54

Chapter Fifty Four

Kent’s Pov

Walking out of that hearing room felt like winning a battle while losing a limb.

My teeth grind together so hard my jaw aches. Recused. Banned from grading, banned from walking past row four where she usually sits, treated like a toxic hazard in my own lecture hall. The university thinks a paper wall keeps us apart. They don't understand that Daniella lives in my blood now.

We drive back to our hidden bunker apartment in silence, not because we are mad at each other, but because the weight of the day presses down like lead.

Once we step inside the cool, quiet hallway, I pull her close against my chest, breathing in her scent.

"I hate it," I murmur into her dark hair, my arms wrapped tight around her waist. "I hate not being able to watch you take notes. I hate not walking you to the building."

Daniella pulls back just enough to look up, her dark eyes steady and soft. Her hand comes up to press flat against my chest, right over my heart. "Respect the rule, Kent. Let them look at the paperwork and find nothing wrong. We follow the tracks until the audit clears. You keep your clean name in the department, I keep my desk. We are playing the long game."

Her calm voice grounds me. I nod, pressing a kiss to her forehead. I hate the distance, yes, but missing her talks—missing the way her mind works over economic theory and smart coffee talk—hits harder than any board threat ever did. And she tells me later, with a shy, real smile, that she misses the anchor feeling of my shadow in the room more than she realized. We aren't just hot adrenaline and a midnight mistake anymore. We are real.

Three days later, my phone buzzes at the desk of our home office.

Mason pops his head into the room, leaning against the doorframe with a coffee mug in hand and a sarcastic grin stretching across his face.

"Look at you," Mason mocks, pointing at the stack of independent market briefs and laptop screens glowing with LLC incorporation forms. "The great Kent Vance, former golden heir, now sitting in a minimalist box buying organic milk and assembling white cribs. You're completely domesticated, man. Grandfather is spinning in his leather chair."

I don't look up from my screen. I just type out a response to a fintech startup CEO who wants my pricing model. "Call it domesticated if you want, Mason. I call it breathing air I paid for."

Mason chuckles, shaking his head. "You never wanted a normal life before. You lived in glass towers and boardrooms like a machine."

"Because I didn't have anything real to protect," I say flatly, hitting send on the email.

Since cutting ties with the family trust, my personal stock portfolio liquid cash and my academic advisory reputation are doing the heavy lifting. I filed the papers for my own boutique risk-analysis and corporate governance firm yesterday: Vance Advisory Group. No family shares. No board vetoes. Just my brain and my net worth built outside their vault.

Ten minutes after Mason walks out, my inbox dings.

New Client Inquiry — Apex BioHealth.

Attachment: Retainer agreement. Scope: Phase-three capital compliance review. Value: Six figures upfront.

My chest expands. They didn't hire a Kent family heir. They hired me. First major client lands before my coffee even goes cold. I can build this empire from scratch brick by brick, and nobody can tear it down.

I spin my chair around, ready to tell Daniella the win, when a courier envelope slides through the heavy drop slot by our front door.

Thud.

I walk over, pick up the stiff ivory envelope stamped with heavy gold foil embossing. No return address, just a crest belonging to the annual Winter Horizon Philanthropic Foundation Gala—the exact high-society charity dinner my grandfather used to host before I walked away.

I slit the seal with my thumb and pull out the heavy cardstock invitation.

Inside, stamped in crisp black ink: Dr. Kent Vance & Guest.

My eyes drop to the attendee pairing manifest printed on the folded slip tucked beneath.

Registered Plus-One: Daniella Vance (Scholarship / Department Affiliate)

My blood runs hot and fast. They know where we live. They know we didn't run. And instead of hiding us in the shadows or pretending she doesn't exist, the high-society board just dropped an invitation right into our lap, listing her name clear as day right beside mine.

Daniella walks out of the kitchen holding two mugs of tea, stopping short when she sees the gold-stamped card in my hand.

"What is that?" she asks, her voice dropping cautious.

I look up from the paper, meeting her eyes. The game just shifted from defense to open war.

"An invitation," I say, my voice dropping low and steady. "They want us at the charity gala next week. Front row. Main room."

Daniella steps closer, looking over my shoulder at the paper. Her finger traces her printed name on the manifest. A slow, fearless resolve settles across her face.

"They're daring us to show up," she whispers.

"Let's dress for dinner," I tell her, sliding my arm around her waist and pulling her close.