Chapter 7 - Epilogue: The View from the Top
As we walked down the grand stone staircase toward the garden pavilion, the string quartet struck up a gentle, soaring melody. The applause and cheers of our guests washed over us like warm sunlight.
I caught sight of my reflection in the massive glass doors leading out to the terrace. I wasn't the fragile, terrified woman who had once clutched a phone in a hospital room while listening to the distant bells of St. Bartholomew’s. I was a mother, a partner, a survivor, and the co-owner of a legacy built on truth rather than deceit.
Far away from our world, trapped in a federal holding facility upstate while awaiting trial for fraud and embezzlement, Grant Kingsley was living out his days in a sterile, gray cell—forgotten by society, abandoned by his co-conspirators, and reduced to a cautionary tale whispered in the boardrooms of Manhattan. He had tried to break me, to brand me as barren, to leave me with nothing.
Instead, he had unwittingly cleared the stage for me to step into my true power.
May you like
Dominic led me to the altar, setting Lyra down gently into the waiting arms of my dearest friend, before taking both of my hands in his as the officiant began to speak.
As I looked out across the smiling faces of the people who truly loved us, and felt the warm summer breeze rustling through the trees, I knew the bitter winter of my past was gone forever. The storm had broken, the ashes had settled, and the future was entirely ours.
