Chapter 8 - The Night Wesley Lost Everything
The man at the airport was Dominic's half brother.
A secret the family had buried for decades.
Adrian Vitali.
Leandro had met him only once as a child.
Adrian had lived abroad for most of his life.
And unlike Dominic, Adrian had never appeared in the investigation.
Until now.
“Why impersonate Dominic?” Clare asked.
Mateo placed photographs across the drafting table.
“Because Adrian owns the holding company behind the Calder debt.”
The conspiracy had another layer.
Adrian had quietly financed Dominic for years.
He hadn't ordered Leandro's crash.
But he had profited from the schemes surrounding North Meridian.
Now that Dominic and Charles had fallen, Adrian wanted the remaining records destroyed.
The midnight message was bait.
Police arranged surveillance at the gala hotel.
Clare hated returning.
The chandeliers looked exactly the same.
The dance floor looked smaller.
Their old table was gone.
Leandro noticed her staring.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Liar.”
“Moderately okay.”
“Better.”
Adrian arrived.
He didn't threaten them.
Didn't shout.
He offered money.
A great deal of it.
In exchange, Leandro would withdraw cooperation in several civil proceedings and sell Adrian his interest in disputed family assets.
Leandro refused.
Adrian looked at Clare.
“You're responsible for this.”
She almost laughed.
“Apparently that's becoming a family tradition.”
“You made him reckless.”
Leandro answered.
“No. She made me stop being afraid.”
Adrian's expression tightened.
Police had enough.
He was arrested on outstanding financial charges before leaving the hotel.
No dramatic violence.
No chase.
Just handcuffs beneath the same chandeliers where Clare had once been someone's joke.
Wesley watched from across the lobby.
He had come to give investigators records related to Adrian.
Afterward, he approached Clare.
“I suppose this is where you tell me I deserve everything.”
“No.”
He looked surprised.
“Consequences aren't entertainment.”
Wesley nodded.
His father's companies were collapsing.
His social circle had evaporated.
Several charities had removed him from boards.
But Clare wasn't interested in revenge.
“You did something cruel,” she said. “Then you helped tell the truth. Both things can be true.”
Wesley looked toward Leandro.
“Does he hate me?”
“Ask him.”
Wesley did.
Leandro considered the question.
“I don't trust you.”
“Fair.”
“But I don't spend enough time thinking about you to hate you.”
Wesley laughed weakly.
“That might be worse.”
“It isn't intended to be.”
The men shook hands.
Not friendship.
Closure.
That night, Clare and Leandro walked into the empty ballroom.
The hotel manager had allowed them a few minutes alone.
Clare stood where their table had been.
“One year,” she said.
“Almost.”
“You were terrifying.”
“I was sitting down.”
“You were terrifying while sitting down.”
“You insulted me within thirty seconds.”
“I saved you from Wesley's car story.”
“True.”
Leandro held out his hand.
Clare stared at it.
“Seriously?”
“Dance with me.”
“No orchestra.”
He took out his phone.
Music began softly.
Clare laughed.
“You planned this.”
“I've improved.”
They danced.
He no longer missed the first beat.
“You practiced.”
“Maybe.”
“With whom?”
“Mateo.”
Clare burst out laughing.
“I would pay an irresponsible amount of money to see that.”
“The footage has been destroyed.”
They moved beneath the chandeliers.
Then Leandro stopped.
“Clare.”
Something in his voice changed.
She looked up.
He reached into his pocket.
Her heart slammed.
But he didn't kneel.
Not yet.
Instead, he handed her the original place card.
Her place card.
Table Nine.
The scratch remained across the gold number.
“You kept this?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because this stupid piece of paper changed my life.”
Clare's eyes filled.
Leandro continued.
“I spent four years believing the worst thing that ever happened to me had divided my life into before and after.”
She listened.
“I was wrong.”
He touched the place card.
“This did.”
“Being publicly humiliated?”
“Meeting you.”
She laughed through tears.
Then he knelt.
Clare covered her mouth.
“Leandro.”
“I had a speech again.”
“Is this one terrible too?”
“Probably.”
“Good.”
He opened the ring box.
“Clare Donnelly, you saw me when everyone else was trying not to look. You argued with me, investigated my family, insulted my dancing, reorganized one of my developments, and somehow convinced me I could have a life that wasn't built around what happened to me.”
Clare was crying openly now.
“I love you.”
He swallowed.
“And I want every ordinary, difficult, ridiculous day I can get with you.”
She whispered, “Ask.”
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
He barely had time to stand before she wrapped her arms around him.
He kissed her.
Then applause erupted.
Clare jerked backward.
The ballroom doors opened.
Evelyn.
Margaret.
Mateo.
Blair.
Even Wesley.
“You invited people?” Clare demanded.
Leandro looked guilty.
“Mateo did.”
“Traitor,” Mateo said.
Clare laughed.
For once, everyone staring at her didn't make her want to disappear.
She lifted her hand.
Her mother cried.
Evelyn screamed.
Blair hugged her.
Wesley approached last.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
Then he looked at the scratched place card in Leandro's hand.
“Is that—”
“Yes,” Clare said.
Wesley grimaced.
“I really was an idiot.”
Leandro nodded.
“Historic levels.”
Everyone laughed.
Even Wesley.
But later, after the celebration, Mateo quietly pulled Leandro aside.
Clare saw his expression.
The warmth vanished.
“What happened?”
Mateo held up his phone.
A court notification.
Adrian had made one final claim.
He said Alessandro Vitali had left a second will.
May you like
A will that transferred control of the Vitali family trust away from Leandro.
And Adrian claimed he knew exactly where the original was hidden.
