CHAPTER 35
EPILOGUE
AUDREY
The penthouse is loud.
It isn't a chaotic, overwhelming noise. It is the steady, vibrant sound of a space that is actually being lived in.
The massive floor-to-ceiling windows are open, letting the warm June breeze drift in from Lake Michigan.
A playlist Vivian sent me is playing softly from the wireless speakers in the ceiling, the bass thumping a steady rhythm against the poured concrete floor.
I am sitting on the charcoal gray sofa, my legs tucked underneath me.
There are currently five throw pillows scattered across the cushions. Two of them are the obnoxious mustard yellow ones I bought the week after the courthouse wedding. The other three are a deep, geometric teal.
I rest my laptop on my knees, staring at the 3D rendering of a commercial high-rise in the West Loop.
Apex Architecture is officially fourteen months old. We have outgrown the temporary office space I leased last year. Grant is currently coordinating a move to a massive, open-concept loft three blocks away, complete with a reinforced security perimeter that Malcolm personally designed.
I highlight a structural column on the screen, adding a note for the engineering team, and hit save.
I close the laptop, setting it down on the black steel coffee table.
I stretch my arms over my head, letting out a long, satisfied exhale.
The dull ache at the base of my neck is completely gone.
I don't calculate the cost of martini olives anymore.
I don't check my bank account to see if I can afford groceries.
I don't look over my shoulder when I walk down the street.
The war is over.
Preston Vance is currently serving the first year of a twenty-year sentence in a federal penitentiary in Marion. Simon took the plea deal. He is in a minimum-security camp in Pennsylvania. The Vance holding company was dismantled, the assets liquidated to pay off the massive federal fines.
The media spent three months dissecting the fall of the empire. They tried to drag me into it. They tried to drag Malcolm into it.
But Malcolm’s new company—Vanguard Logistics—secured a massive, highly classified contract with the Department of Defense exactly one week after Preston was indicted.
The federal government quietly, but very firmly, suggested to the press that the CEO of Vanguard was no longer a civilian target for gossip blogs.
The paparazzi vanished overnight.
I stand up from the sofa, my bare feet silent against the hardwood floor.
I walk toward the kitchen island. The marble counter is covered in a chaotic mix of my drafting pencils, Malcolm’s encrypted hard drives, and two empty coffee mugs from this morning.
I pick up the mugs, carrying them to the sink.
As I turn the water on, I hear the heavy, familiar sound of the private elevator chiming in the foyer.
I don't freeze. My heart doesn't hammer against my ribs.
I just turn around, leaning my lower back against the edge of the sink, and wait.
Malcolm walks into the living room.
He is wearing a dark, tailored suit, the jacket unbuttoned. He looks exactly like the ruthless, untouchable CEO who walked into the hotel bar a year ago. But the moment his eyes find me standing in the kitchen, the cold, calculating mask completely dissolves.
He stops walking. He looks at the mustard yellow pillows on the sofa. He looks at the blueprints scattered across the coffee table. He looks at me, wearing a pair of faded jeans and one of his black t-shirts.
"You are home early," I say, a slow smile touching my lips.
"The meeting at the Pentagon concluded ahead of schedule," he replies, walking toward the kitchen. He drops his keys and his phone onto the marble island. "The generals had fewer objections than I anticipated."
"Probably because you terrified them."
"I presented a logical assessment of their vulnerabilities." He stops in front of me, his hands sliding around my waist to pull me flush against his chest. "If they found it terrifying, that is a failure of their own infrastructure."
I laugh, wrapping my arms around his neck. "You can't just tell the Department of Defense that their infrastructure is a failure, Malcolm."
"I can. And I did." He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the side of my neck. "What did you do today?"
"I finalized the renderings for the high-rise.
" I lean into his touch, inhaling the familiar scent of cedar and the cold city air clinging to his suit.
"And Vivian called. She wants to know if we are still coming to dinner on Friday.
She is attempting to cook, which means we should probably eat before we go. "
"I will have Grant arrange a dinner reservation for eight o'clock." Malcolm’s hands slide down to my hips, his thumbs brushing against the denim of my jeans. "We can eat before we arrive at her apartment."
