"Change it," he says quietly.
"The whole thing?" I ask, my heart giving a sudden, erratic thump. "I can tear up the floors? I can repaint the walls?"
"You are the architect, Audrey." He leans down, his mouth hovering inches from mine. "Tear it all down. Build whatever you want."
I smile, my hands reaching up to grip the collar of his t-shirt.
"I’m going to buy a ridiculous amount of throw pillows," I warn him.
"I will endure it."
He kisses me. It is a promise. It is the end of the war, and the beginning of the rest of our lives.
The doorbell buzzes loudly, echoing through the foyer.
We pull back.
"That will be Vivian," Malcolm murmurs, his thumb brushing against my lower lip. "Are you ready to go to work, boss?"
"I'm ready," I say.
I turn around, leaving the duffel bag on the floor, and walk toward the front door to let my lawyer in.
The Vance empire is ashes. But standing in the center of the penthouse, looking at the man I love and the space I am about to rebuild, I know exactly what comes next.
We rise.
CHAPTER 32
AUDREY
I pull the heavy oak door open.
Vivian is standing in the hallway, holding a sleek leather briefcase and two massive cups of iced coffee. She is wearing a sharp navy suit, her hair pulled back into a severe bun that screams 'corporate litigation'. She looks exactly like the kind of lawyer you hire when you are about to build an empire.
She takes one look at me, standing in the doorway wearing faded jeans and Malcolm’s oversized white shirt, and rolls her eyes.
"You look entirely too happy for a woman who was technically homeless a month ago," Vivian says, pushing past me into the foyer. She hands me one of the coffees. "I brought caffeine. You’re going to need it to read the fine print I drafted."
"I missed you too, Viv," I say, laughing as I close the door.
Vivian walks into the living room, her heels clicking sharply against the concrete floor. She stops in the center of the room, looking around the massive, minimalist space. Her eyes land on the three mustard yellow pillows currently ruining the aesthetic of the charcoal sofa.
She points at them. "Are those yours?"
"They add textural warmth," I reply defensively, taking a sip of the iced coffee.
"They look like a cry for help." Vivian turns her attention to the kitchen.
Malcolm is standing by the island. He hasn't moved since the doorbell rang. He is watching Vivian with the same calm, analytical expression he uses to evaluate security threats, though the tension in his shoulders is entirely absent.
"Malcolm," Vivian says, giving him a curt, professional nod.
"Vivian," he replies smoothly. "I assume you brought the incorporation documents."
"I brought the documents, the tax ID registration, and the preliminary lease agreement for the commercial space in the West Loop." Vivian walks over to the marble counter, setting her briefcase down. She pops the brass latches and pulls out a thick stack of paper. "I also drafted a standard operating agreement, though since Audrey is the sole proprietor, it’s mostly a formality."
I walk over to the island, standing next to Malcolm.
