Epilogue #2
She had stolen his breath away in an instant...just like she was doing now yet again, the moment his bride stepped out of the en-suite.
Evianne stood in the doorway, backlit by the soft bathroom light, wearing something white and lacy that made his mouth go dry.
Her hair was down now, tumbling over her shoulders in soft waves, the flowers from the ceremony still tucked into a few strands.
She was looking at him with a mixture of nervousness and desire that made his heart stutter.
“H-Hi.”
Her tone was shy and sweet, and in return, the sound of it had his own voice turning rough. “You look breathtaking, wife.”
Her cheeks turned pink, and that...that spelled the end of his control, with Veil striding across the room in an instant so he could pull her close.
“I’m nervous,” she admitted, her palms pressing against his chest.
“I know.”
“I’ve never—”
“I know,” he said again, his thumb stroking her cheek. And because he knew no words of assurance would really be enough—
Evianne released a soft gasp as his mouth closed over hers.
Veil decided to show her instead, just how perfect it would be between them, knowing that they were designed to be together for the rest of their lives.
His hands spanned her waist, and he lifted her, making her gasp, carrying her the few steps to the bed. The sheets were cool and soft when he laid her down, her hair fanning out on the pillow like dark silk threaded with white flowers.
“Veil—” Her voice caught as he settled beside her, his hand tracing the lace edge of her nightgown. “I...”
He kissed the words away, his mouth moving from her lips to her jaw, her throat, the hollow at the base of her neck where her pulse fluttered like a trapped bird.
She made a sound, half gasp, half sigh, that went straight to his head.
He took his time with her, worshiping every inch of skin he uncovered, every gasp he drew from her lips, every trembling sigh. He was patient when she needed him to be, demanding when she wanted him to be, reverent through it all.
And when she finally shattered in his arms, crying out something that sounded like his name but wasn’t quite right, he filed that detail away to tease her about later and followed her over that edge, both of them clinging to each other like they’d never let go.
****
LATER, MUCH LATER, they lay tangled together in the dark, both breathing hard, both overwhelmed by what they’d just shared.
Evianne’s head was on his chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin, and Veil was trying to process the fact that this was his life now.
“Veil?” Her voice was soft in the darkness.
“Mmm?”
“I...”
He watched her lips move with interest. It seemed as if she wanted to say his name?
“What is it, darling?”
The endearment caught her off guard, her cheeks turning pink once again. “I just...wanted to say your name.”
“I’d like to hear you say it, too,” he said solemnly.
And so her lips moved once again, and finally—
“Vi...”
“You can do it,” he encouraged her.
“Virile—”
Silence.
Veil stared at her.
She stared back, mortified.
Did he just hear her say—
A gasp suddenly spilled past her lips, and his lips curved as she buried her face in his chest.
“I didn’t mean to say that, honest!”
She struggled at first when he tried to make her look at him, but her gaze eventually lifted to his, and he couldn’t help chuckling at the look on her face.
“It’s fine, darling,” he said soothingly, and then he waited for her body to gradually relax before adding, “You were just speaking the truth—”
His wife could only gasp as he rolled her to her back in an instant.
“And I’m always more than willing to prove it, too.”
She choked back a laugh, but this soon turned into a little whimper as he suited action to words.
Virile, indeed.
****
FOCUS ON THE LEATHER, not the hands.
Krizette adjusted the angle of her camera, but her gaze kept drifting back to where it shouldn’t.
Long fingers that moved with unhurried precision. The needle piercing through vegan leather in a rhythm that was almost hypnotic. In, pull, tighten. In, pull, tighten. Each stitch deliberately placed, the thread drawn taut with just the right amount of tension.
This was supposed to be R&D documentation. Two months into her job at Young Leather Company, and Krizette had filmed dozens of these sessions. She knew the drill. Capture the process. Note the techniques. Archive for future reference.
Simple.
Except nothing about Arkane Young was simple.
Society gossips loved to tag him as one of San Antonio’s most elusive billionaires, and she finally understood why.
Benedict Young—the brother after Lucius—was impossible to ignore.
The media couldn’t get enough of his golden otherworldliness, that ethereal magnetism that made women lose their minds in his presence.
But Arkane?
He was the shadow you didn’t notice until you did. And then you couldn’t look away.
Dark hair. Dark eyes. Features that were all sharp angles and brooding intensity.
The old-timers at the company liked to whisper that he was the spitting image of his late father—the same dangerous beauty, the same commanding height, the same air of coiled stillness that made you feel like prey even when he wasn’t looking at you.
He never sought the spotlight. Never demanded attention the way his brothers did just by existing. His strategy, Krizette had come to realize, wasn’t intimidation or charm.
It was absence.
You couldn’t compete with someone who simply wasn’t there.
And maybe that was why she couldn’t stop watching him now, in one of those rare moments when he was present.
His focus was absolute, his entire being consumed by the work beneath his hands.
He turned the leather, examining a seam that looked flawless to her untrained eye but apparently required additional attention.
What would it feel like, she couldn’t help wondering, to have that intensity turned on her, and—
An impatient order from her boss interrupted Krizette’s thoughts, and she forced her attention back to the camera’s viewfinder. The rest of their team was already packing up around her, tripods folding, equipment cases clicking shut. The session was ending, which meant her chance was ending too.
