Page 160 of Her Soul to Own

“The Isola Initiative will not be another vanity project. It’s not charity. It’s not image rehabilitation.” My voice hardens. “It is a goddamn declaration.”

I let my eyes sweep the sea of faces before me, making them all feel seen, exposed, and implicated.

“We will protect the whistleblowers who were silenced.”

The first ripple of applause starts in the back rows.

“We will dismantle financial corruption wherever it festers,” I continue.

Another wave of clapping ensues, louder now.

“We will support every victim who was told to stay silent, to accept abuse as the price of survival, to sacrifice themselves so men like my father could continue playing gods.”

Now, the crowd starts to come alive. The applause thickens into something louder and stronger, pulsing through the rooftop like a heartbeat.

“And let me make one thing painfully clear—”

I lean slightly into the microphone, my voice dropping just enough to force every bastard watching from behind a screen to lean in.

“What my father built was not power. It was fear.”

The words echo.

“What we build now, what we rise from, is justice.”

The rooftop fucking explodes.

Applause crashes like a wave. Cameras flash in wild staccato bursts, and a thousand clicks hammer against the marble walls, drowning out even the helicopters circling aboveus. Journalists leap to their feet and reporters scramble for coverage as the world watches.

But I’m not finished.

“For every voice that was silenced. For every life destroyed. For every daughter, every mother, every survivor…” I let my breath burn through the final words, my voice sharp enough to slice air, “we rise.”

And those words, the rooftop ignites.

There’s thunderous, deafening applause as people stand. Some cry, and some just stare, stunned by the transformation playing out in front of them. They came for a speech, but what they got was a funeral for the old world and a coronation for the new one.

In the distance, through the blinding lights, I catch Fiona leaning toward Zara. Her face is lit by the glow of her tablet, but she’s smiling as if this entire thing is unfolding exactly as she always knew it would.

“The world finally sees who she really is,” Fiona murmurs.

Zara crosses her arms, smirking, her voice dry. “Took them long enough.”

The camera flashes continue, but for the first time in a very long time, I don’t feel exposed.

I feel untouchable.

I feel at home.

Epilogue – Lyra – Phoenix Reign

One year has passed, and I’ve realized that power tastes different when you’ve bled for it.

This tower—once my father’s monument to control—doesn’t haunt me anymore. It obeys me now. The name Vane was stripped from its face, torn down along with his empire. In its place, bold and unapologetic, gleams the new name: The Isola Center.

The government carved his legacy apart piece by piece—tax evasion, fraud, racketeering. What wasn’t seized was repurposed, and what wasn’t repurposed was destroyed. But from that wreckage, I built something far more dangerous: Isola Enterprises.

It isn’t just a nonprofit anymore. It's a goddamn engine. Ruthless, surgical, and global. The very empire my father feared someone would one day build against him, only he never imagined it would be me.

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