Read on to the next chapter and find out what happens next.

-11-

The invitation arrived in a heavy, cream-colored envelope bearing an unfamiliar wax seal on a crisp Monday morning in January.

I was at my office desk reviewing marketing projections when Chloe dropped the mail into my outbox tray, raising an eyebrow.

“This came via specialized courier,” Chloe said. “No return address, but the stationary matches old Vance family estate paper stock.”

I picked up the heavy envelope, turning it over in my hands. The wax seal was a stylized monogram—the original crest of the Vance family patriarch, a crest Eleanor Vance had used to brand every legal document and social decree that passed through her hands.

Using a letter opener, I sliced open the flap and pulled out a single sheet of thick, cream-colored cardstock. The handwriting was shaky, written in heavy black ink by an aging hand that had clearly lost its former steady authority.

Clara,

I do not expect your forgiveness. I do not even expect you to finish reading this letter.

My son has chosen his path, and my empire has fractured precisely as my pride deserved. But before I leave New York permanently for my estate in Newport, there is a truth you are owed—not from Julian, and not from the corporate auditors.

Victoria acted with my tacit approval five years ago. But the initiative was hers. She poisoned my fears against you because she coveted the Vance estate for herself long before Julian and you ever parted ways. I was a foolish, arrogant old woman who believed bloodlines mattered more than character. I have paid for that arrogance with my family.

I wish you well with your children. They have your spirit.

— Eleanor Vance.

I stared at the letter for a long, silent minute. There were no apologies asking for redemption. No pleas for visitation with her grandchildren. Just a cold, Stark admission of defeat from a woman who had spent her entire life ruling an ivory tower only to die in its ruins.

I folded the letter neatly, placed it back into the envelope, and slid it into the bottom drawer of my desk, locking it away permanently.

There was no triumph in reading it. Only closure. The chapter was closed. The book was finished.

The intercom on my desk chimed softly.

“Clara,” Chloe’s voice came through. “Julian is on line one. He says the school called—Noah managed to dismantle the classroom hamster cage to see how the door latch works.”