Epilogue
Cross Winds
The embers of their earlier fire still glowed softly, and its warmth lingered—like the echoes of laughter from his family, faint but not forgotten.
David sat alone on the sectional, a tumbler of scotch warming in his hand, watching the shadows stretch long across the floor. He rarely drank scotch—he was more of an IPA guy—but somehow it felt right tonight.
Zach left just moments ago for his own suite, saying something about a security matter he needed to check on, and Marguerite had left with him, leaving him alone with the happy couple.
Nick and Kate were curled together on the other side of the room, and David smiled at the sight, warmth tugging at his heart. They weren't speaking; they were just... being. At ease. In sync. Together. Whole, in a way David hadn’t seen his brother in a long time, if ever.
It wasn’t perfect—God knew nothing about the past week had been—but there was something grounding in seeing them like this. Something right.
He was happy for them. Genuinely. The kind of happiness that sat warm in his chest and tight in his throat. Nick had found his person. His someone. No one deserved it more.
But him? He’d fallen for someone he couldn’t touch. Not just figuratively. Literally.
He glanced at his watch, noting the time. Lena should be in her assigned bungalow now—modest, private, safe. Separate. Like she needed to be. He’d made sure she had that. Privacy. Autonomy. Control. The things stolen from her before.
She hadn’t asked for more. Hadn’t hinted. Hadn’t flirted beyond the occasional spark of sass, the fleeting glimmer of something deeper in her eyes when they met his. Moments that felt like maybe. But never enough to be sure.
He hadn’t crossed the line.
Wouldn’t.
He swirled the scotch in his glass, watching the play of light on the gentle ripples as the familiar heaviness settled in his chest once again.
Lena had already been hurt by a man with power over her—a former boss who harassed her, fired her, slandered her with criminal charges—leaving her bruised in ways no résumé could reveal. She hadn’t just survived that. She’d kept her dignity intact. Kept showing up. Kept rebuilding.
Now she worked for him. Lived on property he controlled. One-third owner of the corporation. A man with power over her schedule, her contract, her future.
His fingers tightened on the glass, knuckles white.
Even if she wanted him—and he didn’t know that she did, didn’t dare believe it—it would never be clean. Never simple. Never safe for her.
Whatever this was—this pull, this ache—he could never let it become her burden.
So he said nothing.
He stayed professional. Friendly. Supportive.
A safe presence, nothing more.
He didn’t tell her that his breath caught when she walked into a room. Didn’t tell her how her laugh rewired something in him, how it shook loose parts long ago locked down. Didn’t tell her that when she smiled—really smiled—the static in his head went quiet for the first time in years.
Because none of it mattered if she didn’t choose it. If she didn’t choose him.
He would never ask her to. Never nudge, never hint, never use their power imbalance to steer her into something she hadn’t reached for on her own.
He knew what it had cost her to be here.
To stay.
To trust.
To smile, even a little.
And he would not be the reason she flinched.
Still, that didn’t stop the wanting.
He smiled as he remembered when it started. The first time he saw her. She was checking in Kate while Victoria sneered from across the counter, high on passive aggression. Lena handled it with grace, her voice clipped but calm, professionalism sharp as glass.
He’d watched her from across the lobby and thought, Oh. That’s someone who knows how to survive a storm.
And then she’d laughed with Kate—just a breath of it under her breath, almost private—and he’d wanted to be the reason she did it again.
The more time he spent with her, the worse it got. The way she moved through the chaos, the way she never let anyone see how tired she was. The way she carried herself like she didn’t need anyone, though sometimes—on rare, quiet nights—he thought maybe she did.
He didn’t want to be her boss.
He wanted to be her peace. Her haven.
But he'd wait. He’d wait until the moment she looked at him not just with trust, but with want. With choice. With freedom.
And if that day never came?
He’d still be there. Still protect her. Still stand beside her. Still carry this quiet, ridiculous, heavy thing inside his chest like it didn’t matter that it hurt. Because it didn't. Lena's peace of mind mattered.
Nick’s low voice murmured something to Kate, who laughed softly and leaned in to kiss his jaw. Their silhouettes blurred together in the fire’s dying light—warm, certain, real.
The sight tugged at something deep and unspoken in David’s chest.
He stood slowly, set his glass carefully down on the table, and moved toward the sliding glass doors.
Outside, the island stretched into shadow. The night breeze whispered through the palms, carrying salt and jasmine and the hush of distant waves. Somewhere in the night, Lena was probably curled on her porch, wrapped in a blanket, cat in her lap, pretending she didn’t feel alone.
His heart panged, and he pressed his hand to the doorframe. Just for a second. Cool wood beneath his palm. A heartbeat’s worth of stillness.
Then he turned away and walked back to his lonely suite.