Page 71 of His Untouchable Heart

I nodded, resting my head on his shoulder, watching as Juliette very intentionally fell into step beside Damian. Louisa followed behind them, eyebrow arched, a knowing smile playing at her lips.

I smiled.

Somewhere in the swirl of faces, toasts, and stories still being told, I caught a glimpse of myself—not in a mirror, but in the soft reflection of how people looked at me now. Not just as a gallery assistant. Not just as the woman caught in a scandal. But as someone who had rebuilt everything from the inside out. A partner. A mother. A wife.

I thought about the nights in that tiny apartment with Juliette, the sleepless hours, the impossible decisions. The moment I thought Anthony was nothing more than another mystery I couldn’t afford to chase.

Now I had everything I never let myself imagine. Not because I’d followed a plan—but because I’d followed my gut.

The salt breeze caught the edge of my veil as we stepped out onto the deck, the last of the sun painting the sky in hues that didn’t seem real.The Oraclebobbed gently at the dock, sleek and extravagant, its polished nameplate catching the fading light.

Anthony carried Julian’s baby seat in one hand, cradling it as if it were made of glass. Our son slept soundly, utterly unbothered by the buzz of champagne and celebration around him. One of the gallery staffers trailed just behind us, carrying the overstuffed baby pack—diapers, blankets, wipes, and enough pacifiers to last through a small apocalypse.

People laughed and toasted as they made their way aboard. Someone popped another bottle of champagne. I heard Juliette’s unmistakable laugh as Damian held out a hand to help her up the steps.

Anthony looked down at me.

“Still sure?” he asked softly.

I grinned up at him, slipping my fingers through his.

“More than ever.”

This wasn’t the life I expected. But somehow, it’s the one that fit. The one that chose me back and I could never be happier.

EPILOGUE

Damian

Miami looked almost gentle in the evening light. The skyline softened at the edges like it had nothing to prove. Below, the water tapped against the hull in slow, steady slaps—calm, predictable. Everything people weren’t.

I stood at the bow ofThe Oracle, one hand wrapped around a crystal tumbler, the other tucked into the pocket of my tailored slacks. The scotch was a fifteen-year Japanese blend—subtle, complicated, and a little arrogant. I liked it.

Everyone assumed yachts were for showing off. Floating palaces. Flexes on the water. For me, this wasn’t a trophy. This was a mobile boardroom. Fewer spreadsheets, better cocktails, and no shareholders breathing down my neck while I closed a deal in bare feet.

Across the deck behind me, champagne corks popped, someone laughed too loudly, and the newly minted Mrs. Moreau glowed like she'd swallowed the sunset whole. Anthony, on the other hand, looked like a man who couldn’t believe his luck and was terrified someone would try to repossess it.

I respected that. The man had risked everything—reputation, business, probably a chunk of his bank account—to make it right. Not many would.

But love? That wasn’t my currency.

Mine was leverage. Timing. Acquisition.

And I was good at it.

My mind drifted to the rest of my portfolio—skin in skincare, bricks in international real estate, a few discreet digital ventures that didn’t appear in glossy magazines or gala brochures. I liked to diversify. To stay liquid. No sentiment, no strings.

My phone buzzed in my jacket pocket. I didn’t need to pull it out to know who it was.

I tapped the screen to silence it, the way you might swat at a fly you couldn’t see yet but knew would bite when it landed.

Everything’s for sale eventually. Even peace. Especially peace.

The wind shifted, bringing the scent of salt and something sweeter—maybe it was the catered hors d’oeuvres, maybe it was the faint hum of violin music drifting up from below deck, or maybe it was the knowledge that something was shifting, just outside my line of sight.

And when it did, I’d be ready.

I always was.

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