The mirror reflected a vision of white and lace, of silk and tulle, of a woman caught between two worlds.

Evelyn adjusted the bodice of her wedding gown, smoothing her hands over the delicate embroidery, tracing the intricate floral patterns stitched into the fine fabric. The dress was perfect—fitted just right, hugging her curves without suffocating her, cinching at the waist before cascading down in soft, weightless layers. The off-the-shoulder sleeves framed her collarbones, giving her an air of elegance that she had once dreamed of, once believed was reserved for someone else.

She should have felt beautiful.

She did. Didn’t she?

Her fingers stilled, hovering over the delicate lace before trailing lower.

Beneath the gown—hidden under layers of the finest fabric she had ever worn—

The diaper remained.

Thick. Unyielding.

She shifted, the telltale rustle of plastic crinkling softly beneath the gown’s elegant draping, a reminder that no matter how breathtaking she looked, no matter how poised or refined she appeared—this was still a farce.

She let out a slow breath, forcing herself not to dwell on it, not to let the humiliation creep in.

She was still herself.

She was still beautiful.

She was still a bride.

Her eyes flickered back to her reflection, her expression betraying the conflict inside her.

This was real.

She was getting married.

To Welby.

The thought sent a rush of warmth through her, an emotion so strong that it drowned out everything else. The diaper, Miranda’s control, the bizarre circumstances of her life—none of it mattered right now.

Right now, she was a bride, about to marry the man who had somehow, against all odds, become her world.

She turned slightly, running a hand over her hip, feeling the slight puffiness where the thick padding peeked through beneath the fabric. It was absurd, but part of her had already accepted this as normal.

That part of her was terrifying.

And yet, it was comforting, too.

Because she knew Welby.

She knew he wouldn’t care.

If anything, he would find a way to make her smile about it, to tease her just enough to make her forget the shame.

And wasn’t that what really mattered?

That they had each other?

That they had built something real, something solid, despite everything?

Evelyn took a breath, pushing aside the doubt, the shame, the lingering humiliation that she knew Miranda would always try to weave into her life.

Today wasn’t about her control.

Today was about love.

Her hands steadied as she adjusted the tiara resting atop her hair, securing it just so.

Her lips curved into a soft, knowing smile.

She was ready.

She was ready to walk down the aisle.

To step forward into something terrifying, something thrilling, something that was completely, unequivocally hers.

She was ready to be Welby’s wife.

The soft rustle of layers of fabric, the faint click of her heels against the polished floor, the distant hum of murmured voices waiting beyond the doors—all of it blended into a surreal, dreamlike haze.

Evelyn stepped from the dressing room, her gown cascading around her in a sea of lace and silk, the delicate embroidery catching the warm glow of the lights. Every step felt both impossibly light and impossibly heavy, a mixture of emotions swirling in her chest, nerves and excitement tangling into something she couldn’t quite name.

And then—

She stopped.

Just before the double doors that led to the aisle.

Just before the moment, that would change everything.

And then, from either side, two small figures stepped up beside her.

Evelyn turned, and there—standing with matching wide grins, dressed in identical white flower girl dresses—were Lucas and Emily.

She had known they would be here, had helped dress them herself, had seen them twirling in front of the mirrors with delighted giggles.

And yet, seeing them now—standing at her side, ready to walk with her—

It took her breath away.

They looked… happy.

Not nervous, not embarrassed, not uncertain.

Just happy.

Evelyn felt her heart swell, an emotion so fierce it nearly knocked the breath from her lungs.

Lucas, in particular, was a shock.

He had been so open to the idea.

So willing.

It wasn’t uncommon in Amazon culture for boys to dress as girls, but Lucas had always been firm, confident, and sure of who he was.

And yet—here he stood.

He was dressed in pristine white, the soft tulle of his skirt swaying as he fidgeted slightly. The flower crown resting atop his curls gave him an almost ethereal glow.

And he was smiling.

