Page 146 of Claimed By The Other Brother

The office erupts. Applause. Cheers. Someone actually whoops. I stand and pull the ring from the box, sliding it onto her finger. It fits perfectly. Then I pull her into my arms and kiss her. Deep. Passionate. Not caring who's watching or what they think. When I finally pull back, I wipe the tears from her face.

"It was never about claiming you," I murmur against her ear.

"You claimed my heart from the moment I laid eyes on you."

She laughs, a watery, joyful sound.

"That's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me."

"Get used to it. I have a lifetime of romantic gestures planned."

People are crowding around us now. Congratulations. Questions. Someone is asking to see the ring. But I only see Scarlett; her blue eyes. Her smile. The way she's looking at me like I'm her entire world.

Because she's mine—and I'm never letting her go.

Epilogue

Scarlett

One Year Later

The office space is flooded with afternoon light.

I stand at the floor-to-ceiling windows on the twenty-fifth floor, looking down at the Gramercy streets below. The neighborhood is alive—people rushing to lunch meetings, taxis honking, delivery trucks double-parked. New York in all its chaotic glory.

Behind me, contractors are installing custom built-ins along one wall. The sound of drills and hammers echoes through the empty space, but I don't mind. It's the sound of something being built. Something mine.

I take a sip of tea from the paper cup in my hand, and the diamond on my finger catches the sunlight. The ring is massive—bigger than anything I would have chosen for myself—but every time I see it, I smile.

Happily married.

The words still feel surreal sometimes. A woman inher forties approaches, holding a clipboard and fabric swatches.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Blackwell?"

I turn. "Yes?"

Mrs. Blackwell.I'm still getting used to that too.

"We're ready to install the reception desk," she says.

"Did you want it positioned here, or closer to the elevators?"

I walk over to where she's standing, visualizing the space.

"Here. I want clients to see the city view when they walk in."

She makes a note.

"And the artwork you selected—where would you like it hung?"

"The main conference room. And one piece in my office."

"Perfect. We'll have everything ready by the end of the month."

End of the month. In another three months, Bradford Public Relations officially opens its doors.

My own firm. My own clients. My own team.