Chapter 6 - The Summit on the RoofThe afternoon wind whistled across the open-air rooftop terrace of the St. Regis Hotel, carrying the distant, roaring hum of Fifth Avenue traffic far below.
Up here, high above the bustling streets of Manhattan, the world felt quiet, detached, and bitterly cold.
Dominic Caruso stood near the glass balustrade, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his tailored overcoat, his shoulders slightly slumped. The immaculate, untouchable CEO aura he usually projected was gone. He looked older, gaunter, with dark, bruised circles under his hazel eyes and his silver-flecked hair unbrushed.
When my footsteps clicked softly against the stone tiles behind him, he spun around immediately.
“Nora,” he breathed, taking a quick step forward, his voice cracking with a desperate urgency I had never heard from him before. “You came.”
I stopped six feet away, keeping my hands crossed over my coat. I didn't smile. I didn't flinch. I just looked at the man who had once been my entire world.
“You have ten minutes, Dominic,” I said, my voice completely level. “Marcus is waiting for my call downstairs.”
Dominic flinched as if I had struck him. He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping briefly to the floor before rising to meet my eyes.
“I deserved that,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Everything you’re saying... everything your lawyers are doing... we’re being audited by the SEC, Nora. The board is threatening to oust me as CEO. Vanessa skipped the country two days ago after I cut off her funding and demanded she return every piece of jewelry I bought her. My life is falling apart.”
“Your life isn't falling apart, Dominic,” I corrected him softly. “The house of cards you built on lies, theft, and intimidation is finally collapsing. There’s a big difference.”
Dominic took another step closer, his hands reaching out instinctively as if to touch my arm, but he caught himself and dropped them back to his sides.
“I was a fool,” he said, his voice breaking with genuine, raw despair. “I let my ego, my ambition, and my pride blind me. When I saw Vanessa crying at that gala, I reacted like a monster. I hit you, Nora... and I have hated myself every second of every day since then. I swear to God, I never meant to hurt you.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head slowly. “You didn't mean to hurt me. You just didn't care enough not to. There’s a profound difference, Dominic.”
He stared at me, tears glistening in the corners of his hazel eyes. For a fleeting second, I saw the young man I had married in that little stone church in Connecticut—the man who promised me he would never make me perform.
“Come home, Nora,” he whispered, his voice cracking with a desperate, pathetic plea. “Drop the lawsuits. Drop the sole custody petition. We can rebuild. We can issue a joint statement, send Eli to the best private schools, and relaunch Caruso Design Group under both our names. We can be a family again.”
I looked at him—really looked at him—and felt a profound, liberating sense of closure.
The man standing before me wasn't a titan. He was just a frightened, small-minded bully who couldn't bear the thought of losing his control.
“There is nothing to rebuild, Dominic,” I said, turning my gaze out toward the towering Manhattan skyline stretching endlessly toward the horizon. “You didn't want a partner. You wanted an ornament. You wanted someone to keep your house warm, raise your son in the shadows, and hand over her creative soul so you could take the bows.”
I turned back to face him, my eyes locking onto his with absolute, unshakable power.
“I am not an ornament, Dominic. I am Nora Vance. And my name is going on every single piece of art I create from this day forward—whether Caruso Design survives the week or burns to the ground.”
Dominic stood frozen, the blood draining entirely from his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He finally understood that every bridge was burned, every door was locked, and every trick in his playbook had failed.
Without another word, I turned my back on him for the second—and final—time.
As I walked toward the glass doors leading back down to the warmth of the hotel lobby, the autumn wind caught my hair, carrying away the last lingering ghosts of my old life.
May you like
I pulled out my phone, unlocked the screen, and tapped Marcus Sterling’s contact.
“It’s done, Marcus,” I said, smiling as I pushed open the door and stepped inside. “Let’s finalize the paperwork. File for full custody, maximum asset liquidation, and make sure my name is stamped on every single sketch we own.”
