Chapter 8: The Morning After
The morning sun washed over the rolling green lawns of the Vance estate, casting a golden glow through the sheer white curtains of my bedroom.
I woke up feeling more rested than I had in years. There was no nagging anxiety in my chest, no dread about upcoming family dinners, and no pressure to shrink myself to fit into someone else's warped expectations.
I stretched slowly, gently rubbing my eight-month-pregnant belly as the baby gave a soft, reassuring morning kick.
After taking a long, luxurious shower, I slipped into a comfortable silk robe and walked down the grand staircase toward the sunroom, where my father usually enjoyed his morning coffee and the daily financial papers.
As I entered the sunroom, the rich scent of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries greeted me. My father was sitting
at a glass-topped table overlooking the gardens, turning the page of the morning paper.
"Good morning, sweetheart," my father said, looking up with a warm, affectionate smile. "Sleep well?"
"Like a rock," I replied, pulling out a chair and sitting down opposite him. I poured myself a cup of herbal tea from the silver pot. "How are things looking this morning?"
My father slid a freshly printed tablet across the table toward me. The headline on the screen of the financial news portal read:
DAVIS PHARMACEUTICALS COLLAPSES AMID FEDERAL FRAUD RAID; ASSETS FROZEN.
Below the headline was a smaller sub-heading: Sterling Arrested on Money Laundering Charges Following Grand Hotel Scandal.
I glanced over the article casually. It detailed the simultaneous raids on the Davis family corporate headquarters and residential properties, as well as Dominic’s overnight detainment for receiving illicit kickbacks through offshore shell companies. There was even a blurry photo of Chloe walking out of a downtown precinct wrapped in a designer coat, hiding her face from reporters.
I set the tablet down without a trace of sympathy in my heart.
"Well," I murmured, taking a sip of my tea. "That certainly escalated quickly."
"People who build their lives on sand tend to panic when the tide comes in," my father remarked calmly, taking a sip of his coffee. "Arthur informed me that Dominic’s defense attorney tried to file for bail this morning, but the judge denied it due to flight risk and the severity of the financial evidence."
"What about the divorce papers?" I asked.
"Our legal team filed the petition for an immediate, fault-based dissolution of marriage at 7:00 AM," my father replied smoothly. "Given the circumstances—including abandonment, public humiliation, and spousal complicity in financial crimes—it will be processed and finalized before the end of the week. You won't have to see him, talk to him, or ever deal with him again."
A profound sense of relief washed over me. It was as if a heavy anchor that I hadn't even realized I was dragging had finally been cut loose.
"Good," I said softly, resting both hands on my stomach. "Now I can focus on what actually matters."
"Speaking of what matters," my father said, his expression softening into a gentle, knowing smile as he reached across the table to pat my hand. "The nursery is almost finished. Your brother had the interior designers flown in from Milan last week. Wait until you see what they did with the color palette."
I laughed softly. "Dad, you and Jason are spoiling this baby before it's even born."
"That is the exclusive, legally mandated job of every grandfather and uncle in the Vance family," my father declared with a grin. "And don't you forget it."
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For the next hour, we sat together in the sunroom, talking about baby names, nursery designs, and the peaceful future ahead of us. For the first time in three years, I felt completely weightless, completely safe, and completely myself.
Little did I know, down in the city, an unexpected visitor was currently waiting at the front gates of the Vance estate, desperate for a chance to speak with me one last time.