Evelyn did not doubt that he had done this for her.

For them.

For their family.

Emily, too, was beaming, looking up at her with that warm, adoring expression she had come to cherish so much.

And Evelyn—she smiled back.

A deep, genuine, radiant smile.

Because they were all here.

Because they were a family.

Her eyes flickered downward for just a moment, and she couldn’t help but notice the unmistakable bulk beneath the delicate hems of their dresses.

Thick. Obvious.

Completely undeniable.

And yet—neither of them seemed to care.

They weren’t hiding it.

They weren’t ashamed.

And wasn’t that what this was all about?

Hadn’t this journey been about acceptance, about embracing who they were, about becoming something stronger together?

Evelyn took a deep breath, her fingers tightening slightly around the bouquet in her hands.

The doors loomed before them, heavy, waiting.

And beyond them—

Her future.

She looked at Lucas, Emily, her littles, her family, and her entire world standing beside her.

And then, with one final steadying breath—

She nodded.

The doors opened.

And Evelyn stepped forward.

The doors opened.

A warm breeze drifted in from the outdoor venue, carrying the scent of flowers and freshly cut grass. Soft strains of music floated through the air, delicate yet powerful, a melody that wrapped around her like a familiar embrace.

Her Littles stepped forward first.

Emily and Lucas, in identical white dresses billowing with each delicate step, dipped their hands into the baskets at their sides, scattering petals in soft, fluttering arcs. The flowers drifted downward in slow, weightless spirals, painting the aisle in bursts of color—pinks, yellows, and whites.

Evelyn followed, each step measured, each movement deliberate, a quiet grace woven into her every motion.

The guests stood, their faces bright and expressions warm. They were familiar faces—friends and family—people who had come not just for the ceremony but because they truly believed in the love being celebrated today.

And then—

She saw him.

Welby.

He stood at the end of the aisle, framed by the delicate arch of white roses and soft drapery, a beacon of certainty amidst the blur of motion around her.

His suit was perfectly tailored, crisp, and clean, yet still unapologetically him—calm, steady, and strong in a way that had nothing to do with appearance and everything to do with who he was.

But her eyes weren’t just drawn to him.

Because in his arms—nestled securely against his chest, her tiny fingers curled around the lapel of his jacket, her pacifier bobbing softly in her mouth—

Hannah.

Evelyn’s breath hitched, and her world narrowed. Her vision tunneled to only them, to this moment, to the undeniable truth that settled deep into her bones.

Her husband-to-be.

Her baby girl.

Her family.

Hannah shifted, lifting her head slightly, blinking sleepily as if sensing Evelyn’s presence before she could even reach them.

And then—a giggle.

A soft, joyous sound, filled with warmth, with familiarity, with love so pure that it nearly brought Evelyn to her knees.

The world blurred at the edges, emotions welling up so fiercely that she felt lightheaded.

Welby smiled.

Not just any smile—but the smile, the one that had pulled her from the depths of fear and uncertainty, the one that had steadied her when she had needed it most, the one that reminded her, without a single word, that she was safe, that she was wanted, that she was loved.

Evelyn exhaled, feeling something inside her loosen, something she hadn’t even realized she had been holding onto.

She had been so afraid of this.

Afraid of committing again, of trusting again, of believing in something so fragile, so breakable.

But this wasn’t fragile.

This wasn’t breakable.

This was real.

And Welby—her Welby—was standing there, holding their baby, waiting for her, eyes filled with nothing but love.

Her throat tightened, a tear slipping down her cheek before she could stop it.

Not from sadness.

Not from fear.

But from something deeper, something truer, something that had finally settled fully into her heart.

She reached the end of the aisle, her hands trembling slightly as she placed her bouquet aside.

Welby, without hesitation, shifted Hannah into one arm, freeing the other to reach for her.

And Evelyn—

Evelyn took his hand.

Warm. Steady. Unwavering.

Her fingers curled into his, a perfect fit, a perfect certainty.

