Page 16 of The Wreckage Of Us (US #2)

Three Years Later

Three Years Later

The satin curtains swayed slightly with the evening breeze, whispering against the glass like secrets. I stood in front of the floor-length mirror, adjusting the diamond studs on my ears—one of the newer designs from Luné Jewelry.

Not flashy, just a subtle glimmer, the kind that made people lean in. The twins were unusually quiet, which meant only one thing—trouble.

“Dinner is at eight, right?” I called, half-turning toward the open walk-in closet where Ace was still shirtless, trying to decide between his navy or black button-up. The man was thirty-nine and somehow still looked like a GQ cover.

“Yeah. Jasper texted. He and Corinne will be here soon. Sylvia’s bringing that husband of hers too—what’s his name again? Milo? Or Mikkel?” he asked.

"You aren't even close, Ashton,” I corrected, rolling my eyes with a small smile. “The baby husband. Sylvia really went cougar on this one.”

Ace chuckled, running a hand through his still-damp hair. “Well we must admit,he was the persistent one"

“Yeah he was .”

I smoothed the hem of my silk dress and grabbed the silver necklace from the vanity table. Just as I was fastening it, something caught my ear. A soft murmur. Barely there. Coming from down the hallway.

I frowned, tilting my head.

“What is it?” Ace asked, pulling his shirt on now.

“I think I hear them. The twins.”

I tiptoed across the hallway, bare feet silent against the marble floor. The nightlights cast long shadows on the walls, flickering like the beginning of a dream. I stopped at their door, heart already softening.

I peeked inside and nearly melted.

There, sitting cross-legged on the plush rug, was Amaya—my five-year-old daughter—her face a canvas of disaster. She had somehow managed to reach my makeup drawer.

Lipstick smeared across her cheek like war paint, glitter dusted across her nose, and a swipe of mascara dangerously close to blinding her in one eye.

And right beside her was her twin brother, Atis—my son, the charming menace—with a small brush in his hand, gently pushing her curly hair back with the care of a seasoned stylist.

“Stay still, Maya,” he said seriously. “You said you want to look like Mommy, right? Mommy doesn’t squirm when she’s getting pretty.”

“But it itches,” she whined, blinking dramatically. “And I can’t see.”

“That’s because you put eyeliner on your eyelid and your eyebrow,” he muttered, pulling her hair into a crooked ponytail with the elastic he must’ve stolen from my bathroom.

I covered my mouth with both hands, trying to contain the laugh and the sudden overwhelming surge of love.

Ace came up behind me and peered over my shoulder. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me gently against him.

“They’re…wow,” he whispered, laughing quietly. “She looks like a confused drag queen.”

I smacked his arm. “Shut up. They’re adorable.”

He rested his chin on my shoulder. “They really are.”

We watched in silence as Atis tilted her face to the side. “You look beautiful,” he told her in all seriousness. “You’re gonna be a model just like Mommy.”

“I know,” Amaya said proudly. “I’m already practicing my walk.”

They got up and started their little runway, right there between their beds, Amaya swinging her nonexistent hips while Atis clapped like her biggest fan.

And just like that, I teared up.

I almost died bringing them into this world. Their arrival had nearly ended me—two months of bedrest, preeclampsia, emergency delivery. I remembered screaming for Ace, the sterile lights of the hospital, the suffocating fear. But I’d do it all over again for this moment.

They were miracles. Ungrateful little brats who painted on my furniture, stuck gum under the counter, and constantly snuck cookies—but they were mine.

They looked so much like Ace it was almost annoying, like I had carried them just to birth carbon copies of their father.

Same deep-set eyes. Same ridiculous dimples.

And still, I loved them beyond comprehension.

A soft cry broke the moment.

Ace and I turned our heads at the same time.

Austin.

Without a word, we walked together to the nursery, the light automatically dimming as we stepped inside.

Our two-month-old son lay in his crib, squirming gently, his tiny fists clenched as if he were fighting off invisible shadows.

He was already so expressive—always furrowing his brows like he had important things to say.

