Chapter 6 - The Empire We Chose to Change
People screamed.
Tables overturned.
Champagne glasses shattered.
Roland’s gun pointed directly at my chest.
Everything slowed.
I saw his finger tighten.
I saw Victor reaching beneath his jacket.
I saw Dominic standing beside the table with legs too weak to move quickly.
Then Dominic did the impossible.
He threw himself toward me.
The gun fired.
I hit the floor.
Dominic landed across my body.
A second shot exploded.
Victor fired back.
Roland screamed.
Agents tackled him.
For several seconds, I heard nothing except ringing.
Then warmth spread across my hand.
Blood.
“Dominic?”
He did not answer.
“Dominic!”
I rolled him.
Blood covered the side of his tuxedo.
Someone shouted for an ambulance.
I pressed my hands against the wound.
“No.”
His eyes opened.
“Claire.”
“Don’t talk.”
“You always tell me that.”
“Dominic.”
His mouth moved in something like a smile.
“Still bossy.”
Tears poured down my face.
“Stay awake.”
His fingers found mine.
“Did he hit you?”
“No.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“Good.”
“Dominic!”
He opened them again.
I leaned close.
“You do not get to die now.”
“Contract’s over.”
“I don’t care about the contract!”
His eyes focused on me.
The words had escaped before I understood them.
People rushed around us.
Paramedics arrived.
But Dominic and I seemed trapped inside one private second.
“I don’t care about the money,” I whispered.
His expression changed.
“I don’t care about eighteen months.”
“Claire.”
“I care about you.”
The paramedics pulled me away.
Dominic disappeared behind bodies.
I stood covered in his blood.
And finally admitted the truth.
I loved my husband.
The one I had been paid to marry.
The one who had lied to me.
Used me.
Protected me.
Infuriated me.
Trusted me.
And taken a bullet meant for me.
At the hospital, doctors operated for three hours.
The bullet had entered near Dominic’s ribs.
It missed his lung by less than an inch.
Victor sat beside me in the private waiting room.
Neither of us spoke.
At 2:13 a.m., a surgeon appeared.
“He’s stable.”
I started crying before he finished.
“Can I see him?”
“Soon.”
“What about his spine?”
The surgeon paused.
“The shooting did not appear to worsen the prior spinal injury.”
I closed my eyes.
Thank God.
At dawn, Victor received a call.
Roland Pike was in federal custody.
Alive.
His gunshot wound was minor.
He had already requested an attorney.
The evidence, however, was overwhelming.
Attempted murder.
Conspiracy.
Bribery.
Fraud.
Racketeering.
Obstruction.
And whatever Marcus’s testimony uncovered next.
“Is it over?” I asked.
Victor looked at me.
“No.”
Of course not.
Men like Roland never worked alone.
Three Vale executives were arrested that afternoon.
A city official resigned.
Two police officers disappeared before investigators reached them.
And someone leaked the entire ballroom confrontation online.
By evening, Dominic was no longer the story of a disabled crime boss losing control.
He was the man who had stood before the person who tried to kill him.
Headlines changed.
Public opinion shifted.
And then something neither Dominic nor I expected happened.
The Vale Foundation received thousands of donations.
Messages came from people recovering from spinal injuries.
Veterans.
Athletes.
Teenagers after accidents.
Parents.
One message said:
My son saw Mr. Vale stand for three seconds. He starts therapy tomorrow. Tell him thanks.
I read it twice.
Then I placed the phone beside Dominic’s hospital bed.
He woke an hour later.
“You look terrible,” he murmured.
I laughed while crying.
“You were shot.”
“Still.”
“You are impossible.”
“So I’ve heard.”
For a while, we sat quietly.
Then his expression changed.
“You said something.”
I knew exactly what he meant.
“You were bleeding.”
“So you lied?”
“No.”
His breathing slowed.
“I want to hear it when I’m not bleeding.”
My chest tightened.
“You’re very demanding for someone wearing a hospital gown.”
“Claire.”
I looked at him.
“I love you.”
There.
No contract.
No performance.
No cameras.
Just truth.
Dominic closed his eyes.
For one horrible second I thought I had frightened him.