And in that moment—

In that single, breathless moment—

She knew.

This was exactly where she was meant to be.

She was there.

Beside him.

She barely even remembered the walk down the aisle, barely recalled the way her dress had whispered against the flower-laden path, and barely noticed the soft gasps of admiration from their guests as she stepped forward.

None of it mattered.

Because she was here now.

Her hand was warm and steady in his, and their fingers intertwined as if they had always belonged together.

She turned slightly, her gaze falling to Hannah in Welby’s arms. The baby girl looked up at her with wide, adoring eyes, her lips parting into a delighted, giggling smile.

Evelyn’s heart clenched.

She smiled back, reaching up with her free hand to run gentle fingers through Hannah’s hair, smoothing down the tiny flyaways.

And then—the priest was speaking.

Evelyn blinked, her mind snapping back to the moment, her ears catching the rhythmic cadence of the priest’s words, the ceremonial weight of it all.

She glanced out at the gathered guests, the people who had come to witness this, to celebrate with them.

And then—her gaze caught on something unexpected.

A familiar face.

Kaylee.

One of Welby’s friends.

She sat in the front row, a calm smile on her face, her hands resting gently on the Little in her lap.

And Evelyn’s breath hitched.

The girl—the Little—

She looked… completely docile.

Completely lost in babyhood.

Just like Hannah.

But that wasn’t possible.

Because Evelyn knew who this was.

This was Ash.

Or at least—it had to be.

And yet, the girl she saw now—the way she clung to Kaylee, the way she suckled absently on her pacifier, the way she looked so utterly content, so unquestionably Little—

She wasn’t a Tweener anymore.

She wasn’t fighting.

She wasn’t resisting.

She had… changed.

Evelyn felt a strange, heavy sensation settle into her chest. It was something she couldn’t quite name, something between awe and unease.

Was this… what Hannah had looked like to others?

Had this been how Welby had felt, watching her let go, watching her become what she was always meant to be?

But she had no time to process it.

Because her eyes were drawn back to him.

To Welby.

To the man, she was about to marry.

Lucas stood before them, the tiny pillow in his hands holding the rings, his expression serious, his small fingers clutching the fabric as if he were holding something sacred.

And then—

Welby was speaking.

His steady, warm voice carried across the quiet space, filling it and weaving around her like a gentle embrace.

His vows.

His commitments.

To her.

To them.

To their family.

Evelyn barely breathed.

She stared into his eyes, feeling the words settle deep inside her, wrapping around her heart and anchoring her to this moment, to this man, and to the life they were building together.

He smiled—not just with his mouth, but with his entire face, with the edges of his eyes crinkling in that way she had grown to love, with that look of genuine warmth, of understanding, of connection.

And then—it was her turn.

She opened her mouth—but her voice felt distant, silent in her ears.

It didn’t matter.

Because the words poured out of her anyway, every syllable carrying the depth of her emotions, the weight of her promises, the certainty of what she felt for him.

She had never been more sure of anything.

She had never been more at peace.

Welby squeezed her hand, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles, his silent way of saying: I’m here. I always will be.

And Evelyn—she smiled.

Because she knew.

Because she believed it.

Her hands trembled slightly as she took the ring. The delicate band was cool against her fingers, and the metal caught the sunlight as if it were alive, pulsing with the weight of its meaning.

Welby’s hand was steady, strong, unwavering as she slipped it onto his finger. It was as if this had always been meant to be as if the moment had been written long before either of them had even known it would come.

And then—he was doing the same.

His fingers found hers, careful yet firm, and the ring slid into place, settling against her skin as if it had always belonged there.

There was something profound in that.

Something that made her chest tighten made her breath catch, made the world shrink to just this—just them.

She heard the priest’s voice, felt the words, and felt the final step, the moment when it all became real.

“Do you, Evelyn, take Welby to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Her lips parted, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.

“I do.”

