Chapter 9 - The Letters from Chicago
Six months later.
The summer sun shone brightly over the private terrace of the Villano Estate in Lake Forest, Illinois.
Mireia sat at an outdoor wrought-iron table, sipping iced tea, looking over a stack of international architectural reports for a new public historical museum she was personally funding in downtown Chicago.
Beside her, a thick leather portfolio lay open, containing update letters sent from her legal team in Chicago.
She picked up the top report.
Arthur Dalton had been sentenced three weeks ago to thirty-five years in a federal maximum-security penitentiary in Colorado without the possibility of parole. His health was failing, his assets had been entirely liquidated to pay restitution to the Crescent Trust, and he spent his days in a six-by-eight concrete cell, forgotten by the high society he had sacrificed his soul to impress.
Caleb Vance’s trial had ended in a conviction for corporate fraud and insider trading. He was currently serving an eight-year sentence at a state correctional facility.
The report noted that Caleb had attempted to send three letters to Mireia from prison, begging for an interview, claiming he was deeply remorseful and asking if she could find it in her heart to reduce his financial restitution penalties.
Mireia didn't open the letters.
She picked up a brass lighter from the table, struck the flame, and held the corner of the envelope over an ashtray.
The paper caught fire quickly, curling into black ash, blowing away in the gentle summer breeze.
Alyssa had chosen a different path. After the collapse of the Vance alliance, Alyssa had resigned from her father’s social circles, used a modest inheritance from her grandmother to enroll in a medical research program in California, and had sent Mireia a simple, heartfelt postcard three weeks ago:
“I am so sorry for the pain my presence caused in your life, Mireia. I am finally building my own path. I hope one day you can forgive me. I love you.”
Mireia had replied with a short, gentle letter, wishing her sister peace, closing that chapter of her life with grace and finality.
The terrace doors opened.
Darius stepped out onto the lawn, wearing a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, looking relaxed, powerful, and impeccably handsome. In his arms, he carried their three-month-old golden retriever puppy, who was frantically wiggling to get down and chase the butterflies on the grass.
Mireia laughed—a warm, radiant sound that echoed across the sunny garden.
“Darius, you’re spoiling him!” she called out, shaking her head fondly.
Darius set the puppy down on the grass, watching as it tumbled clumsily over a flowerbed, before walking over to the table and leaning down to press a warm kiss against Mireia’s lips.
May you like
“A Villano dog deserves the best, my queen,” Darius teased softly, pulling a chair beside her and wrapping his arm around her shoulders.
Mireia rested her head against his broad chest, listening to the steady, strong rhythm of his heartbeat—the sound that had become her anchor, her home, her sanctuary.
