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“Dad said the same thing. Said it showed more character than a perfect routine ever could.” I squeeze his hand, grounding myself in the present. “Mom saw it as a failure, of course. But Dad took me for ice cream afterward and told me he’d never been prouder.”

Reign brings our joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. The simple gesture makes my heart flutter.

“I would have been proud, too. Failure’s easy to handle when you never really tried. Taking a risk and recovering from a mistake? That’s what shows who you really are.”

His words settle into my chest, filling spaces I didn’t know were empty. I study his profile as he navigates a particularly sharp curve, wondering what made him so different from everyone else in my life. Why does he see strength where others see weakness?

“What about you?” I ask, curious about the man who’s turned my world upside down. “What were you like growing up?”

His jaw tightens slightly, and I wonder if I’ve pushed too far. But then he takes a breath, his grip on my hand firm but gentle.

“Complicated,” he says finally. “Ben and I had different fathers, which meant we were in competition before we even understood what that meant. My mom...” He pauses, choosing his words carefully.

“She was always chasing something better. A better man, a better situation, a better life. Ben’s dad had money, stability.

Mine was just a guy passing through who left her with a baby and empty promises. ”

My heart aches for the boy he must have been, always compared to his younger brother, always found lacking in ways he couldn’t control.

“She didn’t mean to play favorites,” he continues, his voice steady but distant. “But Ben was the golden child. Literally—blond hair, blue eyes, his dad’s money backing him up. I was the reminder of her mistakes. Dark, brooding, too much like the man who’d left her behind.”

“Reign,” I breathe, but he shakes his head slightly.

“It’s old history. But it shaped everything between Ben and me. He wanted my approval, and I resented him for needing it. He had everything handed to him while I had to fight for scraps of attention. By the time I was eighteen, I couldn’t wait to enlist. Get away from all of it.”

“But you came back,” I point out. “You’re here now, helping with his career.”

“Death has a way of clarifying things.” His thumb resumes its movement against my hand. “When Mom died three years ago, I realized I’d been punishing Ben for something that wasn’t his fault. He didn’t choose to be the favored son any more than I chose to be the disappointment.”

The vulnerability in his voice makes me lift our joined hands to my lips, returning his earlier gesture. “You’re not a disappointment. You’re extraordinary.”

He glances at me, something raw and unguarded in his expression. “You see me different than anyone else ever has.”

“Because I’m looking,” I say simply. “Really looking, not just at what you present to the world.”

The trees grow denser as we climb higher into the mountains, the road narrowing to barely two lanes. Just when I start to wonder how much further his cabin could possibly be, he turns onto a nearly hidden drive.

“Almost home,” he murmurs.

The drive winds through towering pines for another quarter mile before the trees part to reveal his cabin.

But calling it a cabin feels like calling the Mona Lisa a doodle.

The structure that emerges is magnificent. It’s all natural wood and stone, with massive windows that must offer stunning views. It’s built into the hillside like it grew there naturally, with three levels stepping down the slope with decks and balconies extending from each floor.

“Reign,” I breathe, taking in the craftsmanship, the way every line flows with the landscape rather than fighting it. “This is incredible.”

“Designed and built it myself,” he says, pride evident in his voice. “Took three years, but I wanted something that was completely mine. Every board, every stone, every nail placed exactly where I wanted it.”

He parks in front of a three-car garage that’s integrated seamlessly into the lower level. But instead of leading me to what I assume is the main entrance, he takes my hand and guides me along a stone path that curves around the side of the house.

“Where are we going?” I ask, though I’m happy to follow him anywhere.

“Something I want to show you first.” There’s an odd note in his voice—nervous, maybe? It seems impossible that this confident man could be nervous about anything.

We climb exterior stairs to the second level, where he unlocks a door that opens into a mudroom.

But he doesn’t stop there, leading me through the house so quickly I only get impressions.

Soaring ceilings, exposed beams, a massive stone fireplace.

He’s focused, determined, pulling me down a hallway toward whatever destination he has in mind.

Finally, he stops in front of a closed door. His hand rests on the handle, but he doesn’t turn it yet. Instead, he faces me, something intense in his expression.

“Close your eyes,” he says softly.

“Reign...”

“Trust me.” His free hand comes up to cup my face. “Just close your eyes, baby.”

I do, darkness replacing my view of his handsome face. I hear the door open, feel him guide me forward several steps. The quality of light changes behind my eyelids—brighter, warmer. The scent of fresh paint and sawdust reaches my nose.

“Okay,” he says, his voice rougher than before. “Open them.”

I open my eyes, and my jaw drops.

We’re standing in the middle of what can only be described as an art studio. North-facing windows flood the space with perfect, indirect light. Built-in storage lines one wall, cubicles ready for supplies. An easel stands in the center of the room, and a work table waits along another wall.

“Reign, what is all this?” I whisper.

“It’s an art studio. For you.”

He built a whole art studio for me?

My eyes grow wide. “But how? When?”

“Started the day I got back from San Diego,” he admits, moving behind me to wrap his arms around my waist. “Kept thinking about what you said, about wanting to paint again. About the light in your eyes when you talked about your art. I wanted to give that back to you.”

I turn in his arms, barely able to see him through my tears. “But you didn’t even know if you’d see me again.”

“I knew.” His hands come up to frame my face, thumbs wiping away my tears. “Deep down, beneath all the anger and fear, I knew fate wouldn’t be cruel enough to give me just one night with you. I knew you’d come back to me.”

“Reign,” I breathe, overwhelmed by the gesture, by the faith he had when I gave him no reason to hope.

“I’ve been working on it every day,” he continues. “Tore down the wall to expand the space, installed new windows, built all the storage myself. Marcus thinks I’ve lost my mind, but I don’t care. I needed to build this for you. Needed to create a space where you could be yourself.”

I kiss him then, pouring all my overwhelming emotions into the contact. He responds immediately, his arms tightening around me as he takes control of the kiss. When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.

“I love it,” I tell him, meaning so much more than just the studio. “I can’t wait to start painting.”

“Painting will have to wait, Princess.”

“Why?” I breathe. But I already know the answer from the heat in his gaze.

“Because.” His hand slides into my hair and tightens just enough to send a thrill down my spine. “First, you need to be punished for making me wait three days to have you again.”

The promise in his words sends heat pooling low in my belly.

This is the other gift Reign gives me. The freedom to want, to need, to surrender without judgment or expectation.

“But what if I’ve been good?” I ask.

“We both know that’s not true.” His smile is slow and predatory. “And besides, good girls don’t get what I’m about to give you.”