Chapter 9 - The Masterpiece
The drive back to Vance Tower was suffocatingly quiet.
Roman was on the phone with his legal team, his voice a low, commanding bark. I stared at the email on my phone.
Who could possibly have notarized blueprints of my designs four years ago? I hadn't even met Trevor then. I was working alone in my cramped apartment, sketching after my shifts.
Unless.
My heart skipped a beat.
When we reached the penthouse, I ran straight to my old sketchbook. I flipped to the very first page. The dedication page.
Dedicated to E.R.
My grandmother. Eleanor Ross.
“Roman,” I gasped, the pieces suddenly slamming together. “Call your lawyers off. Stop the legal team.”
Roman hung up the phone, looking confused. “Sadi, someone is trying to steal your company.”
“No, they aren't.” Tears spilled down my cheeks, but they weren't tears of panic. They were tears of overwhelming relief. “My grandmother, Eleanor. She didn't just teach me to bake. She had severe arthritis. I designed these tools for her.”
“She passed away five years ago,” Roman said softly.
“She did,” I said, tracing the letters on the page. “But before she died, she saw my early sketches. She told me to protect them. I didn't know how... but she did.”
I looked at Roman, a massive smile breaking across my face. “She took my sketches to a notary four years ago and put them in a trust. Under my name. Trevor couldn't steal the rights because he never had them. He forged a contract for a patent that was already locked in a trust I didn't even know existed!”
Roman stared at me, the realization washing over him. Then, a deep, rumbling laugh escaped his chest. It was the lightest, freest sound I had ever heard him make.
“He sold me a stolen car that he didn't even have the keys to,” Roman laughed, pulling me into his arms.
“And the patent office just flagged the launch because the name on the corporate buyout didn't match the name on the trust,” I cried, hugging him back. “Trevor is going to federal prison for selling fraudulent intellectual property.”
“And you,” Roman said, pulling back to look at me, his eyes shining with adoration, “are the sole, undisputed owner of a multi-million-dollar design firm.”
The heavy, dark cloud that had hung over me for three years finally evaporated.
Three weeks later, the launch party for Culinary Ease took place on the top floor of Vance Tower.
The room was filled with investors, chefs, and industry titans. But I barely noticed them.
I stood near the display cases, wearing a bespoke emerald gown. On my wrist, polished and restored, was my grandmother’s rose-gold watch.
Roman stood next to me, holding a glass of champagne. He looked at the display cases, where my ergonomic knives, weighted bowls, and grip-assist tools sat under the spotlights.
“They’re beautiful,” he said.
“They’re going to help a lot of people,” I replied.
Across the room, the television above the bar played the evening news on mute. The chyron across the bottom read: DISGRACED DEVELOPER TREVOR HAYES PLEADS GUILTY TO FRAUD.
I didn't even watch it. He was a ghost. A stepping stone I had long since passed.
“To Sadi Vance,” Roman said, turning to face me. He raised his glass, his voice carrying just enough for the room to quiet down and listen. “The most brilliant woman I have ever known. You built this. Every piece of it.”
I raised my glass, meeting the proud, loving gaze of my husband.
“To building something real,” I said.
We clinked our glasses together.
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I wasn't the pathetic ex. I wasn't the diner waitress with holes in her shoes. I was exactly who I was always meant to be.
And as the room erupted into applause, I rested my hand on Roman’s arm, perfectly at home in the world I had finally conquered.
