Page 140 of The Lilac River

I wiped at a stray tear with the back of my hand and chuckled lightly. “You think Bertie’s still wearing that crown in the morning?”

“She’ll make us call her Queen Bertie for a week,” he said, laughing quietly.

“Worth it.”

For a long, perfect moment, the past didn’t exist. Neither did the trial, or the years we lost, or the wounds we still carried.

Then Nash shifted, his hand slipping into mine, fingers lacing tight.

“We’re almost through the hard part,” he said. “Dad’s trial starts soon. Once it’s done, it’s over. No more shadows. No more looking over our shoulders.”

I nodded, even though fear curled low in my belly.

“I’m scared,” I admitted. “Scared, all this beauty is going to unravel.”

“It won’t,” he said, pulling me in close. “You’re not alone, Lila. Never again.”

I looked up, and the love in his eyes stole every breath I had.

“We earned this,” he whispered. “Every damn second of it.”

And under the stars, I believed him.

I wasn’t just standing in the arms of the boy I’d loved since forever.

I was standing in the arms of my future.

Chapter 50

Begin Again – Taylor Swift

Nash

Six months later…

Finally, after months of evidence gathering, statements, forensic accounting and revelations, Michael Miller had been found guilty. We had our justice.

The courthouse steps were cold beneath my feet as I watched them lead my father out in handcuffs. The wind whipped around us, biting at exposed skin, but I barely felt it. The man who had governed our lives for years suddenly looked small, diminished by the orange jumpsuit and the weight of his crimes.

"I didn't do it for the money," he said as they paused at the transport van. His eyes locked on mine, desperate for me to understand. "I did it for you. For your future."

Gunner scoffed beside me. "Bullshit."

Dad's face hardened. "Everything I did was to give you boys advantages. Opportunities."

"No," I said, stepping forward. "Everything you did was about control. About power. About your ego."

“Everything you did was theft,” Wilder added, his shoulders stooped in the weight of sorrow. “Lies wrapped in good intentions you never really had.”

"You ungrateful?—"

"Enough," I cut him off. My voice was cold, razor-sharp. "You never cared about our dreams. Only your own."

His face contorted with rage, but it looked tired now. Hollow. "I'm still your father."

"A title," I said calmly, "that you never earned."

The deputy tugged on his arm, but Dad resisted, still staring at me with that mixture of defiance and desperation.

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