One Year Later

The morning sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the CEO’s office at Saint Claire Holdings.

Emily sat behind the massive glass desk, reviewing quarterly reports. She was wearing a stunning emerald green blazer, her hair sleek and sophisticated. She radiated quiet confidence. The shy, people-pleasing teacher she had been a year ago was gone. In her place was a formidable businesswoman who had just increased the company’s profit margin by twenty percent in her first year.

The intercom buzzed. “Ms. Saint Claire? Mr. Sterling is here to see you.”

Emily smiled warmly. “Send him in.”

The door opened, and Julian Sterling walked in. Julian was the brilliant, fiercely loyal lead attorney who had handled her divorce and corporate takeover. Over the past year, their professional relationship had slowly, beautifully blossomed into something deeper. He was everything Preston was not—kind, fiercely protective, honest, and completely unfazed by her power. In fact, he worshipped her for it.

Julian walked around the desk, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her cheek. “Good morning, Madam CEO. I bring gifts.”

He placed two things on her desk: a cup of her favorite artisanal coffee, and a sealed legal envelope.

“Coffee first,” Emily laughed, taking a sip. “What’s in the envelope?”

“The final update on your ex-husband,” Julian said, taking a seat opposite her, his eyes full of admiration. “I thought you might want closure.”

Emily opened the envelope. Inside was a report and a single photograph.

Preston Whitmore was currently serving a three-year sentence for aggravated assault with a deadly weapon and violation of a restraining order. The photograph showed him in an orange jumpsuit, looking aged, gaunt, and utterly defeated. The trust funds were gone. His father had disowned him to save face. He was nothing.

As for Vanessa, the report noted she had been seen working as a waitress in a rundown diner on the outskirts of Las Vegas, still trying to pay off the massive legal debt from Emily’s civil suit.

Emily looked at the photo for a long moment. She felt no anger. She felt no sadness. She felt absolutely nothing at all.

She slid the photo into the paper shredder beside her desk. The machine whirred, turning Preston Whitmore into confetti.

“Thank you, Julian,” Emily said, looking up at the handsome lawyer. “But I don’t really care about the past anymore.”

Just then, the office door swung open. Uncle Raymond walked in, carrying a babbling, happy one-year-old boy in his arms. Arthur Saint Claire was wearing a tiny suit, gnawing happily on his grandfather’s expensive silk tie.

“He demanded to see his mother,” Raymond grumbled, though his eyes were crinkling with absolute joy. “He is as stubborn as you.”

Emily’s face lit up entirely. She stood up, walking around the desk to take her son into her arms. Little Arthur giggled, grabbing his mother’s nose.

Julian stood up, wrapping a supportive arm around Emily’s waist, looking at her and the baby with pure, unadulterated love.