Wildest Dream

Epilogue

Epilogue

Maven's POV (New York, Present Day)

I sit by the loft window in our Upper West Side apartment, the late afternoon light filtering through sheer curtains.

Autumn in New York paints the skyline in bronze and gold, but all I see is the photograph in my hand. It's our wedding portrait—Adrianna in her ivory lace gown, hair swept into soft curls, her mother's arm wrapped around her shoulders while her older brother stood just behind us.

Beside them, our son Miggy beams, all four years of joy in his bright smile. In the next frame, my De Talavera cousins crowd around us, their faces alight with laughter: Jared's mischievous grin, Toffer and Tim's easy charm, CJ's shy pride, Vincent's youthful exuberance... every one of them captured in that perfect moment.

I found myself tracing the edge of the frame with my thumb, and my heart swells with gratitude. We've built a life here—Adrianna reading a book by the window while Miggy practices his violin in the corner, the clatter of New York traffic a constant, comforting hum.

Our days are full: school pick-ups, weekend farmers' markets in Brooklyn, Sunday brunch with friends. A life I never dared imagine in the gloom of that Manila club.

And yet... a question drifts into my mind, as insistent as I hear Miggy's chorus of "Mommy, read me one more story."

What if I'd never walked into Xylo's that night? What if I'd stayed home, buried in books to study for my law classes and what if I just left early? Would Adrianna's path have crossed mine at all?

Would I have known her laughter, her courage, the way she looks at Miggy when he plays his violin? I close my eyes, seeing instead the flash of neon and the pulse of the bass, her silhouette moving through the haze—so alone, so unaware—and I feel the gravity of that single choice: to go out, to stay.

That moment defined everything.

My mind drifted to that memory. It lingered at the back of my mind how I have always loved the pulse of Xylo's on a Saturday night: the neon haze, the bass vibrating through the polished wood floors, and the scent of spiced rum lingering in the air.

That night, I remember clearly, I was leaning against the lacquered bar with my cousins—Jared's recounting a wild Beirut trip, Tim's elbows-deep in banter with Vincent, my younger brother, and CJ was hunched over his phone, face a mixture of hope and dread.

"Dude, you're never going to send that message," Jared teases, eyes flicking to CJ's screen.

Tim snorts. "Or you'll get blocked so fast."

Vincent laughs, loud and unapologetic. "Go on, man. Slide into her DMs already."

CJ's thumb hovers over the Instagram icon. He's been crushing on Izobel—Senator Madrigal's only daughter, my Father's long-time political rival.

I took a peek and saw what they're buzzing about. Izobel Madrigal was no doubt beautiful. Girl with the sunlit hair and the effortless laugh—ever since our families mingled one time at that charity gala, CJ has been following her on Instagram.

Right now, all my cousins, six guys at the next table are snickering every time CJ's phone buzzes, scrolling through Izobel's latest post: a candid shot of her reading by a café window.

One of them smacks his gum and whispers loud enough for CJ to hear, "Bro, she's off limits!"

I glanced at CJ and catch his eye.He gives me a half-shrug, cheeks burning.

I lay a hand on his shoulder. "Jared is right, cous"

He exhales sharply and sets his phone down, but before he can muster a comeback, the bar doors swing open on a gust of cool air. Heads swivel instinctively—drinks pause mid-sip—but the target of every glance doesn't seem to notice.

She steps in alone, shoulders straight, eyes fixed on the far corner where a quieter booth waits. Her dark hair spills over a simple dress, and even from twenty feet away, I can see the tension in her jaw, the quick breath that speaks of nerves rather than pretence.

She didn't look for adoration; she doesn't register the ripple of attention she commands.

I watch her move through the crowd—graceful, deliberate, completely unaware—and feel my pulse speed.

Something about her pulls at me, like a half-remembered melody I've been aching to learn. I lift my glass in a silent toast to the stranger I've never met.

CJ nudges me, nodding toward the door. "Who is that?" he whispers.

I don't answer.

I can't.

Because in that single moment, at the edge of a crowded bar, I know nothing will ever be the same.

I blinked and I realised, I was back in the present time.

I watched how Adrianna enters the room, her hair loose around just above her shoulders, Miggy trailing behind, violin case in hand.

She catches me holding the photo and smiles—not the broad wedding-day smile, but the soft, every-day one that still takes my breath away.

"Thinking about the past?" she asked, bending to kiss my temple. I nod, slipping the photo into her hand.

"I was just... remembering how we all looked so certain of forever back then."

I watched how Adrianna studied the photo, her eyes softening, it reminded me of her mother's serene expression during that day, Elliott's radiant face as he wrapped his arms Adrianna, our cousins beaming in on big family photo.

"We were," she agreed.

"And we still are." I reached for her, drawing her close.

Miggy tucks himself between us, arms around our waists, now five years old.

In that hush—a family of three, with memories and hopes entwined—I realize how right life has been.

The gamble I took that night at the club wasn't against the odds; it was the only choice that ever made sense. Because without that moment, I'd never have met her.

I'd never have gained this family. I'd never have known love like ours.

And as the city lights flicker on beyond the window, I whisper into Adrianna's hair "Thank you for choosing me,"

and I know, for the thousandth time, that I would choose her again.

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Cant get enough of Adrianna and Maven? Catch them on "Cruel Summer" ;)