Epilogue
Stella
I had started to suspect, as the opening day of my store grew closer, that it might actually be a success.
Setting everything up had been months of terrifying, exhilarating, exhausting work.
There were moments I’d been certain I was in over my head—drowning in supplier negotiations, lease agreements, marketing strategies, and the thousand tiny decisions that went into building something from nothing.
But I had managed it. Every obstacle, every setback, every moment of doubt—I’d pushed through.
All with Tate by my side, encouraging me every step of the way.
And now, standing in the middle of my store on opening night, surrounded by racks of clothes I’d designed with my own hands, I could hardly believe it was real.
The response had exceeded my wildest expectations.
When I’d announced the opening date on social media, I’d hoped for modest interest—enough to justify the risk, enough to prove I hadn’t made a terrible mistake.
Instead, tickets for the launch party had sold out within hours and I’d had to create a waiting list.
Maybe I could actually do this.
The last few months since the kidnapping had been.
.. a lot. I’d started therapy—the one good suggestion my parents had made after everything with Siobhan.
It had been harder than I’d expected, unpacking the trauma of those hours in the trunk, the weeks of living under threat, the way hypervigilance had rewired my nervous system.
For a while, I couldn’t feel safe unless Tate was physically beside me.
Every unexpected noise made me flinch. Every stranger who looked at me too long sent my heart racing.
Tate had been endlessly patient. He was always happy to be there, to hold me through the nightmares, to accompany me anywhere I needed to go.
But we both knew it wasn’t healthy for me to be dependent on his presence.
I had to learn how to feel safe on my own again.
To trust that the danger was truly over.
To reclaim the sense of security that Siobhan had stolen from me.
It had taken time. Lots of difficult sessions, lots of tears, lots of small victories that felt enormous. But I was getting there. Most days now, I felt like myself again—stronger, actually, for having survived it.
Tonight, though, a different kind of anxiety hummed beneath my skin.
Pure anticipation. The pre-orders and sold-out tickets were wonderful, but they also meant expectations.
What if people didn’t actually like the clothes once they saw them in person?
What if all this buildup led to disappointment?
What if I’d somehow fooled everyone, including myself, into believing I had talent that wasn’t really there?
Tate, of course, had noticed my spiraling thoughts. And Tate, being Tate, had come up with a creative solution.
I took a deep breath, smoothing down the front of my dress—one of my own designs that skimmed my curves and made me feel sexy and powerful.
As I walked toward the front of the store to prepare for the doors to open, I felt the vibrating plug shift inside me, a subtle reminder of exactly what I was wearing beneath this elegant exterior.
No one would have any idea. I looked every inch the poised, professional designer about to debut her collection. But Tate had the remote in his pocket, and he had permission to play with it all night—teasing me, keeping me on edge, distracting me from my anxiety in the most delicious way possible.
By the end of the evening, I knew I’d be desperate. Begging him to let me come. Begging for his cock. And once the last guest left, he’d bend me over the desk in my back office and finally give me what I needed.
The anticipation alone was enough to make my pulse quicken.
“You look like you’re thinking inappropriate thoughts.”
I turned to find Tate approaching, devastatingly handsome in a charcoal suit that fit him like it had been sewn directly onto his body, thanks to my tailoring.
His eyes swept over me with undisguised appreciation, lingering on the neckline of my dress before meeting my gaze with a knowing smirk that showcased that sexy dimple in his cheek.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said primly, though I couldn’t quite suppress my smile.
“Mmm.” He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell his cologne and feel the heat radiating from his body. “You sure about that?”
His hand slipped casually into his pocket.
A low buzz pulsed through me, and I barely managed to keep my expression neutral, though I felt the heat flood my cheeks. My core clenched around the plug, and I had to lock my knees to stay steady.
“You’re evil,” I breathed.
“You love it.” His eyes danced with amusement—and something darker beneath. Promise. “Consider it motivation to stay in the moment. Every time you start worrying about whether people like your designs, I’ll give you something else to think about.”
“That’s—” The vibration kicked up a notch, and I gasped softly, grabbing his arm. “Tate.”
He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. “That’s what, kitten?”
