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“I know,” I tell him, love filling me to bursting. “Because you’re the first person to ever help me soar.”

Epilogue

Dash, A Year Later…

“Cut!” The director is on a tear today, and I hate watching her yell at Willow.

Well, technically, she’s not yelling. She’s…directing.

I don’t get this part of Willow’s job, but she does. And she’s happy. Thriving.

It’s incredible to watch her in her element.

And this director, Vivian Krause, is the first one to give her a chance with a leading role.

“I’m needed back in wardrobe,” she murmurs as she brushes past me. “See you later?”

“I’ve got to run some errands, but Ty will be here until I get back.”

She smiles and nods, attentive but also distracted.

That’s okay.

This is her job.

With the trial finally behind us, and all her money woes gone, it feels good to be at a stage where we’re so comfortable with each other that we practically read each other’s minds.

The trial was brutal, forcing her to relive the trauma of her past. The worst part—at least to me—was her mother up there. Defending Dylan. It made me sick. Listening to her talk about a wild, troubled teenager who was out of control. And yet, in recounting her misadventures, there was nothing truly over the top. Not enough to justify her subsequent actions.

A little drug use, but let’s be honest—it’s rare to find a teenager that doesn’t dabble, especially a wealthy one in the public eye. She never hurt anyone, never used hard drugs, and it never impacted her work. Yet her mother seemed determined to paint her as some sort of drug-addled villain.

And it pissed me right off.

Apparently, it pissed off the jury too.

Not only did they find Dylan guilty of aggravated assault, he was also ordered to pay her a fuck-ton of money. The forensic accountant is a fucking magician, if you ask me. He dug up almost every penny of Dylan’s financial abuse to go along with the physical and emotional.

Dylan had to sell the house and everything he owned to pay for his legal team and get Willow what he owes her.

The best part?

When he gets out of prison in eight or so years? He still owes her six figures.

It’s great.

We don’t need the money, but putting the screws to Dylan will always make me happy.

I proposed right after the trial, at the top of a canyon in Arizona at sunset.

We’re having a winter wedding—next January—in Hawaii. The girls are having a field day with the planning, and I’m man enough to admit that it’s fun. Mostly. Sometimes. Cake tasting was fun, at the very least.

My phone rings once I’m in my SUV, heading to take my favorite senior client, Martika, to the doctor.

“Hey, Chuck. What’s up?”

“Dude, we’re gonna need to think about hiring some more help. Business is fucking booming. Three new clients since yesterday.”

“Three?” I ask in surprise.