# MY TWINS CALLED THEIR BILLIONAIRE BIOLOGICAL FATHER WHILE I WAS DYING ON THE FLOOR—AND HE KNEW THEY WERE HIS BEFORE ANYONE SAID A WORD

Recovery was slow, but this time, Sloan wasn't doing it alone.

Six months passed. The brutal Seattle winter turned into a bright, blooming spring.

Sloan sat on the patio of the Mercer Island compound, sketching a new design. She wasn't drafting for demanding clients anymore; she was designing a custom treehouse for the twins, overlooking Lake Washington.

She felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her waist from behind, a warm chest pressing against her back. Griffin kissed the side of her neck, right below her fading scar.

“What are you working on?” he murmured.

“Just a castle for the princesses,” Sloan smiled, leaning into his embrace.

“They deserve a castle,” Griffin agreed. He gently spun her around, taking the pencil from her hand and tossing it onto the table. He looked at her with an intensity that still made her breath catch. “We signed the marriage papers under duress, Sloan. We never really did it right.”

Sloan arched an eyebrow. “Oh? And what is the 'right' way, Mr. Drake?”

Griffin reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet box. He didn't drop to one knee—he just opened it, revealing a breathtaking, flawless emerald-cut diamond ring.

“The right way,” he said softly, “is me asking you to choose me. Not for protection, not for the girls, but because you want to spend the rest of your life with me. Will you marry me, Sloan?”

Sloan looked at the ring, then at the man who had torn down heaven and earth to keep her safe.