He thought he traded his ex-wife for a younger model, until she walked into a charity gala with five-year-old triplets he never knew existed.

The morning sun rose over the Westchester hills, painting the forest in brilliant shades of amber, gold, and crimson.

I woke up in the master suite—the same room where I had spent three years of my marriage—feeling entirely different. The oppressive chill that used to hang in the corners of the massive bedroom was gone, replaced by the warm, steady weight of Gabriel’s arm draped over my waist.

He was already awake, lying on his side, watching me with a quiet, hypnotic intensity.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice husky with sleep.

“Good morning,” I smiled, stretching lazily against the sheets. “What time is it?”

“Seven.”

“The boys are going to be tearing the east wing apart by seven-fifteen if someone doesn't feed them pancakes,” I laughed, starting to sit up.

Gabriel caught my wrist gently, pulling me back down against his chest. “Dante already has a tactical breakfast team deployed in the kitchen. They’re eating blueberry pancakes and playing with the estate dogs.”

“You have dogs?”

“We do now. Two golden retrievers. I bought them online at midnight while you were sleeping.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “You bought dogs at midnight?”

“My sons need dogs, Claire. It’s a mandatory requirement for childhood development, according to a parenting article I read on my phone at three in the morning.”

I let out a bright, genuine laugh—the kind of laugh I hadn't let myself feel in years. “You’re impossible, Gabriel Cross.”

“I’m adaptable,” he corrected, pressing a warm kiss to my lips. “And today, we have a wedding to plan.”

“A wedding?” I raised an eyebrow. “Who said anything about a wedding? You haven't even officially proposed yet!”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face. He rolled over, pinning me gently beneath him, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Claire Vance,” he said, his voice dropping into a rich, resonant register. “Will you marry me, move back into the house you should have never left, and let me spend the rest of my life proving to you that I am worthy of the family you created?”