I look down at the stack of paper. The bold, black letters at the top of the first page read:Articles of Incorporation: Apex Architecture, LLC.
My throat tightens.
Four weeks ago, I sat in a cheap hotel bar, calculating the cost of a martini olive, convinced my life was completely over. Simon had taken my firm. He had taken my savings. He had taken the last four years of my life and handed them to a receptionist who communicated via TikTok dances.
I reach out, my fingers brushing against the edge of the paper.
"It’s real," I whisper.
"It’s legally binding the second you sign it," Vivian corrects me, pulling a silver pen from her briefcase. She holds it out to me. "I reviewed the capital investment structure Malcolm proposed. It’s clean. He’s providing the seed money as a silent partner. He has no voting rights, no board seat, and no claim to the intellectual property. You own it, Audrey. One hundred percent."
I take the pen. The metal is cool against my fingers.
I look at Malcolm. He is watching me, his dark eyes steady and completely devoid of the controlling edge that used to define every interaction we had. He isn't trying to manage me. He is just standing there, waiting for me to build my own house.
"You really don't want a board seat?" I ask him, a faint, teasing smile touching my lips. "I thought you liked telling people what to do."
"I only like telling people what to do when they are incompetent," he replies mildly. "You are not incompetent. I expect you to handle the board meetings without my supervision."
"I’ll send you the minutes."
I look down at the paper. I don't hesitate. I press the pen to the signature line and sign my name.
The ink sets.
I am not the girl Simon threw away anymore. I am the CEO of Apex Architecture.
Vivian lets out a long, satisfied exhale, taking the paper and sliding it back into her briefcase. "Congratulations, boss. You are officially back in business. Now, about the commercial space in the West Loop..."
"I already reviewed the floor plan," Malcolm interrupts smoothly. "The structural integrity of the building is sound, but the security perimeter is weak. The rear loading dock lacks adequate surveillance, and the biometric locks on the main entrance need to be upgraded."
Vivian stares at him. "It’s an architecture firm, Malcolm, not a nuclear silo."
"It is Audrey’s firm," he corrects her, his tone leaving no room for argument. "It will be secure."
I laugh, leaning my side against his arm. "Let him upgrade the locks, Viv. It gives him something to do while he’s unemployed."
Vivian rolls her eyes, snapping her briefcase shut. "Fine. But I am not billing the client for military-grade security cameras. That comes out of your pocket, Vance."
"I will cover the invoice," Malcolm says.
"Good." Vivian picks up her coffee, taking a long drink. She looks at me, her expression softening slightly. "I have to get back to the office. I have a deposition at three. But... I’m proud of you, Audrey. Seriously."
"Thanks to you," I say, walking her toward the front door. "I couldn't have done this without you."
"You could have," Vivian says, stopping in the foyer. She glances back at the kitchen, where Malcolm is already looking at the blueprints I left on the counter. "But having a billionaire attack dog on your side definitely sped up the process."
I smile, opening the door for her. "He’s not an attack dog. He’s just thorough."
"He’s terrifying," Vivian corrects me. "But he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world, so I’ll allow it. Call me tomorrow. We need to talk about the wedding."
She doesn't wait for me to respond. She walks out, her heels clicking down the hallway toward the elevator.
I close the door, leaning my back against the heavy oak.
The wedding.
We haven't talked about it. We haven't talked about dates, or venues, or guest lists. Since the night in the safe house, we have been entirely focused on the fallout of the Vance empire and the rebuilding of my firm. The engagement is real, the ring is real, but the actual logistics of getting married have been pushed to the background.
