One year later.

The sprawling gardens of the Thorne estate were decorated with thousands of white roses. The dangerous men of the underworld sat in folding chairs, dressed in tuxedos, their weapons checked at the door.

At the front of the aisle stood Dante Thorne. He looked breathtaking, his dark eyes shining with an emotion he only reserved for one person.

The string quartet began to play.

Clara stepped out onto the patio. She wasn't wearing a maid's uniform, nor was she trying to hide her body. She wore a custom-made, ivory silk gown that hugged every curve, accentuating the fullness of her figure. She looked radiant, powerful, and unconditionally loved.

Walking beside her, tossing flower petals with fierce concentration, was six-year-old Mia.

As Clara reached the altar, Dante took her hands, his thumbs gently stroking her knuckles.

"From the moment you bled for my daughter, you owned my soul," Dante vowed, his voice carrying over the silent crowd. "You are my heart, Clara. Today, tomorrow, and until my last breath."

Clara smiled, tears of pure joy in her eyes. The girl who had spent her life shrinking was finally ready to rule her world.

"Forever," Clara whispered.

Dante pulled her in, sealing their vows with a kiss that promised a lifetime of fire, protection, and unconditional love.

The underworld had a new Queen. And her name was Clara Thorne.