I brush my thumb gently across her cheek, wiping the tears away. “You don’t have to apologize, my love. You were dealing with a tragic loss.”
“I’m not only sorry for that. I’m sorry foreverything. Charlotte came to the pop-up shop today.”
My brows shoot up. “She did?”
She nods. “She confessed to everything. She overheard Andrés talking to Katie about my plan to surprise you, and then came up with her own plan to deceive me into thinking you had betrayed me.”
Anger claws its way through my chest, my jaw tightening. Four years.Four yearsstolen from us because of Charlotte’s lies.
“I can’t believe she carried that lie for so long,” I mutter, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Maybe she wanted to free her conscience,” Annalise whispers.
Relief floods through me. The truth is finally out, and those unwanted memories will no longer haunt her.
Her eyes glisten as she takes my face in her hands. “What I said before—that I regret letting you back into my life? I didn’t mean it. Not for a second.”
Her voice breaks, raw and achingly tender. “You are the best part of my life. My world is brighter because you are in it. I love you, Maddox. I am so deeply, hopelessly in love with you. Every piece of me has always been yours.”
Fireworks erupt in my chest upon hearing her utter those three little words after all these years.
She pulls me into her arms, her lips crashing against mine. We drown into each other, and nothing else matters.
When we finally break for air, I rest my forehead against hers. “I love you, Annalise. Nothing will ever come between us again.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
maddox
Sweat drips down my brow,my heartbeat pounding in time with the ball echoing against the hardwood.
The New York Werewolves’ shooting guard, Clay Duncan, launches a three. My gut twists as I watch it arc high.
If he sinks it, we’re finished. It would put New York in the lead by five points, and there’s no way we could catch up with only a few seconds left in the game. We would have to kiss the championship goodbye.
The ball clanks off the rim. Relief slams through me. Andrés quickly snatches the rebound and fires it to me.
I take off down the court, defenders closing in, my heart hammering in my throat. One chance. No time left.
I release the shot.
The ball rattles around the rim—once, twice—teasing, mocking. My jaw grinds against my mouth guard, eyes locked on the clock.
Then it drops. The buzzer sounds.
For a second, the world stops as I register what just happened.
We won. Wefuckingwon. The championship is ours. Everything I’ve worked for has led to this very moment.
The entire arena erupts in deafening cheers as confetti rains down.
My teammates rush toward each other, delivering chest bumps and back slaps.
“Fuck yeah! We are the champions, baby!” Elijah shouts.
Gabriel Amato—owner of the San Francisco Dragons—smiles proudly as he comes out with the trophy.
He presses the golden trophy into my hands. I hoist it high, pride surging as the cameras flash.
