I collapsed in front of my eight-year-old twins, and while one called 911, the other phoned Griffin Drake—the most feared mafia boss in Seattle and the father they had never met. One innocent question exposed the secret I had buried for eight years, but Griffin’s answer revealed something even worse: he already knew someone had been hunting us.

The crisp autumn air of Seattle gave way to the glittering lights of the holiday season as December arrived, painting the city in silver frost and festive cheer.

Inside the grand ballroom of the Drake Tower, transformed into a winter wonderland of white orchids, glowing fairy lights, and towering crystal chandeliers, a private celebration was underway. There were no politicians, no underworld bosses, and no rival syndicate leaders—just a tight-knit circle of loyal friends, trusted operatives like Viktor, and two very excited eight-year-old twin girls dressed in matching velvet dresses.

Today was December fourteenth. Hazel and Iris’s birthday.

Sloan stood near the edge of the grand staircase, watching as Griffin knelt on one knee in front of the twins, presenting them with two small, beautifully wrapped velvet boxes.

When Hazel and Iris popped open their boxes, simultaneous gasps of awe escaped their lips. Inside rested two delicate silver charm bracelets, each engraved with a tiny compass and their initials.

"These compasses will always point home," Griffin said softly, his voice carrying clearly across the quiet ballroom. "No matter where you go in this world, no matter how far you travel, you will never be lost. And you will never, ever be unprotected."

Iris threw her arms around Griffin’s neck, nearly knocking him over, while Hazel grinned proudly and let him fasten the silver bracelet around her wrist.

Sloan felt a thick lump form in her throat, tears of profound gratitude stinging her eyes. She turned away toward the balcony doors to catch her breath, stepping out into the cool evening air of the private terrace.

The city lights twinkled below like a million scattered diamonds across the velvet blackness of Puget Sound.

Footsteps clicked softly on the stone patio behind her.

A heavy, warm wool coat settled gently over Sloan’s shoulders, and a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind, pulling her back against a solid, familiar chest.

"Cold?" Griffin’s voice murmured near her ear.

"Never," Sloan whispered, leaning back into his embrace, turning her head to look up at him. "I was just... thinking about how much has changed in a few months."

Griffin reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small, unassuming velvet box—different from the ones he had given the girls. He held it between them, flipping the lid open with his thumb.

Inside rested a ring crafted from brushed platinum and dark titanium, holding a brilliant, flawless diamond flanked by two smaller slate-gray sapphires.

Sloan’s breath caught in her throat. She stared at the ring, then up into Griffin’s intense, storm-gray eyes.

"When you left eight years ago, I lost my anchor," Griffin said, his voice dropping into a register of raw, absolute sincerity that made the rest of the world fade away. "I spent a decade building an empire because I thought power was the only thing that could keep the dark at bay. But I was wrong."

He gently took her left hand, sliding the heavy, beautiful ring onto her finger. It fit with absolute, flawless perfection.

"You and the girls are my empire, Sloan," Griffin whispered, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to the back of her hand. "Marry me. Let’s make this family permanent, where no one can ever separate us again."

Tears streamed freely down Sloan’s cheeks, but this time, there was no pain behind her eyes—only a blinding, beautiful light.