Chapter 10 - A Crown of Our Own
Two months later.
Christmas Eve had blanketed Chicago in a pristine layer of white powder. Snow fell gently outside the tall, arched windows of the grand dining hall at the Voss Estate, muffling the world in a peaceful, magical hush.
Inside, the great stone fireplace roared with crackling birch logs, filling the room with the sweet scent of woodsmoke, roasted chestnuts, and cinnamon. A massive fourteen-foot balsam fir tree stood in the corner, draped in antique gold ribbons, warm fairy lights, and hundreds of crystal ornaments.
Laughter and the clinking of champagne flutes filled the warm air.
At the head of the long mahogany dining table sat Helena Voss, looking radiant in a regal emerald velvet gown, wearing the famous Voss heirloom pearl necklace she hadn't worn in twenty years.
Beside her sat my mother, Sarah.
My mother looked ten years younger. Her cheeks were pink with vitality, her gray hair styled beautifully, her laugh ringing out clear and strong as she traded jokes with Julian, who sat to her right wearing a festive red silk tie over his crisp dress shirt.
"I still say Sarah makes better apple pie than the estate chef," Helena announced loudly, wagging a fork at Adrian. "Your chef uses too much cardamom, Adrian. Sarah uses brown butter and cinnamon. It’s an undeniable triumph."
"I will personally fire the chef and hire Sarah tomorrow if it keeps you from complaining, Grandmother," Adrian replied dryly from the foot of the table.
"Don't you dare," my mother laughed, swatting at Adrian’s arm affectionately. "I'm retired, Mr. Voss. My only job now is spoiling my daughter and beating your grandmother at canasta."
"Which you did twice this morning," Helena grumbled good-naturedly, raising her glass. "A fluke. Tomorrow I demand a rematch."
I sat beside Adrian, my hand resting warmly in his lap under the linen tablecloth. His fingers were laced tightly with mine, his thumb drawing slow, rhythmic circles against the back of my hand.
I looked around the table—at my mother, alive and thriving; at Helena, smiling with genuine joy; at Julian and the household staff, treated not as hired subordinates, but as family gathered for a holiday feast.
Six months ago, I was counting pennies on a sticky restaurant counter, terrified of tomorrow, wondering if my mother would survive the winter.
Now, I was surrounded by warmth, safety, and an abundance of love I hadn't dared to dream of.
"Come with me," Adrian whispered into my ear, his breath warm against my neck.
He stood up, excusing us from the table. Helena gave us a knowing, mischievous wink, while my mother beamed with quiet pride.
Adrian led me out of the dining hall, through the gallery, and out onto the stone terrace overlooking the lake.
The cold night air hit us, crisp and invigorating. Snowflakes drifted down lazily through the darkness, melting as soon as they touched our skin. Below the bluff, Lake Michigan was still, its black waters reflecting the twinkling Christmas lights of the Gold Coast skyline in the distance.
Adrian had placed a heavy shearling coat over my shoulders to keep me warm. He stood behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling my back flush against his chest. I leaned my head against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar, intoxicating scent of cedarwood, winter air, and him.
"What are you thinking about?" he murmured, resting his cheek against my hair.
"About the day we met," I smiled, watching the snowflakes tumble through the terrace lanterns. "You were sitting in that shadowed corner looking like the devil himself. I was so angry at you."
"I remember," Adrian chuckled softly, the sound vibrating pleasantly against my back. "You walked right up to me, looked me in the eye, and told me my power was useless if I didn't use it to help people."
"You looked like you wanted to throw me out the window."
"I looked like that because you terrified me, Sophie," he admitted, turning me around in his arms so I was facing him.
The warm lantern light caught the contours of his face, softening every harsh angle, highlighting the fierce, unconditional devotion shining in his stormy gray eyes.
"All my life, I believed that love was a weakness," Adrian said, his voice dropping into a register of pure, unadorned reverence. "I thought that caring about someone gave the world a knife to plunge into your back. So I built an empire of stone, steel, and fear. But then you walked in. You showed me that real power isn't the ability to destroy. Real power is the courage to heal. The strength to protect. The will to love without reservation."
He reached into his jacket pocket.
Slowly, deliberately, Adrian Voss—the man before whom senators, billionaires, and syndicate kings had bowed—sank onto one knee in the falling snow.
My breath hitched. Tears sprang instantly to my eyes, hot and shimmering.
He opened a velvet box. Resting inside was a ring of breathtaking beauty: an exquisite, flawless emerald-cut diamond flanked by two deep green emeralds, set in platinum filigree that mirrored the iron gates of our estate.
"Sophie Carter," Adrian said, his deep voice carrying a slight, beautiful tremor. "You saved my family. You saved my life. And you gave me a reason to be a man worth saving. Will you do me the absolute honor of becoming my wife?"
The tears spilled over my cheeks, but my smile was blinding.
I dropped to my knees in the snow right in front of him, throwing my arms around his neck, burying my face against his warm throat.
"Yes," I sobbed, laughing through my tears. "Yes, Adrian! A thousand times yes!"
Adrian let out a breathless, triumphant laugh, lifting me into his arms as he rose, spinning me around on the snow-covered terrace while the winter wind swirled the white flakes around us like confetti.
He slid the ring onto my finger—a perfect fit—and cupped my face with his warm, strong hands, bringing his lips down onto mine in a kiss that tasted of snow, cedar, and forever.
Behind us, the French doors of the terrace burst open.
Helena, my mother, and Julian stood in the doorway, raising champagne glasses into the crisp winter night, their cheers and applause echoing out over the frozen bluffs.
"I knew it!" Helena cheered, pumping her glass in the air. "Sarah, you owe me twenty dollars!"
My mother laughed, wiping a tear from her own eye. "I'll pay you in apple pie, Helena!"
Adrian looked down at me, his forehead resting against mine, his gray eyes shining with an endless, peaceful dawn.
"Welcome home, Mrs. Voss," he whispered.
May you like
I looked out over the sparkling city, then back into the eyes of the man who had traded his empire of shadows for a life of light.
"I'm already home, Adrian," I replied. "Right where I belong."