’t feel uncertain or dangerous. It feels full of hope.
And that’s more than either of us ever dared to dream.
~The End
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