I reached in, picking him up slowly, supporting his tiny head. “Shhh… Mommy’s here.”

Ace stood beside me, reaching to stroke the baby’s soft curls—curls that were darker now, thickening just slightly. “He’s getting so big already,” he murmured.

Austin’s warm little body nestled into mine, and I rocked gently. “He’s perfect.”

“I still can’t believe he’s ours,” Ace said, his voice lower now, rougher.

I nodded. “Neither can I.”

We’d found him in the alley between our house and Jasper’s. Just lying there. A baby, no more than a week old, wrapped in a hospital blanket and placed in a basket like some twisted fairy tale. Ace had seen him first. I remember the way his voice cracked when he called for me.

We rushed him to child services, terrified, hearts in our throats. We stayed with him every day. They found out his mother was a drug addict, his father dead, no family to claim him. The case worker asked if we wanted to foster.

Ace didn’t even look at me when he said, “We want to adopt.”

It took weeks. Paperwork, interviews, checks. But the day they said yes, I broke down sobbing. He was our son now. And the moment we brought him home, it felt like he’d always been ours.

I looked up at Ace—and to my surprise, there were tears in his eyes.

“Ace?” I whispered.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Just… I look at him, and I think about how easily we could’ve missed this. Missed him.”

I placed my hand over his heart. “You didn’t. You found him.”

He covered my hand with his own, voice shaking. “I just want to be better. For him. For them. I grew up not knowing where I belonged. I won’t let that be their story.”

I reached up, brushing a tear from his cheek.

“They already know,” I whispered. “They’re loved. So deeply. Especially by you.”

Ace leaned in and kissed my forehead, then pressed his lips to Austin’s tiny one.

A knock on the door broke the silence.

“Dinner time!” Jasper called out playfully from the stairs. “Bring the rugrats!”

We walked down together, arms full of love and children. My nieces and nephews were so happy to see them as if they don't see them every day. The only one absent was Kyle,who was visiting his dad in Los Angeles, Astrid had practice so she didn't go with her brother.

The dining room was alive with laughter and soft jazz, the chandelier casting golden light on the table. Karla—now eleven—was seated next to Corinne, helping her set the last of the wine glasses. She grinned when she saw us.

“Is that my baby brother?” she asked, getting up to kiss Austin’s forehead. “He smells like milk.”

“Don’t we all,” Corinne quipped, laughing as she adjusted her form-fitting white dress. Jasper pulled out her chair like a gentleman. Still hopelessly in love after all these years.

And then there was Sylvia.

She walked in like a damn Vogue cover, in a black velvet gown with her signature red lipstick and high ponytail. Her husband, Ashton, followed her in—tall, tan skin, ten years her junior, and very obviously smitten.

“You’re late,” I teased.

“Fashionably,” she said smoothly. “Besides, Ashton was having… wardrobe issues.”

Ashton chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Her zipper got stuck.”

“Liar,” she whispered, kissing his jaw.

I exchanged a look with Corinne and grinned. Oh yeah. Readers are going to love Sylvia’s book.

We ate, we drank, we laughed. The kids played nearby, Amaya showing off her 'runway walk' while Atis narrated like a sports announcer. Karla kept pretending not to laugh, but I saw her biting her cheek.

And somewhere in the middle of all of it—between a toast from Jasper, a joke from Ashton, and a wink from Ace—I looked around and felt it.

This life.

This family.

It was everything.

Later that night, as we lay in bed—Austin asleep in his bassinet, the twins tucked in with their books—I curled into Ace’s side and placed a hand on his chest.

“Hey,” I whispered.

“Hm?”

“You cried.”

He chuckled softly. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“…Okay, maybe a little.”

I smiled against his skin. “It was beautiful.”

“I love you,” he said, holding me tighter.

“I know.”

He laughed. “Cocky.”

“I learned from the best.”

Outside, the night deepened. The stars blinked above the mansion. Inside, beneath our roof, were children born from love, and one gifted to us by fate. And tomorrow—well, tomorrow was another page.