Chapter 10 - Reign of the King and Queen
Six months later, the front page of the New York Times financial section featured a photograph that sent shockwaves through the global elite.
It wasn't a report on a corporate hostile takeover or a mafia indictment. It was the society announcement of the year: Julian Vance, the most reclusive billionaire in Manhattan, standing beside his bride on the sprawling lawns of his Fifth Avenue estate.
Clara wore a gown of exquisite white Chantilly lace, her head held high, her smile radiant and uncompromised. She wasn't hiding behind anyone. She wasn't shrinking to fit someone else’s expectations. She owned every inch of the grass she stood on.
Grant Whitaker was long forgotten—his name currently serving as a cautionary tale in federal penitentiary files for white-collar conspiracy.
As the evening reception wound down and the string quartet transitioned into a soft, romantic melody, Julian led Clara out onto the terrace where it had all begun six months ago.
The city lights twinkled across the park like a sea of diamonds, reflecting in the glass balustrade.
Julian pulled her close against his chest, resting his chin on the top of her head as they swayed gently to the distant music.
“Penny for your thoughts, Mrs. Vance,” he murmured against her hair.
Clara smiled, looking out over the glittering skyline that stretched endlessly before them. She reached up, her hand resting comfortably over his heart, feeling the steady, powerful rhythm of the man who owned the war, but had surrendered his entire soul to her.
May you like
“I was just thinking,” Clara whispered, “that it’s a very good thing you like giving orders to strangers.”
Julian chuckled, tightening his arms around her waist. “Only to the ones I intend to spend the rest of my life keeping.”
