Four little boys walked into a restaurant bathroom only hours before I was supposed to announce my engagement. Five minutes later

Six months later.

The summer sun shone warmly over Central Park. The air was sweet with the scent of blooming roses and freshly cut grass.

The Whitaker Estate—the massive conservatory where my mother had once planned to force me into an empty marriage—had been completely redesigned. The cold marble statues were replaced by vibrant flower beds, wooden benches, and an expansive playground built right beside the terrace.

Today, the estate was filled with music, laughter, and light.

Dr. Thorne sat on a terrace chair, sipping lemonade and chatting with Marcus Vance. A dozen families from the local children's charity that Mara had established were gathered around the lawn, playing games and enjoying the afternoon.

In the middle of the grass, four six-year-old boys in matching white linen shirts and navy shorts were chasing a golden retriever puppy I had bought them for their birthday.

"Dad! Look! Buster caught the ball!" Milo yelled, pointing proudly at the dog tumbling over the grass.

"Good boy, Buster!" Mason shouted, clapping his hands.

I stood near the rose garden, wearing a light gray suit, watching my sons laugh under the clear blue sky.

Steps sounded behind me.

Mara walked out onto the terrace. She wore a simple, breathtaking ivory silk dress that caught the sunlight with every step. Her green eyes were bright, filled with a peaceful radiance that made my breath catch in my throat just as it had seven years ago when we first met.

I walked up to her, holding out my hand. "You look incredible."

"You don't look too bad yourself, Mr. CEO," she teased, taking my hand and slipping her fingers through mine.

We walked down the stone steps toward the lawn where the boys were playing.

"Your mother sent a letter from Vermont today," Mara said quietly.

Victoria had avoided prison through a civil settlement that required her to give up all corporate stock and relocate permanently to a remote estate in New England, barred from coming within fifty miles of my family.

"Did she?" I asked.

"She asked if she could have a photograph of the boys," Mara said, looking at me carefully. "She said... she regretted what she did."

I stopped walking and looked out at Milo, Mason, Max, and Micah, who were currently trying to build a fortress out of lawn cushions.