Then a tear slid from the corner of his eye.
I had never seen him cry.
He opened his eyes.
“I don’t deserve that.”
“Probably not.”
He laughed softly.
“But you have it.”
His hand closed around mine.
“I love you too.”
I sat beside him until sunrise.
Three days later, Marcus requested to see me.
I almost refused.
Dominic did not pressure me.
“You owe him nothing.”
“I know.”
But I went.
Marcus was held in a secure federal facility.
When he entered the interview room, he looked ten years older.
He stopped when he saw me.
“Claire.”
I said nothing.
His eyes filled.
“I’m sorry.”
I had imagined this moment for months.
In some versions, I slapped him.
In others, I screamed.
Instead, I felt strangely calm.
“You stole from me.”
“I know.”
“You forged my name.”
“Yes.”
“You let people believe I might be a criminal.”
His face crumpled.
“Yes.”
“You ruined people who trusted us.”
“I know.”
“No.”
I leaned forward.
“You know the facts.”
My voice hardened.
“You do not know what it felt like to wake up every morning ashamed of something I didn’t do.”
Marcus looked down.
“I thought Roland would kill you.”
“So you destroyed my life yourself?”
“I was scared.”
“That explains it.”
He looked up.
“It does not excuse it.”
Marcus nodded.
“No.”
That mattered.
No excuses.
No dramatic plea.
No demand for forgiveness.
“I testified to everything,” he said. “Including my part.”
“I heard.”
“I’ll probably go to prison.”
“Yes.”
“I deserve to.”
I looked at the man who had once been my best friend.
Part of me still remembered birthdays.
Takeout dinners at midnight.
My mother calling him the son she never had.
Grief arrived suddenly.
Not for Marcus.
For who I had believed he was.
“I don’t forgive you,” I said.
He swallowed.
“I understand.”
“Maybe one day I won’t hate what you did.”
Tears filled his eyes.
“That’s more than I deserve.”
I stood.
“Goodbye, Marcus.”
“Claire?”
I stopped.
“Dominic didn’t know Roland was going to use you.”
“I know.”
“He married you because of me, yes.”
Marcus hesitated.
“But after the accident, when he was in the hospital… he asked Victor about you.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because he knew my theft would destroy your company.”
Marcus smiled sadly.
“He was barely conscious and he told Victor, ‘Fix what Marcus did to her.’”
My throat tightened.
“He hadn’t even met me.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Marcus looked through the glass.
“Because he thought saving you was the only decent thing left he could do.”
I left without answering.
That night, I returned to Dominic’s room.
He was reading.
I took the book from his hands.
“Did you order Victor to fix my company from your hospital bed?”
Dominic sighed.
“Marcus told you.”
“Yes.”
“He talks too much.”
“You hadn’t met me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Dominic looked uncomfortable.
This man could stare down murderers.
Emotion embarrassed him.
“Marcus had a photograph of you.”
“What photograph?”
“Your company website.”
I stared.
“You saw my corporate headshot and decided to save me?”
“That sounds worse when you say it.”
I laughed.
Dominic reached for my hand.
“I knew what Marcus had done. I knew some of the money he stole from you went through my world.”
His voice lowered.
“You were collateral damage in a war you knew nothing about.”
He looked at me.
“I wanted one innocent person to come out of it whole.”
I squeezed his hand.
“You realize I’m not particularly innocent anymore.”
“No.”
His mouth curved.
“You married a Vale.”
For the first time in months, the future did not feel like a contract.
It felt like a choice.
But we still had one problem.
Dominic’s grandmother’s trust required him to remain married through his thirty-ninth birthday.
That birthday was six weeks away.
And our original contract was gone.
Dominic’s attorney arrived with new papers.
Dominic looked at me.
“What do you want to do?”
I took the papers.
Then ripped them in half.
His attorney nearly fainted.
Dominic smiled.
“Claire?”
“If I stay, I stay without a contract.”
His eyes darkened.
“And if I ask you to stay forever?”
I leaned down.
“Ask me when you can get out of that hospital bed.”
“Blackmail.”
“Motivation.”
He kissed me.
May you like
This time, it was not for a photographer.
And neither of us pretended it meant nothing.
