Epilogue. Tessa Fortune.
A YEAR AFTER REGAINING HER FAMILY’S ASSETS. THE FORTUNE MANSION…
This was always the right thing to do, I thought, as I watched the Beta mother slowly move around what had once been my childhood bedroom.
She didn’t seem to trust her surroundings, touching things tentatively, as if she waited for it all to shimmer out of focus.
I stood in the doorway, chest tight with emotion. I was feeling too much; it was almost overwhelming. Not quite sadness or happiness. Something in between, something that damaged and healed simultaneously.
The mother picked up a pillow, fluffing it a little.
She smiled down at it. I knew that feeling—relishing softness after so much hardness.
The little boy was sleepy, swooning on his feet as he yawned.
His mother scooped him up after setting the pillow back on the bed.
She tucked him beneath the sheets, moving to get something out of her ripped satchel.
A threadbare blanket, its color faded to gray from what I suspect was once baby blue.
The Fortune Estate wasn't the Fortune Estate anymore.
My childhood home had been transformed into the Fortune Memorial Shelter.
The grand staircase still curved up to the second floor, but now feet of all sizes traveled its path.
The crystal chandelier still hung in the foyer, but it illuminated backpacks and donated coats instead of imported floral arrangements.
The kitchen, once flowing with catered food, now had a pantry packed with jars of peanut butter and jelly.
Sandwich bread. Crackers. Endless chocolate chip cookies and apple sauce cups for the kids.
"Is there anything else you need?" I asked softly, not wanting to intrude as they came to terms with the reality of this place—that they were safe, off the streets, no longer scrounging.
The mother looked up, her eyes still carrying that haunted wariness I recognized all too well. She was waiting for the catch, waiting for this kindness to be yanked away.
God, what if I was still homeless right now but also pregnant too? She could be me. I could be her.
Protectively, I placed my right hand on my stomach.
I was just starting to show, belly beginning to round.
My Alphas and I were waiting to be surprised at the birth, because we truly didn’t care.
We were just so excited, and had about a dozen names picked out.
That was going to be the hardest part… picking the right one.
“Please tell me if I can get you anything. Honestly, I don’t mind.” I really wanted her to know it was okay to ask for something. To need something. To even want something.
"No, thank you. This is... more than enough." She didn’t want to push her luck. For a moment, I spiraled.
Don’t be too needy. Don’t ask for too much. Just hope for enough to get by.
Her son, who I’d thought would fall deeply asleep the minute his head hit the pillow, sat up clutching his blanket. He blinked slowly, peering at me from behind his mother.
“I’m hungry,” he said in the way children do, even when the situation was dire. Hopeful, and so willing to accept kindness because they’re not completely jaded yet.
“There’s always food in this house,” I told him. The way he smiled at my words, so innocent and excited, choked me up. This was worth it. I’d do whatever necessary to make sure the trust never ran out.
I'd spent most of my family's recovered assets creating this place. Mister Johnas and his partners were gobsmacked when I’d walked in and told them my plan.
“Why would you waste your fortune like that? What about your family’s legacy?” I don’t remember which partner asked. It didn’t matter.
“How is helping people a waste? Why can’t this be our legacy?” I’d countered, shaming him.
So here we were, the Fortune assets secured in the Fortune Memorial Trust, a manager assigned to manage investments and keep the coffers full, and a body in every bedroom of the mansion.
This could never be a waste. This was what the world needed—shelter for the weary and lost, not another wealthy billionaire keeping things for herself, like she could take cash with her when she croaked.
I held my hand out to the little boy. He jumped out of the bed—tossing back the covers, dropping his blanket, and beelining for me.
Suddenly wide awake. His mother gently scolded.
I just smiled at her. She wasn’t angry with him for being energetic, I could see as much on her face.
She wanted him calm, so they wouldn’t risk their place here.
But I could also tell how relieved she was to see her little boy happy.
We strolled out of the room together. His mother walked closely behind us.
