The strange certainty that she was finally taking control.
Then she remembered what came afterwards.
The headlines.
The investigations.
The legal meetings.
Her father’s hospital room.
The conversations with Naomi.
The lonely evenings.
The gradual work of building a life that no longer needed Adrian’s downfall to give it direction.
She stood beneath the chandelier.
For a long time, she looked around the empty room.
Then she turned and walked toward the terrace.
She did not need to raise a glass.
There was no one left to shame.
No speech to deliver.
No audience to convince.
Outside, the night was cool.
She stepped into the garden.
Behind her, the ballroom doors remained open, spilling a little warm light across the stone.
For the first time in years, Iris felt no need to rehearse what she would say if Adrian appeared.
She had said enough.
There was a path ahead of her, curving through the garden toward the lake.
She followed it slowly.
The house grew smaller behind her.
And when she reached the water, she kept walking.