Two months of working here, and she had yet to exchange more than a handful of words with the man who signed her paychecks. He wasn’t cold, exactly. Just...contained. Present but unreachable.
But there were moments. The blink-and-you’ll-miss-it rare kind. Moments where one could catch a slight curve to his lips when someone made an unexpectedly clever observation or a glint in those dark eyes that hinted at depths he kept carefully hidden.
Arkane was still bent over his work, and Krizette’s heart was hammering because maybe—just maybe, if she could just work up the nerve to—
Riiing.
The sound of his phone shattered the moment, Arkane turning his back on the camera as he answered the call, and just like that, Krizette’s last hope of catching the billionaire’s attention crumbled into nothing.
Unaware of his effect on the videographer, Arkane was already slipping out of the workshop, the phone pressed to his ear. By the time he reached his office and closed the door behind him, his father’s voice was filling the silence.
“Can you take a video call? Your mother and I need to speak with you.”
No small talk, no pleasantries, and that alone told Arkane this was serious.
“Give me a moment.”
He settled behind his desk and pulled up Zoom on his laptop.
His parents’ faces appeared on screen within seconds—his mother Joy, still striking in her sixties with her silver-blonde hair swept back, and beside her, Aldrich Lim.
Silver-haired. Steady-eyed. Wearing his customary plaid shirt and the quiet authority that had steadied their family through more than one storm.
“We’ve already spoken to the others,” Aldrich relayed. “They’re in the city, so it was easier to meet in person. But since you’re out in the hills...”
Arkane only nodded. His family had long accepted that he preferred solitude over proximity. They never tried to change him for it. It was one of the many reasons he loved them.
“I’ll get straight to the point.” Aldrich’s gaze held his through the screen. “My contacts have confirmed that the hospital fire was arson.”
Arkane’s jaw tightened.
“And Lana?”
“Still under investigation. But there’s enough circumstantial evidence to suggest she may be connected.”
Arkane thought of his brother Benedict. Proud. Private. The kind of man who would rather bleed out in silence than admit he needed help. And Lana—the wife who had made Benedict’s life a living hell for five years—was now potentially tied to arson.
He wasn’t even surprised.
“Until we know more,” Aldrich continued, “I want everyone to be vigilant. We don’t yet know the full scope of what we’re dealing with, or who else might be involved.” A pause. “The Youngs have weathered many storms. We’ll weather this one too. But not through carelessness.”
It was his mother who spoke next.
“Benedict has enough to contend with, especially with Lana’s confinement being extended for another month.
” Joy’s voice was soft, but Arkane heard the steel beneath it—the same steel that had held their family together through their father’s abuse and everything that came after.
“He shouldn’t have to fight the vultures as well. ”
Arkane understood what she wasn’t saying.
Benedict would never ask for help. He would sooner chew glass than admit that his marriage to Lana was the one mistake he couldn’t outmaneuver. But that didn’t mean his family would stand by and watch him drown.
“So we run interference,” Arkane said.
“Yes.” Joy’s copper eyes—the same copper eyes she had passed to most of her children, though not to him—flickered with something fierce. “Keep the press occupied. Redirect their attention. Give your brother the space he needs to handle this.”
“Consider it done.”
But his mother wasn’t finished.
“There’s something else.” Joy glanced at Aldrich, and something in that glance told Arkane this part had been discussed between them beforehand. Carefully. “Have you been following the press around Foxtown lately?”
He hadn’t. But the shift in his mother’s tone made him pay closer attention.
“There’s been a gossip piece making the rounds,” Joy said. “About how the last several high-profile weddings at Foxtown all involved brides who’d recently ended previous relationships. The implication being that Foxtown is where women go to rebound. To make impulsive decisions. To trade up.”
Arkane’s lip curled. Typical of the press. He was not surprised at all.
“First it was Lucius and Tassy’s wedding, and more recently, Veil’s bride was also in a similar situation with Tassy.”
“She also had a jerk for an ex?”
“Let’s just say they weren’t meant to be,” Joy said prudently.
“How are the Foxes handling the situation?” Arkane asked.
“We’ve spoken to them.” Aldrich was the one to answer this time. “If there’s slander or libel, they’ll act decisively. But otherwise, they’re choosing not to respond.”
The tone of his father’s voice was what gave Arkane a glimmer of what his parents were leading to with all of this.
“You feel partly responsible about what happened,” he guessed, “and you also want to redirect attention away from Benedict.” And since he knew his parents pretty well, and how efficient they were when it came to protecting their family and its reputation—
Arkane leaned back against his seat. “You’ve already thought of a solution, haven’t you?”
His mother suddenly looked all too innocent, and that had Arkane’s gaze narrowing. There was only one thing he could think of that would require his involvement in fixing this mess. Or rather, make that one person—
Aldrich started to cough, the way his father often did when he was about to say something...unpopular, and Aldrich’s lips tightened.
“The girl you dated—”
Knew it.
“No.”
But his mother, for some reason, seemed to have misheard him completely, with how she was now beaming at him. “I knew we could count on you.”
“I just said no.”
“You just need to divert the press for a month or so,” Joy went on as if he hadn’t rejected their suggestion for the second time. “Show them that Foxtown isn’t about breaking relationships but creating new ones...or mending old ones like yours and Tiara’s.”
The End