Guilty as sin (Complete)

Epilogue

Three Months Later

(Taylor’s POV)

The Kansas City air is crisp, smelling of woodsmoke and the promise of autumn. I’m sitting on a plush cream-colored sofa in the living room of our new house—a place with high ceilings, massive windows, and, most importantly, a complete lack of "gilded cage" energy.

There are no ghosts here. No echoes of someone telling me I’m "not the marrying type" or that my success is a burden.

There’s just the sound of Travis in the kitchen, humming a song under his breath while he prepares a post-practice snack.

I look down at my phone. My thumb hovers over the 'Post' button on Instagram. The image is a new version of the Fearless cover—me, hair flying, gold dress shimmering, looking like I’m finally breathing for the first time.

"You ready, Princess?" Travis’s voice rumbles behind me. He leans over the back of the sofa, his massive arms wrapping around my shoulders. He smells like the outdoors and the expensive cologne I bought him for his birthday.

"I think so," I whisper, leaning my head back against his chest. "Once I hit this, there’s no going back. The world will know I’m taking it all back."

"Good," he says, kissing the top of my head. "Because it belongs to you. Always has."

I take a deep breath and tap the screen.

I’ve always believed that artists should own their work for so many reasons. But the most screamingly obvious one is that the artist is the only one who really knows that body of work. This was the era where so many inside jokes were created, so many memories made, so many hearts broken. This is for the fans.

Fearless (Taylor’s Version) is coming soon.

Within seconds, my phone begins to vibrate non-stop. Notifications flood in—millions of them—but for the first time in my career, I don't feel the need to read every comment or check every headline. I just turn the phone face down on the coffee table.

"It's done," I say, feeling a weight lift off my soul.

"I'm so proud of you, Tay," Travis says. He walks around the sofa, scoops me up into his arms like I weigh nothing, and sits down with me in his lap. "Now, enough of that. We have a housewarming party to plan, and I think your dad is already asking if we have enough room in the backyard for a proper tailgate when the Eagles come to town."

I laugh, a real, bright sound that feels like it’s coming from my toes. "He and Jason have already been texting about it. I think Jason is more excited about our guest room than the actual football season."

Life in Kansas City is... different. It’s loud dinners with the Kelce family, it’s going to the grocery store in a hoodie without feeling like I’m being hunted, and it’s waking up every morning next to a man who thinks my brain is my best feature.

Joe has become a distant, blurry memory. After the "Incident" at the Tellers' party, his name was mud in Hollywood and London alike. He’d tried to release a statement claiming "artistic differences," but with Meryl Streep and Paul Rudd as witnesses to his meltdown, no one was buying it. He had the masters, sure—but without the rights to license them or the public's desire to hear them, he was sitting on a mountain of useless gold.

"What are you thinking about?" Travis asks, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw.

"Just how glad I am that I ran into you," I smile, leaning in to kiss him. "Literally."

"Best drink you ever spilled, Darlin'," he grins, pulling me in for a long, slow kiss that tastes like home.

Two Years Later

(Travis’s POV)

The stadium is electric, but for the first time in my life, I'm not thinking about the game. I’m thinking about the small velvet box tucked into the pocket of my jacket in the locker room.

Two years. Two years since I convinced a princess to move to the Midwest. Two years since she started the "Taylor’s Versions" and systematically dismantled the man who thought he could own her.
Tonight is the night.

Taylor is back in the city where it all began for us, performing at the stadium. But tonight isn't just a concert. Earlier today, Tree sent me the final legal brief.

The "Old" Masters were officially sold back to Taylor. Joe, desperate for cash after his "career" failed to launch and his legal fees piled up, had finally folded. He sold his shares back to her for a fraction of what he thought they were worth just to stay afloat.

She owns it all now. Every lyric. Every master. Her past, her present, and—if I have my way—her future.

I wait until the end of the show, standing in the wings as she finishes "Long Live." She’s glowing, sweat-streaked and beautiful, her eyes scanning the crowd of thousands who have supported her through the re-recordings.

As she takes her final bow and the lights dim, I don't wait for her to come to me. I walk out onto that stage.

The crowd sees me first. A roar erupts, louder than any touchdown I’ve ever scored. Taylor spins around, her eyes wide with shock.

"Trav? What are you doing?" she pants, a smile breaking across her face.

I don't say a word. I just reach into my pocket, pull out the ring—a diamond so big it looks like a piece of the stars she sings about—and drop to one knee.

"Taylor Alison Swift," I say, my voice projected through my mic so the whole world can hear. "You’ve reclaimed your name, your music, and your life. You are the strongest, most incredible woman I have ever known. I don't want to spend another day being 'just' the guy you're with. I want to be the guy you come home to for the rest of our lives."

I take a breath, the stadium falling into a deafening, expectant silence.
"Will you marry me, Princess?"

Taylor’s hands fly to her mouth. She’s crying, the happy kind, and she doesn't even hesitate. She lunges forward, nearly knocking me over as she screams

"YES!" into my neck.

The crowd goes insane. Fireworks erupt over the stadium, but as I slide the ring onto her finger and pull her into a kiss, the only thing I can hear is her heartbeat against mine.

Later that night, as the news breaks that she bought her masters back and got engaged in the same twelve-hour span, I see a headline on a gossip site while we're lying in bed. It’s a tiny blurb at the bottom of the page about "Former actor Joe Alwyn" being spotted at a dive bar in a small town, unrecognizable and alone.

I look at the woman in my arms—the Queen of the music world, the owner of her own destiny, and my future wife.

"We did it, baby," I whisper.

Taylor smiles, her eyes shining with a peace I haven't seen since the day we met. "No, Trav. I did the work. But we... we get the ending."

And as she drifts off to sleep, finally owning every part of herself, I know that the real story is only just beginning.

The End

A/N: Well I wasn't sure i was going to actually do it but I officially finished This story! I hope this ending does it justice for you guys! and Merry  Christmas!