The silence of the Sterling penthouse was different now.
A week ago, this place had felt like a hollow museum of gray silk and cold marble. Now, as I stood in the center of the living room, it felt like a fortress that had been breached, cleaned, and reclaimed. The air no longer smelled of sterile air-conditioning; it smelled of the lilies Reid had ordered for the foyer and the faint, lingering scent of the pizza we'd ordered the night before.
Reid was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his back to me. He wasn't in a suit. He was wearing a soft cashmere sweater, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He was watching the sunset over the city—the same city that had nearly chewed us up and spat us out.
"The news says Marcus's bail was denied," I said softly, walking toward him.
Reid didn't turn around, but I saw his shoulders relax. "Agent Miller called an hour ago. Cassandra is cooperating. She's giving them everything—the offshore accounts, the bribes, the names of the board members who were in on the Vesper skim. It's over, Maya. The Sterling name is finally... clean."
"Is it?" I asked, reaching him and sliding my hand into his. "People are still calling you the 'Billionaire who fell for a waitress.' The tabloids aren't going to let that go just because the SEC cleared your name."
Reid finally turned to me. His eyes weren't the "Ice King" gray anymore. They were warm, reflecting the orange and gold of the New York sky. He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw—the same jaw that had been set in defiance through the rain of Queens and the halls of the FBI.
"Let them talk," he whispered. "I'd rather be the man who fell for a waitress than the man who stood alone in a tower. You didn't just save my company, Maya. You saved the person I was afraid to be."
He pulled me into his arms, and for a moment, the world felt perfect. But as I rested my head against his chest, I felt a familiar vibration.
His phone.
Reid let out a long, weary sigh and pulled it from his pocket. He looked at the screen, and his expression shifted. Not back to the ice, but to something focused. Professional.
"It's Julian," he said. "My head of acquisitions."
"Is there a problem?"
"Not a problem," Reid said, showing me the screen. "An opportunity. There's a boutique architecture firm in Lower Manhattan that's going under due to the Vesper scandal. They were one of the companies Marcus was squeezing. They have some of the most talented young designers in the city, but no capital."
I looked at the name on the screen. Aegis Designs. I knew them. They were the firm I'd dreamed of interning for back in my first year of school.
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, my heart starting to race.
"Because the Sterling Foundation needs a new project," Reid said, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial murmur. "And I know a woman who can tell the structural load-bearing capacity of a building just by looking at the joists. A woman who deserves to have her name on a blueprint, not just a marriage license."
My breath hitched. "Reid... you want to buy the firm?"
"I want us to buy the firm. You manage the vision, I manage the numbers. We build the things that last, Maya. Just like you said."
I looked at him, truly looked at him. This wasn't a "Five-Million Dollar Debt" anymore. This wasn't a contract. This was a partnership.
"On one condition," I said, a mischievous spark returning to my eyes.
"Anything."
"No 'No Feelings' clauses. And we have to hire Lou as the head of the corporate cafeteria. I'm not losing his hashbrowns."
Reid laughed—a real, rich sound that filled the room. "Consider it done."
But as we stood there, planning a future that felt too bright to be real, the elevator dinked.
The doors slid open, and a woman stepped out. She was older, elegant, and wearing a suit that looked like it cost more than the diner's entire inventory. She had the same piercing gray eyes as Reid, but they were framed by a coldness that made the "Ice King" look like a summer day.
Reid froze. His grip on my hand tightened.
"Mother," he said, his voice turning to stone.
The woman didn't look at Reid. She looked at me, her gaze traveling from my messy bun down to my sneakers with the practiced disdain of a woman who had never known the value of a dollar.
"So," she said, her voice like a silk cord tightening around a throat. "This is the 'liability' I've been reading about. I suppose the Sterling men always did have a weakness for... charity cases."
The war with Marcus was over. But as I looked into the eyes of the woman who had made Reid Sterling the "Ice King," I realized that Volume 2 was going to be much, much harder.
The "Mother-in-Law from Hell" had arrived. And she didn't just want the money. She wanted her son back.