Chapter 10
Two weeks later, the sprawling Lockwood mansion was once again bathed in bright, airy, and luminous colors. The cascading crystal chandeliers cast a soft elegant warmth over the carved walnut paneling and gilded mirrors. The atmosphere in the grand estate, however, had fundamentally changed. The oppressive, controlling presence of Cordelia was completely gone, replaced by a quiet, joyful serenity.
The brief, violent war with the Ames syndicate had ended as quickly as it began. Arthur Ames was dead, his empire dismantled and absorbed by Tristan's unparalleled strategic brutality. The city was firmly under Tristan's absolute control.
Inside the grand dining room, the white damask tables were absent of thirty elite guests. Instead, a small, intimate table was set near the tall ivory candles.
Tristan stood near the head of the table, dressed in his immaculate tailored dark three-piece suit. His masculine, angular face was relaxed, the coldness in his perceptive eyes replaced by a deep, enduring warmth.
The heavy walnut doors opened, and Sage walked into the room. She was no longer wearing the sophisticated black maid dress. Instead, she wore a breathtaking, elegant evening gown in a soft shade of sapphire that perfectly complimented her fair, rosy skin. Her hair was styled in a beautiful, loose braided chignon, and delicate diamond earrings sparkled in the warm light. She looked every inch the queen of the empire she had unwittingly inherited.
"Do you look as beautiful as I imagined, or are my eyes deceiving me?" Tristan asked, his deep, low voice filled with quiet awe as he stepped forward to meet her.
"You are too kind, Tristan," Sage smiled, her expressive brows lifting happily as she took his tattooed hand.
They walked together toward the table. Sitting patiently in one of the ivory upholstered chairs was little Evan. The six-year-old was dressed in a small formal dinner suit, a bright, genuine smile illuminating his rosy cheeks. The fear and rejection he had suffered under Cordelia’s reign were entirely erased.
"Hi, Maren!" Evan cheered, swinging his polished dress shoes happily. "You look like a princess!"
"Thank you, Evan," Sage laughed, leaning down to kiss his cheek. "And you look very handsome."
Tristan pulled out a chair for Sage, seating her directly beside him and across from his son. It was the exact configuration of the family Cordelia had tried to destroy.
"Are we ready to eat, Daddy?" Evan asked, picking up his silver fork with eager anticipation.
"Do we not have everything we could possibly need right here at this table?" Tristan asked, looking warmly between his son and the woman he loved.
The doors to the kitchen swung open, and the serving staff began to bring out the gold-rimmed porcelain plates filled with the evening meal. Sage watched them, a profound sense of gratitude washing over her. She had arrived at this mansion as a servant, cleaning up the messes of the elite, and now she was sitting at the head of the table, protected and cherished by the most powerful man in the city.
Tristan reached under the table, his large hand finding hers. His artistic tattoos brushed against her delicate skin, his grip firm and possessive.
"Are you happy here, Sage?" Tristan asked softly, leaning close so only she could hear the deep rumble of his voice over the clatter of silverware.
"I have never been happier," Sage replied, her expressive eyes locking onto his. "But what happens now? The war is over, but there will always be others who want your power."
"Do you doubt my ability to protect our family?" Tristan asked, a confident, predatory smirk touching the corners of his mouth.
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"Never," Sage whispered, squeezing his hand tightly.
"Then shall we face whatever comes next together?" Tristan asked, his cold, observant eyes burning with a fierce, unbreakable promise as they looked out over the bright, luminous room, ready to rule their empire side by side.
