"The billionaire who hadn't smiled in twenty years broke his curse when he found me asleep beside his bed holding my son—until his mother burst in, saw my toddler's yellow blanket, and whispered four words that shattered everything he believed about his father's death."

To celebrate Sebastian’s incredible progress and the formal launch of our new charitable foundation, we hosted a quiet, intimate dinner at the estate. There were no reporters, no corporate board members, and no political figures. Just Marcus Vance, Theresa, a few close friends, and the three of us.

As the evening wound down and the guests departed, the house settled into a peaceful, golden quiet.

I walked into the grand foyer holding a sleeping Ethan in my arms, intending to carry him upstairs to bed. But a soft, breathtaking melody echoing from the living room made me stop in my tracks.

It was the sound of the grand piano.

I crept quietly toward the arched doorway and looked inside.

The room was illuminated by the soft amber glow of the fireplace. Sebastian sat on the piano bench—not in his wheelchair, but sitting independently on the leather cushion, his posture tall and strong. His large, powerful hands were moving gracefully across the ivory keys, playing a rich, melancholic classical piece that filled the cavernous room with heartbreaking beauty.

I stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching his fingers dance across the keys. I had never known he could play.

As the final, lingering chord faded into the warm air, Sebastian didn't move. He kept his hands resting lightly on the keys, looking into the dancing flames of the fireplace.

“My father taught me that piece,” Sebastian said softly, without turning around. “It was the last song we played together before the crash. I swore I would never touch a piano again.”

I walked over, carefully laying Ethan down on the plush leather sofa nearby, wrapping him in his yellow cashmere blanket. Then, I walked up to the piano bench and sat down beside Sebastian.

“He would be so proud of you, Sebastian,” I said gently, looking into his profile. “Not because of the company, or the money. But because you fought your way out of the dark.”

Sebastian turned his head, looking at me in the dim firelight. The cold, icy mask he had worn when I first met him was completely gone, replaced by a deep, soulful warmth that made my heart flutter in a way that felt entirely new.

“I didn't fight my way out alone, Mary,” Sebastian said, his deep voice dropping into a soft, intimate register. He reached out, his thumb gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from my cheek. “When you walked into my office two months ago and told me you weren't a piece of furniture, I thought you were the most infuriating woman I had ever met.”

A soft laugh escaped my lips. “I was just trying to do my job.”

“You did far more than your job,” Sebastian murmured, his hand lingering against my jawline, his dark eyes searching mine with intense devotion. “You locked my door, you fought my fever, and you refused to let me die in my own grief. You brought life back into this dead house. You brought yourself back to me.”

My breath hitched in my throat as his face moved closer to mine. The air between us grew electric, thick with an undeniable, powerful emotion that had been quietly growing beneath the surface of our shared battle.

“Is it strange?” I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. “After everything we’ve discovered about our father… about who we are?”

“We aren't defined by Arthur Reed’s mistakes, Mary,” Sebastian answered softly, his lips barely an inch from mine. “We’re defined by the family we build out of the ruins. You and Ethan aren't just my sister and nephew. You are my home.”