Page 25 of Big Billionaire

Then her lips part, trembling, and she nods furiously, her tears falling faster. “Yes,” she chokes out. Her voice is thick, broken, but the word is clear. “Yes, Damien. A thousand times yes.”

The words tear through me, and I surge to my feet, pulling her against me, crushing her mouth with mine in a kiss that tastes of tears and laughter. She clings to me, her sobs muffled against my lips, her small hands clutching my face like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go.

I slide the ring onto her finger and weave my fingers into hers, bringing our joined hands to my chest. “I love you, Lena.”

“I love you, Damien,” she says, her eyes shining with a certainty that touches my soul. “Forever.”

Epilogue

Lena

Four Years Later

It feels like yesterday I was standing backstage at Blackwell Academy, terrified of falling. Terrified of being swallowed whole by rumors and lies. Now, here I am, in a silk gown instead of a leotard, my hair twisted up with diamond pins instead of sweat-soaked ribbons.

The plaque on the wall saysThe Abby Clarke Foundation.

My foundation.Ourfoundation.

It’s been three years since I became a name in the ballet world—magazine covers, international tours, standing ovations. But last year, I hung up my shoes. Not only because I couldn’t bear to dance on stage anymore after Abby passed, but also because she deserved this legacy.

And tonight, it finally begins.

I’m staring at my reflection, hands clenched so tightly my fingers ache, when the door opens. Damien steps inside, all sharp black suit and quiet authority that still makes my stomach flip after all this time. His eyes find my hands instantly. He doesn’t say aword, just reaches for me and gently uncrosses my fingers, the way he’s done a thousand times over the years.

“You’ll be amazing,” he murmurs, his deep voice wrapping around me like a shield. His thumb brushes the inside of my palm, grounding me. “You always are.”

“I’m nervous,” I whisper.

“You’re Lena Blackwell,” he says, smiling faintly, his eyes burning with pride. “My firefly. You’ve faced worse than this. And you conquered it. I’m proud of you. So damn proud. I’m sure Abby is too.”

My chest tightens at the mention of her name. It’s been over eighteen months, but sometimes, in moments like this, the pain cuts so sharply it feels like yesterday.

Damien must catch the pain in my eye, because he pulls me closer and lowers his mouth to mine. The kiss is probably meant to steady me, but it does the opposite. Heat floods my veins, a reminder that after four years of marriage, he can still ruin me with a single touch. His hand cups the back of my neck, his body pressing mine into the dressing table until I gasp against his mouth.

And of course, that’s when there’s a sharp knock on the door. “Mrs. Blackwell? It’s time!”

I laugh breathlessly against his lips. He groans low in his throat, muttering, “Wrong time. Always the wrong damn time.”

But he releases me, straightening my dress with one last brush of his hand down my waist. “Go set the world on fire,” he says, his eyes promising that the heat will be waiting, ready for the moment we’re alone again.

I step out onto the stage, the blinding lights nearly swallowing me whole. For a second, panic claws up my throat. But then I see him. My husband. My anchor. Sitting in the front row, hands folded on his knee, his gaze locked only on me.

I breathe. I speak.

And when my voice falters, when tears sting my eyes as I talk about Abby, about dreams that don’t die but transform, I find him again. And just like always, Damien steadies me without saying a word.

By the time I finish, the room erupts. The applause is deafening, echoing through the hall. But above it all, I hear my husband’s hands. His pride. His love. Louder than anyone else’s.

And in that moment, I know I’ve built something bigger than ballet, bigger than rumors or fear. I’ve built a life.

With him. Forever.

The night winds down with endless congratulations, champagne flutes, and flashes of cameras. And by the time midnight strikes, Damien’s hand is at the small of my back, firm and possessive.

“Let’s get out of here,” he murmurs against my ear.

Minutes later, we slip through the back exit like thieves, laughter catching in my throat as he ushers me into the car. And when we finally make it home, when the doors shut behind us, the world falls away.