I'd seen the other side of security, felt what it was like when the ground disappeared beneath your feet. I knew what it was to be invisible, to have people look through you rather than at you. How many times had I gone to Seattle Saints hoping for a bed? Just to be turned away…
No one deserved that. No one should have to live like I had—wondering each night where they’d sleep, wondering if each meal might be their only one that day, wondering if they’d get to shower that week.
"There’s a bathroom on this hall," I explained as we traveled, pointing at the door as we passed it. "Towels are in the cabinet, and there's shampoo and soap in the shower. If it’s occupied, there’s two more on this level. Two and a half downstairs. Breakfast starts at seven, lunch at noon, dinner at six. I’ll be here for a few more days, before my staff take over. ”
The Beta walked a little faster, catching up to us so she could stand on the other side of her boy. He held his hand up to her, and suddenly we were like a little family moving through the mansion.
“Oh, and if you’re ever hungry between meals, there’s a special snack pantry in the kitchen. It’s always unlocked; we just ask that you don’t take more than you need. It’s resupplied weekly though.”
The little boy was humming happily.
The mother was quiet.
I glanced over, seeing her nod slowly, repeatedly. A single tear tracked down her cheek as she straightened her shoulders, visibly trying to stay strong. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
"We were in my car for three months after the eviction. Then it got repossessed. I never thought..." Her voice broke.
"I know," I said simply, because I did know. I knew exactly how it felt to watch your life crumble, to feel shame for circumstances beyond your control. Forgotten to the shadows, even though at one point you were someone’s important person.
The little boy's stomach growled audibly, and I glanced down at him. "Wow, you are hungry!”
“Mm-hmm,” he nodded, rubbing his stomach. “I could eat a whole cow!”
“I’m not sure we’ve got a whole cow in the kitchen, but I bet there’s a sandwich. There might even be a cookie or two with your name on it.”
He nodded eagerly, the promise of cookies making him walk a little faster, pulling me and his mother along. She laughed, and the sound was brittle and odd, as if she hadn’t laughed in a very, very long time.
As we walked down the hallway, past rooms now housing other families, other stories, I thought about forgiveness.
I'd forgiven Mister Johnas, surprisingly enough.
He’d truly been remorseful when he’d first found me, but actions spoke louder than words.
He’d kept in contact, asking what he could do to help me.
He refused my money, working pro bono even though I had my family’s assets back.
Mister Johnas and his firm not only helped me figure out the logistics of creating this place, but he and his partners were brave enough to investigate the Eros Institute’s predatory practices. Not that it did any good…
The papers I’d signed had no loopholes. No way to sue them without destroying myself in the process.
It was the same for the guys. Powerful people backed Eros.
Dangerous people. People who could snap their fingers and ruin lives.
Mister Johnas’s firm had been in hot water for a while, though the heat had cooled recently.
When the threats died down, he’d been surprised.
So, he’d poked around, even when I’d told him not to take the chance.
Through back channels, he learned that Eros may be forced to modify their ‘product collection’ methods. They’d entrapped the wrong Omega.
Though I’d forgiven my family’s lawyer, there was one person I refused to forgive: myself.
Signing that contract had been an act of desperation, but I should have read the fine print. I should have questioned why the Institute was so eager to help me. I’d been seduced by basic necessities and comfort.
I'd learned my lesson. I'd never sign anything again without reading it twice, maybe three times. I'd never trust someone simply because they offered what I desperately needed. Even though the ordeal had given me my Alphas, and a home again, I knew lightning didn’t strike the same place twice.
I’d been so very lucky, really.
To end up with Ryder, Dixon, Mac, and Tray.
To keep Josie with me despite the odds.
The little boy tugged at my hand, bringing me back to the present. "Are the cookies chocolate chip?" he asked, his voice echoing off the walls as we began to descend the beautiful, curving stairs.
I smiled down at him, squeezing his small hand gently. "They absolutely are. And if we're lucky, we might even find some milk to go with them."
His face lit up like Christmas. That was why I’d done this. It wasn't just about honoring my family's memory. It was about recognizing that sometimes the boldest thing you can do is extend your hand to someone who's falling.
Fortune favors the bold.
Dad’s voice flowed through my mind.
I didn’t resent the mantra now. Maybe he’d been right all along. And now, I could pass my good fortune onto others.