Chapter 555:

“Karma is a patient butcher,” I said, lowering the binoculars. “I don’t wish them death, Julian. I wish them a long life. A long, cold life where they remember every warm day they stole.”

The ship’s horn blasted, a mournful, deep sound that vibrated in my chest. The gangplank was raised. The engines churned the dark water into white foam.

Seraphina stepped up to the railing. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a necklace—a heavy, gaudy thing with the Ziegler crest that the Dowager had forced her to wear in the early days. A symbol of ownership.

She pulled her arm back and threw it. It glittered for a second in the gray light before disappearing into the oily water.

“Goodbye,” she whispered.

We watched until the ship was just a smudge on the horizon.

Then, I turned my back to the sea.

“It’s finished,” I said. “Let’s go home.”

Back at the hotel, the mood was chaotic but lighter. The Kensington family occupied an entire floor. Suitcases were being packed, mostly filled with local wines and cheeses that Uncle Rex insisted were “medicinal.”

“I still say we should have burned their manor down,” Rex grumbled, trying to shove a wheel of brie into his carry-on.

“We took the manor, Rex,” the Matriarch corrected from the sofa, where she was sipping tea. “It belongs to Seraphina now. We sold it this morning to the Crown for a very healthy sum.”

“And the proceeds?” Julian asked, looking up from his laptop.

“Half to the local orphanages,” I said, walking into the room. “Specifically for children displaced by trafficking. The other half goes into a blind trust for Seraphina’s care.”

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“I don’t need care,” Seraphina said, walking in from the balcony. She looked better. Her hair was washed and styled, and she was wearing a tailored suit I had bought her. She looked like a Kensington again. “I need a job. I’ve been out of the game for twenty years. I have catching up to do.”

“We’ll find you a desk at Phoenix Corp,” I smiled. “Or maybe you can help run the Foundation.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out.

It was a text from Elias, who had gone ahead to the airfield to prep the jet.

Wheels up in an hour. The pilot says we have a tailwind. We’ll be in New York for dinner.

A warmth spread through my chest, chasing away the lingering chill of the prison. I typed back: Ready when you are. Save me a seat next to you.

Seraphina leaned over my shoulder. “Is that him? The Thorne boy?”

I blushed, quickly locking the screen. “Elias. Yes.”

“He has kind eyes,” Seraphina noted. “Your father had eyes like that. Dangerous to the world, but soft for you.”

The mention of my father brought a momentary shadow. Sebastian Vance. Murdered because of his blood. Because of me.

“We’re going to visit his grave when we get back,” I said. “I want to tell him we won.”

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