Chapter 9 - The Anatomy of Grace
By late autumn, the clinic was fully operational, and my final semester of nursing school was winding down toward graduation.
We hosted a small, quiet dinner at the penthouse to celebrate passing my clinical boards. There were no reporters, no society elites, and no corporate spies. Just David Vance, Howard—who had finally retired from the tower security desk and now acted as our unofficial head of building logistics—and a few close friends from the medical center.
After dinner, while Howard and David argued over a chessboard by the fireplace, Lucas led me out onto the cold, starlit balcony.
The Chicago skyline glittered below us like a sea of diamonds, stretching out into the dark horizon of the lake.
Lucas pulled a small velvet box from his pocket—the same one he had shown me in the stairwell months ago—and opened it.
“No corporate mergers,” Lucas said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “No hidden agendas. Just an ordinary man asking an extraordinary woman to share the rest of his life.”
I looked down at the ring, then up at the man who had owned an empire and traded it all for something real.
May you like
“Only if you promise to stop breaking your ribs every time we ride in an elevator,” I smiled, slipping my hand into his.
“Deal,” Lucas whispered, sliding the ring onto my finger.
