For a long, agonizing minute, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the grandfather clock.
Arthur Sterling looked at the flash drive. He looked at William, who stood tall and unafraid. He looked at Victoria, who held the power of his destruction in her hands. He realized he had been beaten by the son he bullied and the woman he dismissed.
He reached out, picked up his resignation letter, and tore it in half.
“Enjoy the party,” Arthur whispered, his voice hoarse.
He turned and walked out of the library, a king stripped of his crown, disappearing into the shadows of the hallway.
William let out a breath he felt he had been holding for years. He turned to Victoria. His hands were trembling as he reached for her.
“You did it,” William breathed, pulling her into his arms. “You saved us.”
“We saved us,” Victoria corrected, resting her forehead against his.
They stood together in the quiet room, the music of the gala drifting in from the distance. The blackmail was gone. The takeover was dead. The war was finally over.