Chapter 25: Home at Last

A year had passed.

Spring bathed the Lockwood estate in golden light, the gardens blooming in soft pinks and whites. Children laughed in the courtyard—orphans now cared for under the Lockwood Foundation's new education initiative. Clara watched them from the veranda, a quiet smile curving her lips.

So much had changed.

The Whitmores had vanished into obscurity, their assets frozen after a separate investigation. Julian Ashcroft? Disgraced after more of his underhanded dealings were exposed. His empire fractured—and Clara hadn't looked back once.

But she hadn't closed herself off completely.

Trust had become rare. Love, even rarer. But there was peace in her solitude now. Strength in her independence.

Vivienne joined her with two cups of tea, handing one to her daughter.

"You built all this," she said proudly. "And you did it without compromising who you are."

Clara looked down at the garden, where Marcus was teaching a group of kids how to fly paper airplanes.

"I finally feel like I belong," she whispered.

"You always did. You just had to believe it."

Later that evening, Clara entered her office and stood before the Lockwood family portrait—now updated.

Vivienne. Marcus. And Clara, in the center.

She reached out, brushed her fingers over the frame, and whispered:

> "I am Clara Lockwood. Daughter. Heiress. Survivor.

And this… is my legacy."

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