Page 34 of Owned By Royal

I found love. A love forged through heartbreak, forgiveness, and choosing each other every single day despite knowing each other’s darkest secrets.

Moving to Atlanta after our wedding turned out to be easier than I expected. Since I’d always remained involved as chairwoman and part of the board, I could oversee major decisions remotely while an exceptional executive team handled the day-to-day operations.

It gave me the freedom to build a life with Royal without abandoning the company Dad worked so hard to create. And somehow the balance has worked better than either of us imagined.

My mother eventually emerged from the shell she’d hidden inside after Marco’s crimes came to light.

Spending almost a year away from California’s social circles before inevitably returning to them with renewed enthusiasm. She’s currently dating a retired architect who spends more time gardening than attending galas.

And while I once would have rolled my eyes at her relentless search for love, now I simply smile and hope she finds the happiness she deserves. After everything she’s survived, she’s earned another chance.

Then there are Royal’s people.

River and Nadia have become two of my closest friends. And watching them raise their own growing family has convinced me that chaos somehow follows happiness wherever 4R Ink is involved. Raiden and Elodie still pretend they’re the sensible ones, though Roman never lets them maintain that illusion for very long.

And Riccardo has transformed the Madera empire into something my father-in-law never could have imagined. Ethical, transparent, and genuinely committed to helping the communities it once exploited. Even Royal’s former admirers have finally accepted reality.

Every now and then, one of the gossip magazines still publishes an old photograph of my husband from his infamous bachelor days. Usually accompanied by speculation about how the city’s most eligible playboy disappeared from the dating scene overnight.

And I secretly enjoy knowing the answer is sitting beside him every evening on our sofa. Or waddling. At nearly nine months pregnant, graceful movement has become more of a memory than a reality.

“You know,” Nadia told me last week while helping me organize the nursery, “I’ve never met anyone who complains about pregnancy and smiles at the same time.”

“I can do both.”

“You absolutely can.”

She wasn’t wrong. My pregnancy has been surprisingly smooth, aside from one persistent inconvenience. I have never been hornier in my entire life. Royal finds this endlessly amusing and encouraging. I blame the hormones.

“You know,” he teased only yesterday, “I’m beginning to think this baby likes keeping me busy.”

“I refuse to discuss that theory.”

“You didn’t deny it.”

“I’m preserving my dignity.”

“You lost that around month four.”

I laughed so hard I nearly cried.

Now, balancing one hand beneath my stomach, I make my way toward his home office, already hearing the rapid tapping of computer keys long before I reach the door. Some things never change. Royal still disappears behind a wall of monitors whenever 4R Ink is investigating another case.

His concentration is so complete that entire hours pass without him noticing the outside world. I pause in the doorway for a moment, smiling to myself as I watch him work. His fingers move effortlessly across multiple keyboards, the familiar intensity settling across his features.

He’s in a black t-shirt and sweatpants, his inked arms on full display, and I stand in the doorway for a moment just appreciating the view.

“Royal.”

He doesn’t look up. “Hmm?”

I walk toward him, the hem of my sundress brushing my thighs. “You’ve been in here for hours.”

“Almost done, princess.” His eyes stay locked on the screen. “Give me ten minutes.”

I stop beside his chair and trail my fingers down his arm, feeling the muscle tense beneath my touch. “I don’t want to give you ten minutes.”

He finally glances up, and I see the moment he registers my intentions. His gaze drops to my chest, where my nipples are already pressing against the thin cotton of my dress, then lower, to where the fabric clings to my rounded belly.