Chapter 9 - The Trial of Ashbourne
Forty-eight hours later, the grand ballroom of Ashbourne House was fully restored.
The nineteenth-century Persian rug had been replaced with an even more magnificent royal blue antique imported from France. The shattered crystal was gone, replaced by glittering Baccarat flutes, and the ballroom was once again filled with the city’s most powerful figures: governors, federal judges, shipping magnates, and European ambassadors.
None of them were whispering behind jeweled hands tonight.
Every single guest stood in rapt, respectful silence as Dominic Vale descended the grand staircase.
Beside him, with my hand resting firmly on the sleeve of his black tuxedo, was me.
I wore a custom emerald-green velvet evening gown that hugged every curve of my body with regal defiance. The neckline plunged tastefully, my broad shoulders held back with absolute pride, my dark hair styled in soft, cascading waves. Across my throat hung a necklace of flawless black pearls and diamonds—Dominic’s personal gift to commemorate our victory on the docks.
I did not look like Blair Carrington. I was not a waif starved on champagne and society standards. I was a woman of substance, power, and unapologetic presence. And as we descended the stairs, every gaze in the room followed us with breathless awe.
At the bottom of the staircase, standing near the punch bowl like social lepers, were the few remaining members of the Carrington extended family, stripped of their board seats, their social standing, and their dignity. Pierce was currently awaiting trial on twenty counts of attempted murder and treason in a federal detention center, while Blair had been permanently banned from every private club and charity gala on the East Coast.
When Blair’s mother caught my eye, she quickly dropped her gaze to the floor, terrified to even meet my glance.
Dominic led me to the center of the ballroom, right where seventy-two hours earlier I had been forced onto my knees in a torn maid’s uniform.
Mateo handed Dominic a microphone and two glasses of pristine, untampered vintage champagne. Dominic handed one flute to me, his fingers brushing mine with that familiar, electrifying warmth.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Dominic’s deep voice carried through the ballroom, commanding absolute stillness. “Three days ago, someone tried to murder me in this very room. They thought wealth bought immunity. They thought power was defined by cruelty, by striking those who serve you, and by hiding behind inherited pedigree.”
Dominic turned to me, his gray eyes shining with an emotion so raw and powerful it left me breathless.
“They were wrong,” Dominic continued, speaking to the entire room while looking only at me. “True power is honor. True strength is standing between danger and the people you care for without flinching. The woman beside me saved my life, dismantled my enemies, and proved that she is worth more than every fortune in this city combined.”
Dominic set his glass down on a passing tray.
In front of two hundred of the wealthiest people in the country, the feared mafia king of Boston dropped onto one knee before me.
The entire ballroom inhaled sharply in unison.
Dominic reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a velvet box. Inside rested not the emerald cut he had torn from Blair’s hand, but a bespoke ring crafted from platinum and a rare, blazing royal-blue sapphire surrounded by diamonds—brilliant, unbreakable, and profound.
“Nora Vance,” Dominic said, his voice echoing in the dead silence. “You wore my coat when you were bleeding. You held my line when the docks were burning. Will you do me the greatest honor of my life and become my wife, my partner, and the queen of Ashbourne House?”
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I didn't let them fall. I looked down at this dangerous, brilliant man who had seen through my weight, through my ruined past, and straight into the core of who I was.
“On one condition, Dominic,” I said, loud enough for every guest to hear.
A flicker of amused surprise touched his lips. “Name it.”
“I’m never cleaning your baseboards again.”
May you like
Laughter erupted through the grand ballroom, genuine, warm, and booming.
Dominic’s face broke into a radiant smile. “Darling,” he said, sliding the heavy platinum ring onto my finger, “from now on, you own the baseboards, the house, and the man inside it.”
