Chapter 7 - The Empire We BuiltSix months later.
The morning sun streamed through the massive floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the Manhattan penthouse, casting a golden glow across a sleek, modern desk covered in printed manuscript pages.
I stood by the window holding a mug of dark roast coffee, looking down at the bustling streets of New York City below. My debut novel—The Price of Ambition—was sitting at number one on the New York Times bestseller list, its stark white cover displayed proudly in bookstore windows across the country.
Behind me, strong arms wrapped securely around my waist, and a familiar chin rested gently on my shoulder.
"You're staring at the skyline again," Ryan murmured, pressing a soft kiss against the side of my neck.
"I'm just making sure it's real," I whispered, leaning back into his warmth. "Sometimes I still feel like I'm going to wake up at table nineteen, waiting for a wedding that was never mine."
Ryan turned me gently in his arms so I was facing him. He looked incredible in a simple grey cashmere sweater, his silver-rimmed reading glasses perched casually on the bridge of his nose—a look he only wore when he was reviewing architectural blueprints or editing my chapter drafts.
"You were never meant for table nineteen, Ellie," he said softly, his thumbs tracing the line of my cheekbones. "You were always meant to sit at the head of the table."
I smiled, looping my arms around his neck. "You know, my cousin Sophia called me this morning. She said Daniel is currently working as a mid-level shift manager at a discount car dealership in New Jersey, living back with his parents."
Ryan raised an eyebrow, a faint, amused smirk playing on his lips. "Too much ambition, I suppose."
"Or not enough," I replied, pulling him down into a slow, lingering kiss that chased away every lingering shadow of the past.
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We weren't just playing husband and wife anymore. When we walked down the red carpet at the literary gala downtown that evening, flashbulbs exploding around us like miniature suns, Ryan didn't need to whisper a fake prompt in my ear.
He just held my hand, proudly, completely, and forever—proving that sometimes, the most impossible requests lead you straight to where you were always supposed to be.
