“I do not want to be the CEO of Whitmore Global anymore,” Alexander said suddenly.

I looked at him, surprised.

“What will you do with the company?” I asked.

“The board of directors is dissolving the family trust,” he said. “We are selling the majority shares to an investment group.”

“The money will go into a charitable foundation,” he continued. “I want nothing to do with the empire my father built and Julian destroyed.”

“What do you want?” I asked.

He looked out the window at the ocean, where the waves were calm and blue under the clear afternoon sky.

“I want to restore things,” he said. “Just like you do.”

“We can open a studio here,” I suggested, smiling. “An art restoration workshop.”

“I would like that,” he said, kissing my temple.

Later that afternoon, we walked down the wooden stairs to the beach.

The tide was out, leaving wet sand and smooth stones along the shore.

The air was crisp, but the sun was warm on our faces.

We walked hand in hand, our boots leaving two parallel sets of prints in the sand.

The past two years had been a nightmare of stolen identities, lies, and fear.

But as I looked at Alexander, I knew we had survived the worst of it.

We had our names back, our marriage back, and our future.

The wind blew a strand of hair across my face, and I tucked it behind my ear, looking out at the endless horizon.

We were finally free.