At our final wedding planning lunch in Manhattan I made the mistake of telling the waitress my future husband hated olives and could she please take them away, and Ethan turned to me with that cold, polished charm he used on everyone and said in a low, dangerous voice: Don’t ever call me your future husband again—we’re only engaged, don’t make it sound so final.

We ran to the hospital.

Dad was awake.

His eyes were open.

He was a little confused, his speech still slurred on the left side, but he was there.

He smiled when he saw us.

“Hey,” he said, rough. “Did we win?”

I laughed, crying, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding his hand.

“We won, Daddy,” I said. “We won everything.”

I told him everything.

The warehouse. The hard drive. The board meeting. Arthur’s arrest. Mom’s speech. Brooke’s deal.

He listened, his eyes getting wider and wider. When I finished, he looked at my mom.

“You threatened the board?” he said, grinning.

Eleanor sat down next to him, took his other hand.

“I did,” she said. “And I’d do it again. They were going to take our daughter’s company. Our family’s company. No one does that to a Voss.”

Roland laughed, then winced, his side hurting.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said, serious now. “About the affair. 15 years ago. I knew.”

Mom froze.

“What?” she said.

“I knew,” he said. “I found the photo in your purse a week after it happened. I was furious. I was heartbroken. I was going to file for divorce the next day. But then I watched you with Clara. At her 13th birthday party. You were so happy. So perfect. And I realized… I loved you more than I hated the mistake. I knew you’d never do it again. I knew it was just one stupid night. So I never said anything. I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to lose our family.”

Tears streamed down Mom’s face.

“You knew?” she whispered. “All this time? You knew and you never said anything?”

“I loved you,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I still do. More than anything.”

She leaned down and kissed him.

“I love you too,” she said. “So much. I’m so sorry. I’ve been so sorry for 15 years.”

They held each other, crying, while Javi and Brooke and I quietly slipped out of the room to give them privacy.

We stood in the hallway, looking out the window at the city below.

“Wow,” Brooke said, breaking the silence. “That was… a lot.”

Javi laughed.

“Tell me about it,” he said.

He turned to me.

“So,” he said. “Now what? You’re CEO of a billion-dollar company. Your family is whole again. The bad guys are in prison. You have everything you ever wanted.”

I looked at him.

At the scar on his eyebrow.

At the warm brown eyes I’d never stopped loving.

“Not everything,” I said.

He smiled, that lopsided smile that used to make my knees weak.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Yeah,” I said. “I still have to make it up to you. For leaving you. For not trusting you. For being an idiot for six years.”

He stepped closer, so close I could feel his breath on my face.

“You can start,” he said, “by going to dinner with me tonight. Just us. No board meetings. No blackmailers. No cops. Just you and me. Like old times.”

“I’d like that,” I said.

He kissed me.

Soft.

Gentle.

Just like the first time he’d kissed me, on the rooftop of our dorm, 10 years ago.

It was perfect.

A week later, Ethan and James were denied bail.

The DA said they were a flight risk, and the evidence against them was overwhelming. They were looking at 35 years each, no parole.

Arthur Hale took a plea deal, testified against them to get his sentence reduced to 10 years. He lost everything. His house. His money. His reputation.

Brooke started at the foundation. She was good at it. Really good. She raised twice as much money in her first month as the last director had in a year. She went to GA meetings every week. She never gambled again.

Dad came home from the hospital.

He was in a wheelchair, his left side still weak, his speech still a little slurred, but he was getting better every day. He came into the office three days a week, sat in on meetings, gave me advice, taught me everything he knew.

Mom started her own charity, helping women who’d been blackmailed and abused, helping them get their lives back. She was happier than I’d ever seen her.

And me?

I was CEO of Voss Global.

I changed the company.

Made it more transparent. More fair. More human.

We raised salaries. We expanded parental leave. We donated 10 percent of all profits to charity.

The stock hit an all-time high.

Life was good.

Almost perfect.

Then, three months later, I got a letter.