The billionaire who had negotiated international mergers stood completely frozen in his own boardroom, tears finally spilling over his lashes because his four-month-old daughter was holding his finger.
“But if you will allow me,” Dominic continued, looking back up at me, “I want to spend every single day moving forward proving to her—and to you—that I never chose to leave.”
I studied his face for several long, silent seconds. The old Dominic would have ordered his legal team to secure joint custody via corporate coercion. This man was standing in the ruins of his own empire, begging for permission to be a father.
I slowly nodded. “Lily deserves a father who chooses her every single day, Dominic.”
“Then that’s exactly who I am going to become,” he replied.
Behind us, Arthur and Victoria Vance began frantically calling their personal attorneys, their aristocratic voices rising in a panicked crescindo as they realized the wealth they had spent a lifetime protecting was systematically slipping through their fingers.
