Julian tried to run. He scrambled off the stage, pushing past his own PR team, but the reporters swarmed him like piranhas.
"Mr. Thorne, is it true you planned to have Ms. Harding institutionalized?"
"What about the animal cruelty charges?"
"Was the entire engagement a fraud?"
He shoved a camera out of his way and bolted for a side exit, a coward fleeing the fire he had started.
Edlyn stood there. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might explode. Through the earpiece, Weaver's voice was like ice. "Leave now, Ms. Harding. The east exit. A car is waiting."
She turned and walked away from the chaos. No one tried to stop her. They were too busy devouring Julian.
She walked through the heavy doors onto the street. The cool autumn air hit her.
She was alone.
The black town car was waiting at the curb, just as Weaver had said. She slid into the back seat.
Camden was there. He wasn't looking at his phone this time. He was looking at her. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were intense.
"Is it done?" he asked.
"It's done," she whispered.
The car pulled away from the curb, leaving the media circus behind. They drove in silence for several blocks. The adrenaline began to fade, leaving her feeling hollowed out and shaking.
He must have seen her trembling. He reached over and took the tablet from her lap, where she had been clutching it with white knuckles.
"You did not need to be there," he said. It wasn't an accusation. It was a statement of fact.
"Yes, I did," she said, finding her voice. "I needed to see it."
He looked at her, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. He leaned forward and spoke to the driver. "Take us to the gallery."
Edlyn looked at him, confused. "The gallery is closed."
"Not for you," he said. "Not anymore."
The car pulled up in front of the Harding Gallery. The lights were off, the doors locked. Camden made a call. A minute later, a security guard hurried out and unlocked the heavy oak doors.
They walked inside. The air smelled of oil paint, turpentine, and memories. Her parents' portraits hung in the main hall, their smiling faces looking down at her.
Edlyn stopped in front of her mother's portrait. She looked so alive, her eyes full of the same fire she sometimes felt in herself.
"Your uncle and aunt have signed the transfer documents," Camden said, his voice softer than she had ever heard it. "It's yours now. All of it."
Tears welled in her eyes. She had fought so hard, for so long, in silence. And now, it was over.
A single tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. Before she could wipe it away, a hand reached out. Camden's thumb brushed against her skin, catching the tear. His touch was surprisingly gentle.
The gesture was so unexpected, so out of character, it made her breath hitch.
He pulled his hand back quickly, as if he'd been burned. He cleared his throat and stepped away, the distance between them restored.
"Sunday," he said, his voice back to its usual cool monotone. "Dinner at my family's estate. Be ready."
