The glow from Brooke Harrington’s iPhone lit up her face in the dark hall outside the guest wing, casting long, sharp shadows across the mahogany floorboards.

Six months later, spring arrived in Newport with a burst of cherry blossoms and warm sea breezes.

The city had moved on from the scandal that had rocked the Mercer family the previous autumn. Julian Harrington was serving his sentence in a federal facility in Pennsylvania, while Brooke Harrington had been transferred to a medium-security women’s reformatory in upstate New York. The Harrington name had been erased from the financial registries of Wall Street, their assets liquidated to pay back creditors and court fines.

In Newport, however, a new chapter was beginning.

At nine o'clock on a sunny Saturday morning, the harbor was alive with white sails, gleaming yachts, and tourists walking along the historic cobblestone wharves.

Near the docks of the Newport Yacht Club, Dominic stood beside a newly constructed thirty-two-foot wooden sailboat. The vessel was a classic beauty, built from polished teak and mahogany, its white sails folded neatly against the boom.

Painted in elegant gold lettering across the stern was its name:

THE CATHERINE.

Standing beside Dominic was Clara Vance—a brilliant, thirty-two-year-old maritime attorney and the younger daughter of Dominic’s chief counsel, Arthur Vance.

Clara was nothing like Brooke Harrington. She wore no heavy designer labels or loud diamond jewelry. Dressed in a simple navy blazer, white trousers, and boat shoes, her dark hair tied back in a neat ponytail, she possessed a quiet, sharp intelligence and an effortless grace that didn't need to demand attention.

Clara had spent the last four months working alongside Natalie to legally secure the land grants for the Catherine Mercer Foundation, ensuring that no future corporate entity could ever challenge the estate's charitable status. Through that work, she and Dominic had spent countless hours together—not in glittering ballrooms or high-stakes boardrooms, but over quiet dinners at the estate and working sessions in the library.

"She’s gorgeous, Dominic," Clara said, stepping closer to inspect the smooth finish of the sailboat’s wooden hull. "You built this entirely from the original plans your father left?"

"My father bought the blueprints in 1992," Dominic said, walking beside her. "He never had time to finish it. After everything that happened last year, I decided it was time to put something real together with my own hands."

"It suits you," Clara smiled, looking up at him with clear, honest blue eyes. "Building things instead of tearing them down."

Dominic looked into her eyes, feeling a calm warmth that he hadn't experienced in over a decade. With Clara, there were no hidden motives, no whispered threats, and no games. She was a woman who stood on her own feet, who respected his family, and who had earned his absolute trust.

"We're taking her on her maiden voyage this afternoon," Dominic said softly. "Natalie and Noah are bringing the lunch basket. I want you to come with us."

Clara smiled warmly, leaning against the wooden railing of the dock. "Is that an invitation, Mr. Mercer, or a command?"

"An invitation," Dominic replied, a soft grin touching his lips. "The first of many."

From the upper deck of the clubhouse overlooking the dock, Natalie and Emma stood watching the two of them.

"She's good for him, isn't she?" Natalie asked softly, taking a sip of her morning coffee.

"She doesn't want his money, Natalie," Emma replied, setting down her binoculars with a satisfied nod. "And more importantly, she doesn't flinch when he looks at her. She sees the man, not the reputation."