Page 72 of Sinful Desires (Sinful #4)

“Happiness is only real when shared.”

― Jon Krakauer

Théo

Five years later

“How do I look?”

I let the corner of my mouth lift as I straightened the knot of his tie. “Perfect, Papa .”

His laugh was soft, brittle.

“Let’s not keep them waiting,” I added, gripping the handles of his wheelchair. “You know how my wife gets when I’m late.”

We rolled through the corridors of the chateau, past stone archways and marble floors worn down by centuries of ghosts. Portraits lined the walls, each LeRoy watching from their frames with sharp, pale-grey eyes.

Men who had built empires. Men who had destroyed them.

Their stares followed us, cold and familiar.

From the gardens, I could already hear the music. Laughter. Glasses clinking.

“Scarlett is just like your mother,” he said, his voice low. “Impatient as hell. Beautiful beyond sense.” His hands curled tighter around the arms of the chair. “Guess you followed my path after all, son.”

Marc LeRoy was a fighter .

After he’d miraculously woken up from his fourteen-year coma, it had taken a few months before he could speak. Then came physical therapy. Long, brutal months of gait training, sweat, silence, and pain.

His right leg remained numb, forever stiff, but he pushed. He walked with crutches now, resting in his wheelchair only when the pain became too much.

He once told me he’d recognized my voice in the fog. That somewhere in all that blackness, he’d heard me. He’d tried to reach it. Tried to swim to it.

And then, he had opened his eyes.

It’d been five years. And somehow, he was stronger than ever.

I’d asked for his forgiveness again and again. And I always would.

And each time, with tears in his eyes, he would pull me into his arms.

He even went back to work a year ago. Said he felt more alive than he ever had. Said he wanted to make up for all the years he lost.

And we do.

Every day. Every minute.

I laughed as I pushed his wheelchair down the garden ramp we had installed years ago, the wheels gliding over the smooth surface still warm from the afternoon sun.

Dozens of white balloons floated above the garden, swaying gently on satin strings. Light filtered through the trees, casting soft shadows that danced across the grass.

Georgino, Angelo’s evil little monster, came tearing through our legs, wild and happy, his ears flapping as he barked and circled us, too excited to settle.

“There they are,” Angelo called, lifting his glass high.

Conversations stopped. Every head turned.

Then I heard her.

“ Papa! Papa! ”

She came running, arms wide, curls bouncing.

I caught her just before she crashed into me, lifting her into the air with a laugh.

“ Coucou, ma princesse .”

She giggled, wrapping her arms around my neck, her breath warm against my skin. Her hair smelled like strawberries and salt and summer.

“ Papa ,” she whispered, face lit with wonder, “this is the best birthday ever!”

“Anything for you,” I murmured, brushing her cheek. “Three years old is a big number, you know.”

She giggled, the sound high and sweet. Her little fingers played with the gold necklace resting on my chest, the one I’d worn for nine years now.

“ Maman said I’m old enough to pick lavender now!”

I laughed, heart swelling, and adjusted her on my hip as we walked through the garden. The stone path glowed under the sun, lined with soft purple and white blooms swaying gently in the breeze.

Ahead, a long wooden table sat under a canopy of rose vines, draped with linen and flowers, overflowing with food, berries, and a three-tiered cake shaped like a unicorn, its frosting glimmering with gold.

Scarlett stood beside it in a flowing white dress, her blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail, strands escaping like sunlight caught in the wind. She had returned to her natural color a few years ago, saying she didn’t need to hide anymore.

The red had been her armor.

Now, she was ready to embrace who she truly was, without disguise, without fear.

She wasn’t trying to change. She was reaching back to the girl she used to be. The one she had locked away. The one she thought no one could love.

But I had seen her, loved her, even when she couldn’t.

And now she was here. Mine.

Not some polished version meant for the cameras. Not the fighter built from pain.

Just her. The woman I’d married. The one I would burn the world for.

And when I looked at her, it wasn’t only peace I felt.

It was worship.

Jade hugged her tightly from the side, both of them laughing, glasses in hand.

The sound of waves whispered around us, and somewhere behind us, Georgino barked at a balloon floating skyward.

Everything was light. Everything was home.

“Hey, beauté ,” I murmured as I leaned in.

Scarlett blushed, her lips soft as she kissed me back. “Hi.”

She still blushed after all these years. It never got old.

That flicker of color across her cheeks had become my new addiction. A drug sweeter than anything I’d ever tasted. Something only I could pull from her.

A small groan broke the moment.

“Ew,” Aurore giggled, scrunching her nose. “Not again, Papa !”

She threw her arms up in mock disgust as she climbed down from my arms, spinning in circles while her curls bounced and the hem of her birthday dress twirled like she was trying to fly.

Scarlett laughed against my mouth, her hand slipping around my waist.

“Better get used to it. I plan on kissing your maman forever.”

Aurore let out another dramatic groan and bolted toward the cake, yelling something about unicorns and extra frosting.

