Chapter 4

The fall was swift. And public.

Ethan Vanderbilt, arrested.

Flashbulbs. Shouted questions. A media frenzy.

Charges: corporate fraud, conspiracy.

And then, whispers of more serious charges pending. Obstruction of justice. Possible involvement in the disappearance of a John Doe, a mugger from years ago.

The Vanderbilt empire, shaken to its core.

Victoria' s carefully constructed world, crumbling.

Before his trial, a request came through his lawyer.

Ethan wanted to see me.

Liam was hesitant. "You don't have to, Sarah."

"I know," I said. "But I think... I think I need to."

For closure. For myself.

I wouldn't go alone.

Liam was by my side when I walked into that sterile meeting room.

Ethan looked... broken.

The arrogance, the haunted intensity, all gone.

Replaced by a hollow-eyed despair.

He didn't try to touch me. He didn't plead.

He just looked at me, and then at Liam.

"I'm sorry, Sarah," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "For everything. I see it now. What I did. Who I became. I was... I was a monster."

It was the first apology that felt real. Devoid of manipulation.

"I forgive you, Ethan," I said, and the words felt true, releasing a burden I hadn't realized I was still carrying. "For my own peace, I forgive you."

He nodded, a tear tracing a path down his cheek.

"I'm getting married," I told him, my voice gentle but firm. "To Liam."

I placed a simple wedding invitation on the table between us.

Not a taunt. A symbol.

Of my new life. My new beginning.

His eyes flickered to it, then back to me. A universe of regret in that gaze.

"I hope... I hope you'll be happy," he choked out.

"I already am," I said softly.

Liam took my hand, and we left.

The trial was a spectacle.

Ethan Vanderbilt, convicted. A significant prison sentence.

He was left with nothing but his regrets and the echoing silence of his cell.

Victoria Vanderbilt, disgraced. The family empire, diminished, tarnished.

She fought, of course, with lawyers and PR, but the damage was too deep. The Vanderbilt name was now synonymous with scandal and ruin.

Isabelle Harrington, having unleashed her revenge, faded into obscurity.

Her family' s fortunes were crippled, her own future uncertain. She had her pound of flesh, but it left her empty.

Chad and Tiffany, the cruel socialites from the gala, were long forgotten, their own minor dramas eclipsed by the Vanderbilt implosion. They were irrelevant, footnotes in a story that had moved far beyond them.

Months later.

The Californian sun warmed the sand.

The Pacific Ocean whispered at the shore.

An intimate wedding. Close friends. Family.

Liam stood beside me, his eyes full of love, his hand steady in mine.

My art, it was still evolving.

The shadows were still there, a testament to the past.

But now, they were balanced by a profound light, a quiet strength, an unshakeable hope.

Liam slipped a new locket around my neck.

Not silver. Gold. Simple, elegant.

Inside, not a portrait from the past, but a tiny, abstract engraving he' d designed himself.

A symbol of us. Of new memories to be made.

Of a future built on trust, on genuine love, on shared dreams.

"Echoes in Sterling" had been about reclaiming a lost past.

My life now, with Liam, was about composing a new song.

A song of healing. A song of joy.

The ghosts of New York still whispered sometimes, in the quiet hours of the night.

But their voices were fainter now.

Drowned out by the steady, comforting rhythm of the waves, and the beating of a heart that had finally, truly, found its way home.