“That’s not intelligence, that’s chaos instinct. Totally different.”
I leave them arguing about which twin is superior and head toward my office. The lodge expansion included a dedicated workspace for me, complete with proper lighting and enough room for fabric samples and design boards. Running the company from here means I’m never more than a room away from my family, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
My phone buzzes with a text from Robert’s lawyer. It’s been six months since the last one, but they still come occasionally. Updates on his location, confirmation that he’s staying out of trouble, and reminders that he’s not allowed to contact me under the terms of the agreement Grant negotiated.
Last I heard, Robert was living in Buenos Aires under an assumed name, still running from debts he’ll never fully escape. Sometimes I wonder if he thinks about what he lost when he tried to use me as a weapon.
The family he could have been part of if he’d chosen differently. Then I remember the lies and manipulation, and stop wondering because he doesn’t deserve my sympathy.
I delete the message without reading past the first line and get to work reviewing the spring catalog proofs.
Hours pass in the focused quiet of design work. When I finally look up, the sun has shifted across the sky, and my stomach is growling. I head back to the main living area and find organized chaos.
Matteo and Lucas are having what appears to be a very serious conversation in their own toddler language while building a tower out of blocks. Grant’s on a video call in his office with the door cracked.
Kai’s sprawled on the couch reading something on his tablet. And Donovan is making lunch, efficiently chopping vegetables while keeping one eye on the twins.
“Hungry?” he asks when I walk into the kitchen.
“Starving.” I lean against the counter beside him. “What are we having?”
“Grilled cheese for the kids. Actual food for us.” He glances at me. “How’s the catalog looking?”
“Good. Really good, actually. The photographer nailed the aesthetic I wanted.” I steal a piece of bell pepper from his cutting board. “Nordstrom’s going to love it.”
“Of course they will. You’re brilliant at this.” He says it like a fact, not a compliment.
The twins abandon their blocks and toddle over, Lucas reaching up with grabby hands until I lift him. He settles against my hip like he belongs there, which he does, and I feel that wave of gratitude that still catches me off guard sometimes.
I came here to destroy the Hale family. To make them pay for crimes they never committed. To execute a revenge plan built entirely on lies.
Instead, I fell in love with three men who showed me what family actually means. Who claimed me and my mistakes and the babies growing inside me without hesitation. Who rebuilt my mother’s legacy and gave me the space to honor her memory properly.
The revenge plan failed spectacularly.
And it’s the best thing that never worked.
“Sam?” Donovan’s voice pulls me back. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I kiss Lucas’s head, breathing in the scent of baby shampoo and snow. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”
“We’re the lucky ones,” Kai says from the couch without looking up from his tablet. “You could have actually succeeded in your revenge plot and destroyed us all. Instead, you turned out to be the worst spy in history.”
“I was a terrible spy,” I agree, laughing.
“The absolute worst,” Grant adds, emerging from his office. “Which is exactly why we’re keeping you.”
Donovan finishes making lunch, and we settle around the expanded dining table that seats six comfortably now. The twins make an impressive mess with their grilled cheese while Grant discusses a potential acquisition and Kai argues against it with surprising business acumen.
This is my life. This chaotic, unconventional, absolutely perfect life.
We never got married. There’s no legal documentation of our relationship beyond the birth certificates listing Grant as fatherand me as mother because putting all three names would have raised too many questions.
We exist in the spaces between traditional definitions, building something that works for us without caring what it looks like to anyone else.
After lunch, Kai takes the twins for their nap while Grant returns to work and Donovan helps me clean up the kitchen. We move around each other with practiced ease, and when we’re done, he pulls me against him, arms wrapped around my waist.
“Happy?” he asks.