The words left her without hesitation, without fear, without doubt.

“And do you, Welby, take Evelyn to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Welby’s fingers tightened around hers.

And then—his voice, deep and steady, the final promise.

“I do.”

And then—

His lips were upon hers.

The moment crashed over her like a tidal wave, an explosion of warmth, of certainty, of everything she had ever wanted but never thought she would have.

The world tilted, dissolved, and narrowed into nothing but this—nothing but him.

His hands framed her face, steady, warm, grounding her even as she felt herself soaring.

And between them—cradled in the space where they met, where their bodies pressed close—

Hannah.

Nestled securely, her tiny arms curling against Welby’s chest, her pacifier bobbing as she blinked sleepily, completely at peace, completely content.

Their baby.

Their family.

Somewhere beyond them, the crowd stood, applause erupting, cheers filling the air.

But it was distant, far away, unimportant.

All that mattered was this: the way Welby’s lips moved against hers, the way his arms curled around her, and the way he held her like she was something precious, something irreplaceable.

And as she melted into him, surrendering fully to the weight of this moment, the depth of this love, the truth of what they had built—

She caught the smallest flicker of movement in her peripheral vision.

Emily and Lucas.

Standing nearby.

Beaming with pride, with love, with something deeper, something that made Evelyn’s heart swell even more.

This wasn’t just her victory.

It wasn’t just his.

It was theirs.

A family.

Whole.

Complete.

And as Welby finally broke the kiss, his forehead resting gently against hers, his breath warm against her lips, his hands still holding her like he never wanted to let go—

Evelyn smiled.

Because she knew, without a doubt, without fear, without hesitation—

Neither of them ever would.

Evelyn turned to the crowd, her hand still firmly in Welby’s, their fingers intertwined, their rings catching the sunlight in a dazzling display of commitment, of certainty, of love.

The applause swelled again, a wave of warmth washing over them. Their faces were beaming, and their eyes glistened with emotion. She saw Emily and Lucas standing proudly nearby, Hannah still nestled securely in Welby’s arms, their little family complete.

And behind them—a large holographic screen flickered, playing a gentle slideshow of their memories together.

There weren’t many pictures, not yet.

But the ones that did exist—small stolen moments, quiet gestures, the undeniable growth of something real—played softly in the background, a beautiful, personal touch that made her heart swell.

She might have cried again if she wasn’t already so overwhelmed with joy.

But then—

The speakers crackled.

The music faltered and fell silent.

And Evelyn’s entire body tensed.

The screen—once filled with their images, their moments, their story—

Went dark.

A hush fell over the crowd.

Confusion. Unease.

Evelyn felt it settle over her like a creeping fog, the energy shifting, the warmth from moments ago dissipating into something colder, something unfamiliar.

And then—

A voice.

A sickly sweet voice.

A voice that froze her in place and crawled over her skin like something poisonous, something wrong.

A voice that did not belong here.

“Attention, everyone!”

The voice was playful and melodic, dripping with exaggerated joy that sent a shiver straight down Evelyn’s spine.

All eyes were drawn toward the screen, toward the speakers, toward something none of them had expected.

Phones were being pulled out, lifted, and screens flickering.

It wasn’t just the holographic display.

It was everywhere.

It was on their devices.

It was broadcasting directly into their hands.

"For a very, very special episode, designed for everyone!"

Evelyn’s breath hitched.

Something was wrong.

Something was very, very wrong.

She tried to step forward, to move, to speak, to break through the suffocating sensation pressing down on her.

But then—she felt it.

The pull.

Tugging at the edges of her mind, whispering, coaxing, unraveling.

She turned her head, almost against her will, her gaze locking onto the screen.

The intro music began to play.

That damned melody, cheerful and inviting, sinking into her like a lullaby.

The title card flashed.

Bright. Golden. Playful. Innocent.

Naomi & Oliver.

Evelyn barely had time to gasp, recognize what was happening, and piece together what it meant, what it was doing, and what this was.

