Page 26 of Yours, Now and Always
The streets (okay, the construction workers in Avelen Hollow) are TALKING. A florist who definitely should’ve signed an NDA is spilling. Someone’s cousin who poured concrete is giving us the full debrief. And honestly? We’re seated. We’re buckled. We’re spiraling.
Here’s what we know: Gage Black didn’t just propose. He said “lemme buy you an entire estate real quick” and then BUILT HER A WHOLE LIFE. Custom recording studio? Check. Library that’s giving Beauty and Beast vibes? Check. A literal glass greenhouse where he’s allegedly saying “I do for the restof eternity” BESTIE. This man didn’t just get down on one knee. He bought the land, architected their forever home, and summoned the ancient gods of emotional damage to BLESS THE UNION. It’s giving “I’ll move heaven and earth for you” but make it LITERAL. We are not okay.
And can we talk about the fact that Shayla Black (yes, THE Shayla Black, his ex-wife) is reportedly unbothered and living her best life? She’s out of the country rn so probs not attending, but before anyone starts manifesting drama, she and Amelia were spotted having LUNCH together last week. WITH THEIR DAUGHTERS. At the same table. Smiling. Zero awkward energy. Just two queens saying “the only drama we acknowledge is in our Netflix queues.” We love that for them. We love women who refuse to give the internet the mess it wants.
So yes, bestie, this is happening. This weekend. The man who gives “emotionally unavailable but would literally burn down the world for you” energy is getting MARRIED. Mr. “I’ll ruin you for anyone else” is about to vow his life to the woman who makes him SOFT.
And honestly? We’ve never been more devastated that we were not invited. We’ll be over here planning our crash strategy. Might have to go touch grass fr #FeralForGageStill #ZaddyDownBad
CHAPTER 11
AMELIA
If love was a war, Gage Black fought until there was nothing left of him but me.
He waited through every second of the silence I made him sit in.
In the ache. In the hollow spaces I left behind.
And he would have waited forever.
Even if I never came back.
Forty-four days ago, he married me in the quiet hush of my condo, with nothing but our vows and the sound of our hearts joining to mark the moment. And every day since, he’s loved me like it was still that day, like the whole world narrowed to a single, sacred truth:us.
No grand gestures. No noise. Just a devotion so constant, so fierce, it rebuilt every broken thing inside me without ever asking for anything in return. And now, as we turn off the country road and drive through the towering black wrought iron gates of the private estate we chose together—Blackbriar,spelled in elegant scrollwork across the arch with a gold flourish sweeping beneath it—I see what that kind of love looks like when it takes up space in the world. A love that dreams together. A love that grows roots no storm can tear up.
Most people dream of fairy tales.
Gage Black built me a kingdom.
The estate stretches out in front of us, wild and sprawling, tucked into the rolling hills of the Hudson Valley, just past a small town called Avelen Hollow. It’s the kind of town that has one stoplight, a florist who also sells spell jars, and a bookstore where half the shelves are organized by emotional damage. Quiet. A little eccentric. Full of people who remember your coffee order and leave you alone when you're not in the mood to talk.
The trees here are mostly bare now, their branches stretched like bones against the pale autumn sky. But some still hold on. Pockets of gold and copper blaze stubbornly at the tips, catching what little sun the season has left.
The main house rises at the heart of it. A historic stone manor, weathered and strong, its old walls threaded with ivy and crowned by windows that shimmer like they’re feeling every good thing I am and just can’t hide it. This home looks like it’s lived a hundred lives already, and somehow still has room to hold ours.
Beyond the main house, gravel paths split off like veins across the property. There are eight guest cottages dotted through the trees, so that no matter how many people we love, there’s space for all of them to belong here with us.
Past the cracked fountain that still runs, tucked between gardens gone a little quiet now, the last of the roses cling to their stems. There’s color in the hedges, in the vines, in the way the meadows don’t stop blooming just because the calendar says they should.
Two new buildings nestle against the garden’s edge to our left, meant for soft things, built with love. One’s a library, quiet and full of windows, where I can disappear into my books. The other’s a music studio, closer to the woods, because even whenI told Gage I wouldn’t work here, he built it anyway. Just so I’d have what I needed in case.
On the other side of the estate, a new glass greenhouse rises in the clearing. Tall, elegant, and almost too beautiful to be real with floor-to-ceiling glass walls, and a high soaring glass ceiling. Gage built it for the wedding, but it already feels like it belongs here.
Gravel crunches under the tires as we pull forward, and I look up at the towering old oaks and maples that stand like sentinels over us. Blackbriar isn’t polished perfection. It’s weathered beauty. Imperfections we’ve left untouched because they feel real, alive, like us. It’s the kind of place where you can spill a little wine, laugh too loud, and fall in love again without worrying about breaking anything.
Only Gage Black could will a kingdom into existence in under two months. Don’t ask me how he pulled it off. He says “permits” and “contractors” and something about imported steel.
I say obsession. Devotion. And an army of very well-paid tradesmen who definitely didn’t expect a billionaire to keep showing up at 6 a.m. with coffee and revised build plans.
We weren’t even supposed to end up with our own estate. The plan was to find a place to rent for our wedding. Somewhere pretty, maybe a little showy, something worthy of the “fucking show” we were going to put on for our family. Gage’s words, not mine.
But then we pulled into this driveway.
I saw the manor, the way the trees leaned in like they were guarding it, the way the garden felt alive even in the off-season. And I fell. Not in a cute way. Icrashed.
Gage watched me for maybe thirty seconds before turning to the realtor and saying, “We’ll take it.”
