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The sound of sirens began to wail outside, echoing the metallic scream of the prison gates from that morning.
The police didn’t come for the woman in the bruised-blue dress. They moved past me, their heavy boots thudding on the carpet. They headed straight for the man in the Italian suit.
“Marcus Thorne, you are under arrest for embezzlement, fraud, and conspiracy to commit perjury,” the lead officer stated.
As they clicked the handcuffs onto his wrists—the same cold steel I had worn for two years—I stepped closer. I reached out and adjusted his silk tie, straightening it one last time.
“You told me a woman in a cage should learn obedience,” I said, my voice a soft caress. “I learned something better, Marcus. I learned how to wait.”
He was dragged out, shouting, his “cedar-scented” world collapsing into the rain-slicked pavement. Vivian was sobbing, the “perfect tears” now messy and ugly as she was also escorted away for questioning.
I stood in the center of the ballroom. People were staring, some with pity, most with awe. I ignored them all. I picked up a glass of the vintage champagne Marcus had ordered for his victory.
I took a sip. It was cold. It was crisp. It tasted like the first breath of air outside the gate.
Celeste walked up beside me. “What now, Elena? You have the company. You have the money. You have your name back.”
I looked out the window at the storm. The rain was still falling, but it no longer looked like a black mirror. It looked like a cleansing.
“Now,” I said, setting the glass down on the podium where the merger contract lay unsigned. “I’m going to go home. And I’m going to sleep with the door unlocked.”
I walked out of the gala, leaving the ghosts behind. The 730 days were over. The sun was going to rise tomorrow, and for the first time in two years, I wouldn’t be counting the minutes until it set.
I was Elena Thorne. And I was finally, truly, free.