Arthur looked down at me gently. “He won’t give up easily, Nora. He has millions behind him.”
I looked down at the soda can pull tab still resting on my ring finger, then at the bright red silk of Lily’s dress.
“Neither will I,” I said quietly.
Final: The Masterpiece Kept
Three weeks later, the morning sun broke over the historic district of downtown Chicago.
I stood on the sidewalk across from a two-story brick building nestled between gleaming modern skyscrapers. The windows were dusty, and the old painted sign above the entrance read: The Oak Tailor — J. Vance, Est. 1974.
Beside me stood Arthur Pendelton and a small team of historic preservation architects.
Caleb’s legal team had tried everything over the past twenty-one days—filing temporary restraining orders, contesting the marriage validity, and offering massive off-the-books cash settlements to buy me out. But Julian’s legal defense was an impenetrable fortress. Every psychiatric evaluation was flawless, every signature legally binding.
