"Thank you, Viv," Audrey says, taking the flowers.
We take the private elevator down to the secure garage. Grant is waiting by the open door of the SUV. He gives Audrey a polite nod, his eyes scanning the perimeter of the concrete structure before he gets into the driver’s seat.
The ride to the courthouse is quiet.
I don't look out the window. I look at Audrey. She is sitting next to me, her hand resting on my thigh, her thumb tracing the line of my trouser leg. She isn't shaking. She isn't calculating exits. She is just sitting in the quiet, climate-controlled space, completely at peace.
When we arrive at the courthouse, Grant navigates the vehicle to the secure underground entrance reserved for judges and high-profile defendants. The media is entirely absent.
We walk through the metal detectors and take the freight elevator up to the third floor.
The judge’s chambers are small, smelling of old paper and lemon polish. The judge is an older woman with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor. She doesn't ask questions about the lack of guests or the heavy security presence outside her door. She simply points to the two chairs in front of her desk.
"Malcolm Vance and Audrey Jennings," the judge says, adjusting her reading glasses as she looks at the paperwork Vivian handed her. "You are here of your own free will, without coercion or duress?"
"Yes," I say.
"Yes," Audrey echoes, her voice clear and steady.
"Very well." The judge looks up. "Do you have the rings?"
I reach into my pocket and pull out the black velvet box. I open it, taking out the smaller of the two platinum bands.
I turn to face Audrey.
She turns toward me, handing the bouquet of lilies to Vivian. She holds out her left hand. The vintage diamond is still there, heavy and brilliant, but it is no longer the focal point.
I take her hand. Her fingers are warm.
"I don't have vows," I say quietly, my voice dropping to a register meant only for her. "I don't have promises that sound like poetry."
"I don't want poetry," she whispers, her eyes locked on mine.
"I know." I slide the platinum band onto her finger, pushing it flush against the vintage diamond. "I am a ruthless man, Audrey. I will always be a ruthless man. But I am yours.Completely. Irrevocably. I will burn the world down to keep you safe, and I will build it back up just to watch you rule it."
Audrey’s breath hitches. A single tear spills over her lashes, but she doesn't wipe it away. She smiles, a fierce, devastating expression that completely ruins my remaining defenses.
She takes the second platinum band from the box.
She holds my left hand, her thumb brushing over my knuckles.
"You don't have to burn the world down anymore, Malcolm," she murmurs, sliding the ring onto my finger. The metal is cold, but the weight of it feels like an anchor. "You just have to come home to me."
My chest tightens, a physical ache that has absolutely nothing to do with pain.
"By the power vested in me by the State of Illinois," the judge says, her voice cutting through the heavy intimacy of the moment, "I pronounce you husband and wife."
I don't wait for the instruction to kiss the bride.
I pull Audrey flush against my chest, my hands wrapping around her waist, and kiss her with a desperate, absolute finality. She tangles her fingers in my hair, kissing me back with the same fierce devotion.
The contract is dead. The Vance empire is ashes.
But as I hold my wife in the quiet chambers of the courthouse, I know the truth.
We didn't just survive the war.
We won.
