The silver tea tray trembled in my hands, the porcelain cups clinking together with a sharp, high-pitched ring that felt entirely too loud in the quiet tension of the grand foyer.

Two months later, the rain had given way to the crisp, bright sunshine of an early Chicago spring.

The estate off Old Hickory Boulevard no longer felt like a fortress hiding dark secrets. The subterranean vaults had been permanently sealed by order of the federal district court, the dark historical records handed over to state historians, and the tainted assets liquidated into a charitable trust bearing Julian Valente’s name.

In the grand garden behind the manor, the cherry blossoms were in full bloom, painting the lawn in delicate shades of pink and white.

I sat at a wrought-iron table on the terrace, sipping coffee from a Georgian silver cup—not because it was required by paperwork, but because the morning sun felt warm and good on my face.

Inside the bright, sun-drenched playroom of the north wing, Amara sat at her new mahogany desk, carefully practicing her calligraphy with a gold-nibbed fountain pen that Roman had gifted her for her straight-A report card.

The front double doors of the manor opened, and Roman walked out onto the terrace.

He wore a dark blue suit, his tie neatly knotted, his stride confident and unburdened by the ghosts of his family's past. He stopped beside my table, setting a small, official-looking document down beside my coffee cup.

I picked it up, raising an eyebrow. "What's this?"

"A revised estate contract," Roman said, pulling out the chair opposite me and sitting down. "Effective today, your title is no longer executive secretary or private coordinator."

I looked up at him, a faint smile playing at my lips. "Oh? And what title have I been promoted to now?"

"Partner," Roman said simply, his dark eyes meeting mine with an unwavering, undeniable warmth. "In the estate, in the foundation, and—if you're willing to give an old corporate cynic a second chance—in everything else as well."

I looked down at the document, then out across the sprawling green lawns where the heavy iron gates had long since been removed, replaced by open stone pillars that welcomed the world in without fear.

"It's a big house, Roman," I said softly, looking back up at him.

"It is," he agreed, reaching across the table to take my hand in his. "Which is why it's a good thing we finally opened all the doors."