The chaos was absolute.
Reporters had breached the security line.
Flashes were popping like strobes in a nightclub.
Elmore was trying to grab the microphone, but the sound guy-Basile's plant-had cut the feed.
Celeste walked back to Basile.
She placed a hand on his arm.
"Let him up," she said. "He's not worth dirtying your shoes."
Basile looked at her.
He slowly removed his foot from Bryce's chest.
Bryce scrambled backward, crab-walking away from them, gasping for air.
Celeste turned to the crowd.
She didn't need a microphone anymore.
The acoustics of the church carried her voice.
"Since we're all here," she said. "I have one more announcement."
She signaled the booth again.
The screen changed one last time.
A PDF document appeared.
It was stark. Official.
The Seal of the City of New York.
Certificate of Marriage.
Groom: Basile Delgado.
Bride: Celeste Franco.
Date: September 12th.
The gasp this time was louder than the one for the affair.
This wasn't just scandal.
This was business.
This was war.
Elmore stared at the screen.
His eyes bulged.
He did the math instantly.
The trust fund.
The grandmother's clause.
Upon marriage, Celeste Franco gains full control of her 15% stake.
"You..." Elmore pointed a shaking finger at her. "You gave him the shares?"
"I kept my shares, Father," Celeste said coldly. "But I merged my voting rights."
She leaned into Basile.
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
It was a protective, possessive weight.
"Meet the new majority shareholder block of Franco Group," Celeste said.
A lawyer in a dark suit walked out from the sacristy.
It was Vance, Basile's head counsel.
He handed a stack of papers to Elmore.
"You've been served, Mr. Franco," Vance said cheerfully. "Audit starts Monday morning."
Elmore clutched his chest.
Ophelia was fanning herself, looking like she might faint for real this time.
Daniela was sobbing on the floor, her white dress stained with dirt.
Bryce was still on the ground, staring at the marriage certificate like it was his death warrant.
It was.
Celeste looked at the tableau of destruction.
She felt... light.
The crushing weight that had been on her chest since she woke up in the sanitarium was gone.
"I think we're done here," she said to Basile.
"Agreed," he said.
He took off his suit jacket.
He draped it over her shoulders.
It was warm.
It smelled like him.
"Let's go home, wife," he said.
He emphasized the word.
Wife.
They turned and walked back down the aisle.
The guests parted like the Red Sea.
No one dared to stop them.
No one dared to speak.
They walked out into the sunlight.
The air was fresh.
Celeste took a deep breath.
She had burned her life to the ground.
And from the ashes, she was going to build an empire.
