CHAPTER 8
The sight of Elena running toward the stairs, her face streaked with tears of joy, brought the entire ballroom to a standstill. Marcus Vance looked up from his prone position on the floor, his face twisted in a sneer of pure, impotent rage as he realized he had lost everything.
“You won’t get away with this, Elena!” he bellowed, his voice cracking. “I own this city! I own the judges!”
Elena didn't even stop to acknowledge him, her feet flying over the steps as she reached the landing. She scooped Mateo into her arms, pressing him to her chest so tightly that he gasped for air.
“I have you, baby. I have you, I have you,” she sobbed, burying her face in his neck while the little boy sobbed back into her shoulder.
The cameras of every major news outlet in the country were recording the moment, broadcasting the raw, unfiltered reunion to millions of households across the US. The billionaire who had thought he could buy and sell human lives was now being hauled out in plastic cuffs, his reputation destroyed in seconds.
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Isabella was being dragged past them, her expensive gown ruined, her makeup smeared into a mask of pure, ugly defeat. She looked at Elena with eyes full of venom, but Elena didn't even see her; she only saw the boy she had fought through hell to reclaim.
The crowd began to cheer, a spontaneous, overwhelming roar of support that filled the mansion. Justice had been served, and the nightmare was officially over.
