Chapter 13
The guest cottage at the edge of the sprawling estate was a world away from the echoing marble halls of the main mansion. Nestled beneath a canopy of ancient oaks and weeping willows, the small stone structure smelled of cedarwood, old books, and damp earth. There were no crystal chandeliers here, no priceless art collections, and no security cameras monitoring every breath. Just a modest hearth, a wooden kitchen table, and a set of windows that looked out over the wild, untamed meadows sloping down toward the coastline.
Julian carried the last of their cardboard boxes through the front door, setting it down on the pine floorboards with a dull thud. He wiped a stray lock of hair from his forehead, his maroon velvet tuxedo jacket long since donated to a charity shop along with the trappings of his old life. He wore a simple flannel shirt and jeans, feeling lighter than he had in his entire life.
Rebecca was busy unpacking the kitchenware, placing ceramic mugs onto a small wooden shelf with deliberate care. She turned as Julian walked back into the small living area, offering him a warm, genuine smile that reached her dark eyes.
“It’s quiet,” Rebecca observed, listening to the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocky shore below. “No phones ringing, no lawyers at the gates, no secret cameras.”
“It’s ours,” Julian replied, walking over and wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Every square inch of this place. No foundation oversight, no family trusts, no conditions attached.”
The transition hadn't been easy. The legal fallout from the D.A.’s investigation into the Geneva insurance fraud and Arthur Sterling’s collusion was ongoing, dominating the financial news headlines across the country. Beatrice Vance remained a fugitive in Zurich, her name a toxic wasteland in corporate circles. But here, tucked away at the edge of the world, the noise of high society couldn't reach them.
“Marcus checked in an hour ago,” Julian continued softly. “He decided to take early retirement. Bought a small boat down in Maine. Said he’s finally going to learn how to fish.”
Rebecca chuckled, leaning back against Julian’s chest. “Good for him. He earned every bit of that peace.”
She turned in his embrace, looking up into his face. The shadows of stress and fear that had haunted them since the gala had vanished, replaced by a quiet, steady confidence in their future.
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“So,” Rebecca said, her voice teasingly light. “Mr. Vance, what does a fallen aristocrat do for a living when he doesn't have a corporate trust fund to fall back on?”
Julian smiled, kissing the top of her head. “Well, I hear there’s an opening for a competent consultant down at the local maritime registry. And I’m told the coffee downtown is much better than anything my mother ever served.”
