Spencer King has everything-except the one thing he truly wants.
As the head of a multi-million dollar empire, Spencer enjoys power, prestige, and a stunning view of New York City. But behind the success lies a lingering ache-he's alone. The woman h...
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BROOKLYN
The warm sand shifts beneath me as I sit cross-legged on a soft towel, facing the ocean waves rolling onto the beach in South Carolina. The steady rhythm of the sea calms something deep inside me, but nothing soothes my soul more than the laughter of my husband and daughter echoing through the salty breeze.
Charlotte is four now—vibrant, wild, and sweeter than sugar. She's got Spencer's smile and my stubborn streak, and watching the two of them run across the shoreline feels like watching the very best parts of my life in motion.
Sometimes I still can't believe she's real.
I remember the day she was born like it just happened. The pain was nothing anyone could've truly prepared me for, but Spencer never left my side. Not when I screamed, not when I cried, not when I swore at him in a rage of contractions. He held my hand through every moment—even when I broke it. Twice. He just smiled and said he'd do it all over again if it meant getting our little girl.
I watch him now as he scoops her up, spinning her around while she squeals in delight. The sight makes my heart clench in the best way. Spencer is everything my father never was. Gentle. Present. Protective. Loving. Always loving.
We got the call about my father two years ago—Nate West died of an overdose. I hadn't seen him in years, not since I cut ties for good. Still, I went to his grave. I laid down a single rose, whispered that I forgave him, and hoped that, wherever he and my mom are now, they're at peace. Maybe even together again.
"Go get Mommy!" Spencer laughs as he places Charlotte down.
She races toward me, her little legs kicking up clouds of sand. When she barrels into me with a giggle, I nearly fall back from the impact.
"Careful, baby! We don't want to hurt Noah," Spencer calls gently as he jogs over, settling onto the towel behind me.
"I'm sorry, Mommy," Charlotte says, giving me a sweet smile before her attention is quickly stolen by a seagull flying overhead.
I laugh softly as Spencer wraps his arms around my waist, his hands resting protectively on my round belly. I melt into him instinctively, breathing in the scent of sunscreen, salt, and the man I love more each day.
"How's my little basketball player doing in there?" he murmurs against the side of my head, pressing a kiss to my temple.
"Who said he's going to be a basketball player?" I tease.
"He'll be a stud. Just like his dad," he grins, and I roll my eyes.
"How's your mom doing with the company?" I ask, resting my hands over his.
After we got married, Spencer handed over the business to his mother . He said it was time to focus on what mattered most—us.
"She's thriving. Already asked to book Charlotte for an Easter photo shoot and suggested we put her on a billboard," he laughs.
I shake my head, smiling. "She's going to spoil them both rotten."
"Good," he replies. "They deserve it."
Charlotte runs back to us, holding out a tiny seashell in her hand. "Pretty!" she says proudly.
"It's beautiful, just like you," I tell her, brushing her windswept hair back.
"Let's head back to the house. You can add that to your collection," I say, struggling to rise with my growing bump. Spencer immediately helps me to my feet.
"Hand," I say, and Charlotte grabs one of mine while Spencer takes the other.
Together, the three of us walk back to the beach house in the golden glow of the afternoon sun.
⸻
"I don't like this one bit," I grumble, blindfolded, as Spencer carefully leads me by the hand.
"You'll love it," he says with that maddening, boyish grin in his voice. "Just trust me."
I hear a door creak open, and the temperature shifts as we step inside. My feet hit cool hardwood floors. The scent of old wood and something familiar makes my stomach twist with curiosity.
"Okay," he says. "You can take it off."
I lift the blindfold, blinking against the sudden light—and I gasp.
I know this place.
The bookshelves. The wooden tables. The windows that pour in sunlight just right.
It's my childhood cafe.
The one my dad sold when I was sixteen.
"Spencer..." My voice cracks.
"I remembered what you said. About how it was your favorite place. About how you wished Charlotte could grow up with it, like you did." His eyes soften. "I made a few calls, tracked down the buyer. I bought it back. It's yours, Brooklyn."
Tears flood my eyes as I slowly turn in a circle, taking it all in.
"I can't believe this," I whisper. "You did this for me?"
"For you. For Charlotte. For Noah," he says, placing his hand gently over my belly.
"Thank you," I breathe, wrapping my arms around his neck.
He pulls me close. "You've given me everything. A home. A family. Love I didn't think I deserved. I just wanted to give you something in return."
Our love story wasn't perfect. We hurt each other. Lost each other. But we also found our way back—again and again. Through pain, secrets, and shattered dreams.
But he stayed.
He fought.
And in the end, we made it.
Because love—real love—isn't just about saying "I do."
