He raised his glass toward me. “To Claire Bennett. The most dangerous woman in this city to anyone foolish enough to mistake her kindness for access.”
I lifted mine in return. “To the empire.”
The room answered in cheers.
Later, after the speeches and music and the endless careful handshakes with men who measured trust in percentages, I stepped onto a private balcony overlooking the city. The skyline shimmered like circuitry. Below us, traffic moved in red and white veins. Inside, the gala still glowed. Somewhere beneath all of that, in cells and bargain apartments and second-rate case files, the people who had tried to dismantle my life still existed. But they no longer occupied my world. That is what people misunderstand about victory. The goal is not to keep suffering people in view forever. The goal is to build a life so structurally sound that their absence becomes an improvement.
Marcus joined me a minute later with two glasses of champagne.
“You disappeared,” he said.
“I came out here to remember.”
“Anything useful?”
I took the glass from him. “That I almost married a man who thought eight hundred dollars a month bought him veto power over my life.”