I forced myself to breathe. “That’s... very distracting.”
“That’s the point.” He pulled back, the vibration subsiding to a gentle hum, and straightened my necklace with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the sinful gleam in his eyes.
“Now. You have a store to open. Champagne to pour. A triumph to enjoy.” His voice dropped.
“And later, I’m going to take you apart piece by piece in that office until you’re screaming my name. ”
My thighs clenched. “You can’t say things like that and expect me to function.”
“I have complete faith in you.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead—sweet, chaste, completely at odds with everything he’d just promised. “You’ve got this, Stella. Now go show them what you’re made of.”
The doors opened, and people flooded in.
Within minutes, the store was alive with energy—guests milling between racks, admiring the displays, sipping champagne while the models I’d hired circulated in my designs.
The space glowed with warm lighting, soft music playing in the background, everything exactly as I’d envisioned during all those months of planning.
And the response... the response was overwhelming.
“Oh my God, this silhouette is everything.”
“I need this in every color.”
“Stella! Can I get a photo with you?”
I moved through the crowd in a happy daze, accepting compliments, answering questions, watching strangers fall in love with clothes I’d created. Every smile, every excited exclamation, every person lining up at the register—it all felt surreal.
This was really happening. My store. My designs. My dream, finally made real.
And threading through it all, keeping me grounded, keeping me present—the intermittent buzz of the vibrator inside me, controlled by the man watching me from across the room with pride and hunger in equal measure.
Every time the anxiety tried to creep back in—what if this is a fluke, what if they’re just being polite, what if—Tate would send a pulse of sensation through me, yanking my attention back to my body, to the moment, to the delicious secret we shared.
No one else knew. To everyone here, I was simply the confident young designer celebrating her successful launch. They didn’t know about the man in the corner whose steady gaze made me feel like the only woman in the world.
They didn’t know that this triumph wouldn’t have happened without him.
Because the truth was, none of this would exist if Tate hadn’t believed in me.
When everyone else saw limitations—my family’s expectations, my lack of business experience, my supposed naivety—Tate had seen potential.
He’d looked at my designs and seen talent.
He’d looked at my dreams and seen something worth investing in.
He’d looked at me and seen someone capable of more than anyone had ever allowed me to be.
He’d taken a chance on me when no one else would. And in doing so, he’d given me the courage to take a chance on myself.
But it wasn’t just about the investment. It was about the way he’d challenged me to grow. The way he’d pushed me to stand up for myself, to stop shrinking to fit other people’s expectations, to claim the life I actually wanted instead of the one I’d been assigned.
And I’d watched him grow too.
The man who’d walked into my parent’s home all those months ago had been closed off, guarded, convinced that his darkness made him unworthy of connection. But little by little, he’d let himself want something beyond being so disciplined. Let himself believe that he deserved happiness too.
We’d healed each other, in a way. He’d made me braver. I’d made him a bit softer. Together, we’d become more than either of us had been alone.
A stronger vibration pulsed through me, longer this time, and I nearly dropped my champagne glass. My eyes flew to Tate across the room, finding him leaning against the wall with that infuriating smirk on his face.
He raised his glass to me in a silent toast.
Later, his expression promised. You just wait.
I pressed my thighs together, my whole body flushed with wanting, and smiled back at him.
Tonight was about the store. About the culmination of months of work, about proving to myself and everyone else that I could build something real.
The guests flooding through my doors didn’t know they were also witnessing a love story—one that had started with protection and grown into partnership, that had weathered threats and trauma and family disapproval, that had made both of us better versions of ourselves.
Not everyone knew that the gorgeous man in the corner wasn’t just my investor. He was my partner. My protector. My future.
And later, once the champagne was gone and the guests had departed, we’d have a celebration that was just for the two of us.
I caught Tate’s eye again, letting my own smile turn wicked. He had no idea what I had planned for him once we got home.
But first, I had this success to savor. A dream finally realized. A room full of people who loved my work, surrounding me with exactly the kind of life I’d always wanted.
And the man I loved, watching me from across the room with pride blazing in his eyes.
This, I thought, as another wave of sensation shivered through me. This is what happiness feels like.
I couldn’t wait to see what came next.