The first thing seven-year-old Sophie Ellis did when she entered Vincent Rowan’s private library was break the only rule in the house that even grown men were afraid to test.

The following evening, the storm clouds over Philadelphia parted, allowing brilliant golden sunlight to flood through the tall windows of Rowan House.

Inside the private library, the fire crackled warmly behind the iron grate.

Mara stood by the desk, organizing the paperwork Vincent had requested, though her hands moved with a lightness she hadn't felt in years. The danger had passed; the syndicate war was over before it could truly begin; and the estate was wrapped in absolute, unbreakable peace.

The heavy door opened, and Vincent walked in.

He looked tired, the exhaustion of the past forty-eight hours etched into his sharp features, but as he looked at Mara, his eyes softened.

“The federal prosecutor confirmed Marcus Vane won't see daylight for the next thirty years,” Vincent said, walking toward her. “The docks are secure. Rowan House is safe.”

Mara turned around, setting her pen down. She looked up at him, seeing past the syndicate boss, past the scars and the terrifying reputation, straight into the heart of the man who had risked everything to protect her and her daughter.

“You didn't have to go after him yourself, Vincent,” Mara said softly, using his first name for the very first time.

“Yes, I did,” Vincent replied, stopping just inches away from her. “For years, I believed that building walls and keeping people out was the only way to stay alive. I thought love and family were liabilities—weaknesses that enemies could exploit.”

He gently reached out, resting his hand against her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray lock of hair.

“Then a seven-year-old girl walked into my library and asked me for five minutes,” Vincent whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “And I realized... she wasn't a weakness at all. She was the best thing that ever happened to me. And so is her mother.”

Mara’s breath hitched. She leaned her face into his warm, calloused palm, tears of profound joy welling in her eyes.

Before she could speak, the library door pushed open slightly.

Sophie stood on the threshold, holding her stuffed lion by one leg, looking up at them with curious, bright eyes.

“Mr. Rowan?” Sophie asked shyly. “Can I have my five minutes now?”