Chapter 19: Justice Served
1373words
Cassian looked up from his coffee, studying my expression. "How do you feel?"
A complicated question. The man sentenced yesterday was my father, yet he had been a stranger to me for most of my life. "Relieved," I finally said. "Not happy, exactly. Just... relieved."
"And Victoria's trial begins next week." He reached across the breakfast table, his hand covering mine. "Are you ready to testify again?"
The thought of facing Victoria in court—of revisiting my mother's death, the years of psychological torment—made my stomach tighten. Yet the alternative—letting her escape justice—was unthinkable.
"I'm ready," I said, turning my hand to intertwine our fingers. "This time, I won't be alone."
"Never alone again," he promised, the morning light catching the silver at his temples.
My phone chimed with a message from Marco: *Vogue editor confirmed for 2pm. Isolde called—wants to meet before Victoria's trial.*
"Isolde?" Cassian raised an eyebrow. "That's unexpected."
Our relationship with my stepsister remained tentative—a fragile bridge built on shared trauma rather than genuine affection. Since breaking her engagement to Orion and testifying against her mother, she'd been staying in a small apartment in Milan, rebuilding her life piece by piece.
"I should see her," I decided. "She risked everything to tell the truth."
Cassian nodded, though concern lingered in his eyes. "Just remember—she's still Victoria's daughter."
"And I'm Frederick's," I countered. "Yet here we are."
His smile softened. "Here we are indeed."
The Laurent Designs studio buzzed with activity when I arrived. Our debut collection had sold out within days of the runway show, and orders were pouring in from boutiques across Europe. Success had come swiftly—partly due to the publicity surrounding the Whitestone scandal, but primarily because the designs spoke to women seeking both beauty and authenticity.
"The fabric samples from Como arrived," my assistant informed me. "And Professor Bianchi called to confirm he'll attend the engagement party."
The engagement party. After months of secrecy and separation, Cassian and I were finally celebrating our commitment publicly. The event, scheduled for the weekend after Victoria's trial, would serve dual purposes—announcing our personal union and the official launch of Laurent Designs as a joint venture.
I was reviewing sketches when Isolde arrived, elegant as always but softer somehow, less polished. Without Victoria dictating her appearance, she'd adopted a more natural style—her golden hair loose around her shoulders, her makeup minimal.
"Thank you for seeing me," she said, her voice lacking its former imperious tone.
"Of course." I gestured to the sitting area in my office. "Tea?"
She nodded, perching on the edge of the sofa as if uncertain of her welcome. When I handed her the cup, our fingers brushed—a contact that once would have been unthinkable.
"I've been meeting with the prosecutors," she began. "For Mother's trial."
"So have I."
"They asked about the night before your mother's accident." Her eyes met mine, troubled. "I told them everything I remember—the argument, Mother's phone call to someone about 'taking care of the problem.'"
I set down my cup carefully. "That must have been difficult."
"Not as difficult as living with the knowledge all these years." She twisted her hands in her lap. "I was twelve, Seraphina. I should have said something sooner."
"You were a child," I said gently. "Victoria controlled everything—what you thought, what you felt, what you said."
"Like she controlled Father." Isolde's laugh held no humor. "The great Frederick Whitestone, brought to his knees by a woman who knew his secrets."
"And now they're both facing justice."
She nodded, then reached into her handbag, withdrawing a small velvet pouch. "I found this in Mother's things. I think it belongs to you."
Inside was a delicate gold locket. When I opened it, my breath caught—a tiny photograph of my mother holding me as an infant, her smile radiant with love.
"Where did she get this?" I whispered.
"I don't know. She kept it locked in her jewelry box." Isolde hesitated. "Perhaps as a trophy."
The thought made me shudder, yet I was grateful to have this piece of my mother returned to me. "Thank you."
"It's the least I can do." She stood, smoothing her skirt. "I'll see you at the trial."
"Isolde," I called as she reached the door. "After this is over... perhaps we could try being actual sisters."
Something vulnerable flickered across her face. "I'd like that."
After she left, I clasped the locket around my neck, feeling its weight against my skin—a tangible connection to the mother I'd lost, the truth I'd fought to uncover.
The afternoon passed in a blur of meetings and decisions. Vogue wanted an exclusive on our wedding plans. Buyers from New York and Paris requested private showings. Through it all, the locket remained a steady presence, reminding me of how far I'd come.
I was preparing to leave when Marco appeared at my door. "There's someone here to see you. He doesn't have an appointment."
Before I could ask who, Orion Vexley stepped into view. Unlike our last encounter, he was impeccably dressed, his composure restored. Yet something fundamental had changed—the arrogance that once defined him had been replaced by something more thoughtful.
"Seraphina," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "May I speak with you briefly?"
I nodded, though wariness kept me behind my desk. "What can I do for you, Orion?"
"Nothing." He remained standing, hands clasped behind his back. "I came to apologize. Properly, publicly."
"Publicly?"
He gestured toward the hallway, where I now noticed a journalist waiting discreetly. "I've given an interview to Fashion Italia. About my behavior toward you, the bet, all of it. I wanted you to hear it from me first."
The admission stunned me. "Why now?"
"Because some debts can't be repaid in private." His eyes—so like Cassian's yet so different—held genuine remorse. "What I did was cruel and inexcusable. You deserved better."
"Yes," I agreed simply. "I did."
"You've built something remarkable here." He glanced around the studio. "With my uncle."
"We've built it together."
A sad smile touched his lips. "He's a fortunate man."
"We're both fortunate," I corrected. "To have found each other despite everything."
Orion nodded, then extended his hand. "I wish you both happiness, Seraphina. Truly."
I accepted the handshake, feeling the strange circle completing—from humiliation to vindication, from victim to victor. "Thank you, Orion."
After he left with the journalist, I called Cassian. "You'll never guess who just visited me."
"Judging by your tone, I'm going to say my nephew." His voice warmed me even through the phone. "What did he want?"
"To apologize. Publicly." I touched the locket at my throat. "It seems everyone is facing their truths these days."
"Speaking of truths," Cassian said, his tone shifting to something more intimate, "I've been thinking about our wedding."
"Oh?" I smiled, gathering my things to leave the studio. "What about it?"
"What would you say to Lake Como? The villa, just close friends, at sunset."
The image formed instantly in my mind—the lake gilded with evening light, flowers spilling from stone urns, Cassian waiting for me beneath the cypress trees. "It sounds perfect."
"Like you," he murmured. "Come home, Seraphina. I've missed you today."
Home. Not the Whitestone mansion with its cold grandeur, not the Milan apartment that had been my first taste of freedom, but wherever Cassian was. "I'm on my way."
As I left the studio, the evening edition of the newspaper caught my eye from a nearby stand: "VICTORIA WHITESTONE FACES MURDER CONSPIRACY CHARGES: STEPDAUGHTER TO TESTIFY."
Tomorrow would bring more battles, more painful revelations. Victoria would fight with every weapon at her disposal. But tonight belonged to us—to the future we were building from the ashes of the past.
I touched the engagement ring on my finger, feeling its weight—my mother's stone, Cassian's promise, my choice. The forbidden love that had survived every attempt to destroy it.
Justice, at last, was being served. And with it came the freedom to love without shadows, to build without fear, to live without shame.
It was everything my mother would have wanted for me. Everything I had finally claimed for myself.