"You are terrible."
"I am pragmatic."
He pulls back slightly, looking down at my face. The afternoon sunlight catches the sharp angles of his jaw. He looks tired, the kind of deep, satisfying exhaustion that comes from building something that actually matters.
He reaches up, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
His eyes drop to my left hand, resting against his shoulder. The vintage diamond catches the light, flanked by the simple platinum band we exchanged in the courthouse a year ago.
"You didn't wear the ring to the site visit," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the line of my collarbone.
It isn't an accusation. It is a quiet, observant statement of fact.
"I took it off when I was reviewing the concrete pours," I explain, dropping my hand to rest flat against his chest. "I didn't want to get dust in the setting. I put it back on as soon as I got in the car."
"You don't have to explain it to me, Audrey." He holds my gaze, the absolute, unwavering certainty in his eyes anchoring me to the floor. "I know you aren't going anywhere."
My pulse stutters.
A year ago, he was terrified that I would run the second I got my company back. He thought he had to lock the doors and burn the world down just to keep me in his line of sight.
Now, he knows I take the ring off to work, and he doesn't even flinch.
"I'm not," I whisper, my hands sliding up to frame his face. "I'm exactly where I want to be."
Malcolm closes his eyes, leaning heavily into my touch. The last remnants of the tension from his meeting in Washington completely leave his body.
"I bought a building today," he says quietly, opening his eyes.
I blink, thrown by the sudden shift in topic. "A building? For Vanguard?"
"No." He steps back, reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He pulls out a heavy, folded piece of paper and hands it to me. "For Apex."
I take the paper, my fingers trembling slightly as I unfold it.
It is a commercial deed. The address listed at the top of the page is in the Gold Coast, right in the center of the architectural district. It is one of the most expensive, highly coveted blocks of real estate in the city.
I stare at the paper. "Malcolm, this is... this is a four-story building."
"It is."
"I don't need a four-story building. Apex has six employees."
"Apex has six employees today," he corrects smoothly, crossing his arms over his chest. "In two years, you will have sixty. You need the space to expand. The ground floor is zoned for a lobby and a gallery. The top three floors are open-concept."
"You bought me a building," I repeat, the sheer scale of the gesture making my brain stall.
"I secured an asset for my wife’s company," he says, his voice dropping to a low, rough register. "The deed is in your name. You own it completely."
I look at the deed. I look at the man standing in front of me.
Simon bought me expensive dinners and told me to wear pastels so I wouldn't intimidate his clients. He took my company because he thought I was too weak to keep it.
Malcolm Vance bought me a four-story commercial building because he expects me to conquer the city.
"You are insane," I whisper, a tear spilling over my lashes.
"I am invested." He reaches out, his thumb wiping the tear from my cheek. "Are you going to cry, or are you going to draft the floor plans?"
I let out a wet, shaky laugh, dropping the deed onto the marble counter.
"I’m going to draft the floor plans," I say, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck. "But first, I’m going to kiss my husband."
Malcolm’s arms lock around my waist, lifting me effortlessly off the floor.
He kisses me. It is a slow, deep, devastating collision of mouths. There is no panic in it. There is no desperation. It is just the absolute, undeniable reality of two people who survived the dark and built a fortress in the light.
He walks me backward, my legs wrapping around his waist, until my back hits the edge of the refrigerator.
"The building needs a security perimeter," he murmurs against my mouth, his hands sliding under the hem of my t-shirt.
"I know a guy," I breathe, tangling my fingers in his dark hair.
"Is he expensive?"
"Very." I pull him closer, my heart hammering a steady, perfect rhythm against his chest. "But he’s worth it."
Malcolm groans, a low, rough sound that vibrates straight through my core, and kisses me again.
The city outside the windows is loud. The world is moving.
But inside the penthouse, surrounded by mustard yellow pillows and architectural blueprints, the silence in my head is finally, perfectly quiet.
I didn't just survive the monster.
I married him. And I wouldn't change a single thing.