Chapter 96 Epilogue

Chapter 96 Epilogue
Anna’s POV
One Year Later

The first thing I learned about Europe was that the light feels different here. Softer in the mornings. Golden in the late afternoons. It turns old stone buildings into something almost sacred, like history itself is breathing. A year ago, I arrived with swollen eyes, trembling hands, and a heart split between continents. Now, I walk these streets like they know me.
Leith became more than an opportunity. It became rhythm. Morning lectures in vaulted halls. Afternoons buried in archives. Evenings spent arguing about symbolism and brushwork with classmates who cared as fiercely as I did. The internship had turned into a full scholarship. The full scholarship had turned into home.

My routine was steady now. Classes three days a week. Research assistant work at the university’s museum. Weekends exploring galleries, churches, collections tucked into side streets tourists never noticed. And every night—without fail—I called Marcus.
Time zones had tried to intimidate us at first. They failed. We built a system.
My mornings were his late nights. His physical therapy updates arrived before my lectures. My museum discoveries reached him before he fell asleep. Distance hadn’t weakened us. It had sharpened us.
I smiled as I exited the museum that afternoon, my notebook tucked under my arm. I’d spent three hours studying a 17th-century restoration technique for a paper due next week. The air outside carried the crisp promise of early spring.
My phone buzzed. Marcus. Right on schedule.

I answered immediately. “You’re late,” I teased.
“By forty-three seconds,” he replied. “Unacceptable, I know.”
His voice still did that thing to my chest. Warm. Steady. Home.
“How was therapy?” I asked as I descended the museum steps.
“Brutal. Which means progress.”
I smiled. A year ago, he’d been relearning balance. Rebuilding muscle. Fighting frustration. Now he was running again. Not perfectly. Not professionally—not yet. But strong.
“I got the clearance for light practice,” he added casually.
I stopped walking.
“You what?”
“Light practice,” he repeated. “Coach says if I keep this pace, I’ll be back on the ice next season.”
Emotion rushed through me so fast I had to blink it back.
“Marcus, that’s—”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “It is.”
We sat in that silence together for a moment, miles apart and completely aligned.
“And Bella?” I asked gently.
There was always that thread too. Bella. The girl who stepped in front of a bullet.
“She’s good,” he said. “Stronger than she lets people see. Surgery was successful. Rehab’s almost done. She’s… different.”
"Different how?"
“Quieter,” he explained. “But lighter.”

Ramsey had been sentenced months ago. No more bail. No more power. Just consequences. Bella had testified. So had others.
Justice wasn’t loud. It wasn’t cinematic. But it was real.
“I’m glad,” I whispered.
“She asked about you yesterday,” Marcus added. “Said she expects European chocolate when you visit.”
I laughed softly. “Noted.”
“And Damian’s officially taken the lead on the new international expansion project. Courtney told him she'd be his right-hand legal advisor.”
“McKay Enterprises is in terrifyingly competent hands,” I said.
“Don’t let them hear you say that. They're so ridiculously in sync, it scares me.”
“And Peter?”
Marcus snorted. “Still Peter. But Stanford made another call.”

I smiled. Stanford University. A year ago, Peter had been chaos warped in charm. Now he was chaos with a scholarship.
“Is he going?” I asked.
“He’s pretending to consider other offers for dramatic effect,” Marcus replied. “But yeah. He’s going.”
It amazed me sometimes—how we’d all been forced to grow at once. Trauma had cracked us open. But we hadn’t shattered.
“I miss you,” Marcus said quietly.
The words were softer than usual.
“I miss you too.”
“When’s your break?”
“Two weeks,” I said. “But I told you, I can’t come home until—”
“I know,” he interrupted gently. “Final paper. Presentation. Professor who thinks sleep is optional.”
I smiled.
“You’ve been listening.”
“Always.”

We stayed on the phone as I wandered toward the square across from the museum, the cobblestones uneven beneath my boots. Street musicians were playing near the fountain. Tourists clustered with cameras.
“Describe what you saw today,” Marcus said.
“Seventeenth-century restoration,” I replied automatically. “Pigment stabilization techniques. The original blues were layered over a warmer underpainting, which explains the tonal depth—”
“You’re doing it again,” he laughed.
“What?”
“Teaching.”
I rolled my eyes, smiling.
“I like hearing you like this,” he added.
“Like what?”
“Certain.”
The word settled into me. A year ago, I had been brave. Now, I was certain. I reached the edge of the square, still talking about brushstroke patterns when— A voice behind me said, warm and familiar:
“I’m ready for my Art lesson.”

My entire body went still. The phone slipped from my ear. Slowly, I turned. He was standing ten feet away.
No screen. No pixelated smile. Marcus. Actually here.
His hair slightly longer than last time I saw him. Shoulders broader. Standing straight without the brace.
He held his phone loosely at his side, grin tugging at his mouth. My brain lagged behind reality.
“You’re—”
“Here,” he finished.
I dropped my notebook. He closed the distance in three strides. And then his arms were around me. Solid. Warm. Real.
I buried my face in his chest, laughing and crying at the same time.
“I thought we just said two weeks,” I accused breathlessly.
“I lied.”
“You—”
“I cleared travel,” he said. “Therapist approved. Dad threatened to send security if I didn’t.”
I pulled back just enough to see him clearly.
“You flew across an ocean.”
“For my art lesson,” he said simply.

Emotion swelled so big it hurt.
“You’re insane.”
“Probably.”
I hit his chest lightly. “You scared me.”
“Worth it.”
He cupped my face gently, his thumb brushing my cheek.
“You thought I’d let you conquer Europe alone?”
My voice wobbled. “You weren’t supposed to be here yet.”
“I got tired of screens.”
The square around us blurred into background noise.
“Do you know how many museums I’ve visited without you?” I said.
“Tragic,” he replied. “Unacceptable. I demand a full tour.”
I laughed through tears.
“You look different,” I whispered.
“Better?”
“Stronger.”
He leaned his forehead against mine.
“So do you.”
And I realized he was right. The girl who left a year ago had been terrified. This version of me wasn’t.
“I’ve been practicing,” he added casually.
“Practicing what?”
He stepped back slightly and, with exaggerated seriousness, gestured toward the museum behind me.
“Impress me, Professor.”
I blinked.
“You flew here to let me lecture you?”
“Absolutely.”
I shook my head, smiling wider than I had in months.
“Fine. But you’re taking notes.”
He laced his fingers through mine.
“Lead the way.”

As we crossed the square together, I felt something settle deep in my bones. We had survived a bullet. A trial. An ocean. Distance hadn’t unraveled us. It had refined us. A year ago, I walked into an airport unsure if love could stretch that far. Now, Marcus stood beside me in a foreign city, grinning like this was exactly where we were meant to be.
“Ready?” I asked.
He squeezed my hand.
“Always.”
And this time, when we stepped forward—
It wasn’t into uncertainty. It was into a future we had already proven we could hold