The moment I entered the grand hall, something inside me cracked.
Under the crystal chandeliers—right in the heart of the Caldwin estate where every deal, threat, and execution order had been spoken—Magnus was on one knee.
Not for me.
Never for me.
In his hand was a diamond ring that could buy half the city. The kind a Don gave when he wanted the world to know who stood beside him.
And standing in front of him was Elara.
The nanny.
The woman my sons clung to like she was their savior.
Magnus looked up at her like she was precious.
“Will you take my name,” he asked softly, “and become my wife?”
Elara gasped, hand flying to her mouth. She laughed through tears, like this was a fairytale instead of a mafia engagement staged before half the underworld.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I will.”
The hall erupted. Men clapped. Women squealed. Glasses were raised. Someone whistled. Someone began chanting Magnus’ name like he’d just won a war.
And I stood there, invisible. A ghost no one bothered to acknowledge.
Then the twins came running.
Ian and Vale crashed into Elara, wrapping their arms around her waist.
“Finally!” Ian shouted. “Elara’s gonna be our real mom now!”