And then—

Everything went fuzzy apart from the scene.

The last thing she knew—

Was the warmth of Welby’s hand slipping from her own.

And the world—

Falling away.

*

The dimly lit control room filled with the sound of applause, a thunderous symphony of victory, inevitability, and absolute and total success.

Miranda stood at the center of it all, her gaze dancing across the countless screens lined the walls, each flickering between different perspectives, different locations, and different lives.

Every single one of them had stopped.

Every single person across the country—Littles, Tweeners, Amazons alike—all stood frozen, captivated, drawn into the web of control that she and Thorne had so carefully, so meticulously crafted.

It was beautiful.

It was flawless.

It was the culmination of everything they had worked toward.

Beside her, Inspector Thorne adjusted the cuff of her pristine uniform, her lips curling into a satisfied smirk as her own eyes flickered between the screens, absorbing the sheer scale of what they had just accomplished.

They had done it.

They had brought an entire nation to its knees.

Miranda felt a thrill course through her, the kind of exhilaration that only came with absolute, indisputable victory.

With deliberate grace, she lifted a flute of champagne from the polished table before her, the golden liquid catching the glow of the screens.

She turned to Thorne, lifting her glass in a quiet toast.

“To progress.”

Thorne chuckled, the deep rumble of her voice laced with quiet amusement as she clinked her glass against Miranda’s.

“To perfection.”

She took a slow, indulgent sip, savoring the crisp effervescence of the champagne. She let it settle on her tongue before swallowing.

This moment had been years in the making.

Every trial.

Every test.

Every carefully controlled experiment.

Every manipulated mind.

It had all led to this.

Millions of people, their entire population, their entire society, all standing transfixed as the mass broadcast played in perfect synchronization.

And just like that—

Just like she had always known would happen—

The future had finally arrived.

The end of Crossing Worlds Book 2

Authors Note

I can’t believe I’m finally putting the finishing touches on this book. I started writing it over six months ago with a clear vision of how the final scenes would unfold. Throughout this journey, I’ve grown tremendously as an author—experimenting with different writing styles, refining my craft, and discovering more about who I am as a writer. Some experiments were successful, others less so, but every lesson learned will shape future stories into something even more cohesive, engaging, and fun.

From the very beginning, I knew this would be my longest story yet, and here I sit, at 315,000 words and roughly 1,500 pages. Along the way, I even discovered that Google Docs has a character limit—something I never expected to encounter! Because of this, I’ve started transitioning my work to more professional tools designed for authors, ensuring a smoother writing process for future projects.

What I didn’t anticipate, however, were the incredible friendships I would form while writing this book. I’ve had the privilege of connecting with several well-known authors, and their support has been both humbling and inspiring. Of course, I couldn’t have done this without the unwavering encouragement of my readers—of you. To my beta readers, who eagerly devour every new chapter and provide invaluable feedback: you know who you are, and I am endlessly grateful. <3

But all the hard work in the world means little without people to share this story with. If you’re reading this, thank you. You are the reason I kept writing, the reason I pushed forward chapter after chapter. And yes, if you haven’t already guessed—I do plan to continue this series. The next book will bring answers to your burning questions, but in the meantime, I’m also working on other projects. Our family will return.

Between writing, editing, publishing across multiple platforms, and maintaining my website, I’ve poured over 500 hours into this book. It has truly been a labor of love, and I’ve cherished every moment of bringing this story to you. If you enjoy my work and would like to support future releases, I have a SubscribeStar for exclusive content and special titles you won’t find anywhere else. Or, if you’d like a personalized story tailored to your vision, I offer commissioned stories through my website—I’d love to collaborate with you.

Regardless of how you choose to support my work, know that I deeply appreciate you. Thank you, as always, for being a reader. I look forward to bringing you another story soon. Until then, keep your wits about you—Naomi and Oliver are waiting to welcome you into their loving embrace…

• Amanda