I try to smile. It’s small, weak, but it’s there.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. My voice is thin, barely more than breath. “I love you.”
The words drift toward all three of them, binding us in a way blood never has.
Rowan leans closer, his forehead touching mine fiercely. “Shut the fuck up,” he snarls, voice breaking. “You promised. You promised you wouldn’t leave us again. Hold on. Do you hear me? Hold on.”
But the world is dimming, softening around the edges like watercolor bleeding on paper. Their voices stretch into echoes. Their hands feel distant. Even the burning pain in my stomach is fading into a muted and numb sensation.
A glow gathers behind them—soft, unmistakable.
A girl steps forward out of the light.
It takes a second to place her. Blonde hair. A gentle smile. Eyes that never lost hope, even when everything else was stripped away.
“Reign…” My breath stutters out, reverent. My heart squeezes so tightly it hurts. I sign with trembling fingers, “I did it. They paid for what they did to us.”
She doesn’t speak. But her smile widens, radiant and warm, and her glow brightens until the entire room seems to pulse with it. Pride rolls off her in waves. Relief. Peace.
Then she begins to fade.
“No… wait…” I try reaching for her, but my arm barely moves.
Ronan shouts my name, tears soaking his face. Emerson is openly crying, yelling into the phone. Rowan is begging, pleading, screaming at me to stay awake. Kimber is sobbing into Emerson’s chest.
But Reign keeps drifting back, her glow dissolving like mist in sunlight.
And as the darkness closes in, swallowing the edges of the world, I finally understand.
I may not be long for this world.
My breath shudders.
My eyes fall closed.
“I love y…” falters on my lips, unfinished, as the darkness drags me down.
Epilogue
Rowan
The last couple of months have been… there still aren’t words for it. Overwhelming feels too small and too neat for the crater we’ve been clawing our way out of. Our loss sits in my chest like shrapnel that refuses to settle, sharp and shifting every time I breathe.
The aftermath blurs together—interviews, statements, lawyers, and picking through the wreckage of what used to be our family empire. Handing over company records to the police is its own circle of hell, even knowing we planned for this years ago. We split the legitimate business early, built clean books and a clean trail, made sure there was a version of our world that wasn’t steeped in their filth. The cops let us keep a handful of properties and stripped everything else, and honestly? Good. We don’t want anything that ever belonged to those monsters. Let it rot in evidence lockers.
Ronan has been dealing with the stress the only way he knows how.
By stress baking.
Aggressive stress baking.
It works out for Emerson and me because we’ve finally accepted the painful truth that neither of us can cook without risking a small kitchen fire. Or a large one. Depends on the day.
Which is how I’ve ended up here, standing over a stove like a man being held hostage, while Ronan leans against the counter judging me so hard it should be illegal.
He growls, leaning over my shoulder. “Why is the burner on high? You cannot cook anything on high. I’ve already told you this.Momused to tell you this.”
I smirk because doing exactly the wrong thing is half the fun. “Sorry,” I mutter, not sorry at all, especially when he glares like he’s two seconds from yanking the pan out of my hands and filing for a kitchen restraining order.