**Part 3**
Six months later, Elena and I stood together on the terrace of a smaller home beside the sea.
No marble. No guards. No lies.
Noah raced between us laughing, his small hands sticky with orange juice.
Elena rested against my shoulder. “Do you ever regret not destroying her harder?”
I watched sunlight rise across the water.
Vivian was awaiting trial, disgraced, powerless, and abandoned by the society whose approval she had valued above everything else.
“No,” I said, lifting my son into my arms. “She wanted a legacy.”
Noah touched his forehead to mine.
I smiled.
“Now she gets to watch ours.”