Scarlett leaned into me, her voice soft, her eyes glowing. “Finally here, Mister LeRoy.”

I hummed, brushing my lips against her hair.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Missus LeRoy. My dad wanted to make sure he looked nice. It’s his forty-second wedding anniversary, after all.”

Scarlett and I had gotten married the day after I proposed.

No show, no cameras. Just her, me, and a priest who had barely looked up from his Bible.

We’d signed the papers and kissed each other with shaking hands and full hearts.

For two years, we’d lived like we’d earned heaven.

In our villa, she filled the rooms with light and chaos and things I hadn’t known I needed until she gave them to me.

Every weekend, we took the boat to the island. She redesigned the castle, painted the walls in deep colors, and filled it with life again.

I watched her take a place meant for ghosts and make it hers.

I’d gifted it to her on her birthday months later, the papers and a gold key tucked inside a velvet box.

Because my Red Queen deserved her own kingdom.

And mine always preferred hers with red furniture and wild roses.

Then another miracle had happened.

Aurore LeRoy Lazzio had entered our lives when we’d least expected it.

We found out Scarlett was pregnant the night we landed back in New York, after two years away. She had insisted on attending her sister’s birthday party, but spent the entire plane ride sick, rushing to the bathroom every hour.

In those two years, Scarlett had reinvented herself.

While I was lost in the chaos of Sawyer & LeRoy’s Security, she’d built her own empire.

She started her own lavender oil company, Scarlett’s Bloom. Overnight, she was the queen of oils and perfumes. Millions of fans flocked to buy her products, captivated by the intoxicating scents that filled the air with sweetness and promise.

Now, eighty-seven workers harvested our lavender fields, bottling the essence of her success.

She still wrote music for some of the biggest names in the industry, her melodies tracing the hearts of celebrities. But when I’d asked her about performing again, she just smiled softly and said she wasn’t ready to walk back on stage yet.

When we got home to her condo, I’d handed her a test.

Positive .

I’d hugged her so tightly, twirling her around the kitchen until she almost threw up again.

And that’s how, nine months later, on a warm September night, Aurore was born.

She came into our world crying, furious, and perfect.

And she changed everything.

We named her Aurore because she was the result of a love forged in pain, survival, and second chances.

Because after years of silence and shadows, she’d arrived like the dawn.

Our light .

And I carried the legacy my father had taught me to become a great father like he had always been.

Georgino barked and bolted across the grass as the kids chased after him, wild little limbs and high-pitched screams echoing through the garden.

“I still can’t believe you all have kids,” Angelo muttered, sipping his drink with a shake of his head. “It’s a whole damn army now.”

Jade elbowed him hard enough to make him grunt. “Say that again and they’ll hear you. They already outnumber us, amore .”

Alexsei chuckled, raising his beer lazily. “Look at us. Former criminals, mercenaries, heartbreakers?…?now we spend Saturdays dodging plastic swords and juice spills.”

“They grow up too fast,” Caia said softly, her eyes following her twins through the grass. “Yesterday they couldn’t pronounce their name. Now they correct mine.”

“Thank God,” Mikha?l muttered. “I couldn’t wait to stop changing diapers. Felt like trench warfare.”

Sofiya shot him a glare, curling her arm tighter around his waist. “He says that now, but he’d leap out of bed at three in the morning like it was a hostage rescue.”

Mikha?l smirked. “Didn’t hear you complaining when I handled it better than you.”

“Oh, I didn’t complain,” she said, sweet and slow. “You just liked being needed.”

He leaned down, lips brushing her temple. “Still do.”

Jade laughed, raising her glass. “To all of you degenerates somehow keeping small humans alive.”

“Barely,” Mikha?l muttered.

Alexsei grinned. “Speak for yourself. Mine are already learning Russian economics. Give it a year, they’ll slit your throat in your sleep and take over the Silas without spilling a drop of juice.”

I snorted. “Charming.”

“Efficient,” Alexsei corrected, lifting his glass. “What more could a father want?”

We all laughed, glasses raised, the clink of crystal cutting through the September air.

Then it was time. Scarlett held our daughter in her arms as the birthday song began. Her mother, her sister, and our friends all sang along, voices soft and cracked with joy.

We stood together on land that once reeked of sadness.

Now it carried something else.

Something almost sacred.

Family .

A word I’d never thought I could say without my guilt flaring in my chest.

Yet here it was. Louder than my demons. Louder than the past.

A celebration born from ash and mistakes.

And she, our little girl, was the loudest light of all.

That’s when I realized that there were many sinful things in life.

The promises we never meant to keep. The games we played. The lies we sharpened until they tasted sweet. The desires we buried deeply enough to forget until they crawled back, begging to be fed.

But when all of it came to the surface, when our sins breathed and spoke and stared us in the eye, there was only one thing left to ask for.

Mercy .

I’d found mine in my wife and daughter.

And I would burn in it, live in it, and drown in it.

Pour toujours . à la vie, à la mort .

THE END.