Shared Crown

POV Aitana

Camera flashes and the quiet, respectful murmur of financial press greeted us at the corporate tower entrance. Gone were the sensationalist headlines of weeks past — the whispers of a secret daughter, the scandal-hungry curiosity. This morning’s headlines told a different story entirely: “Historic Restructuring: Belmonte and Ferrer Seal the Nation’s Greatest Agro-Industrial Alliance.”

I walked through the main lobby with steady, purposeful strides. The Burmese ruby ring rested safe in the penthouse vault — a silent, glowing reminder of everything we had won. Beside me, Sebastian moved with that effortless, commanding grace that seemed woven into his very bones. We wore matching dark, perfectly tailored suits, projecting the image of leadership: united, unshakeable, absolute.

The fifteenth floor no longer felt like enemy territory. When we stepped from the elevator, department heads and analysts rose to their feet, bowing their heads in genuine respect. At the end of the hall, a gleaming new bronze plaque beside the double doors read in polished gold lettering: Joint Executive Direction: Aitana Ferrer — Sebastian Belmonte.

“The operational integration reports are ready, Miss Ferrer”, the Chief Financial Officer announced, stepping forward with a leather-bound folder as we entered the boardroom. “Recovery of the eighty-two million dollars diverted is proceeding rapidly, following the court-ordered seizure of Serrano and Ferrer family assets. Market confidence has surged twelve points since opening bell.”

I took my place at the shared head of the table, opening the balance sheet with a calm that swelled proudly within my chest.

“Excellent work”, I said, my voice clear, steady, and authoritative. “Ensure that Food Industries production lines retain full technical independence. There will be no layoffs at regional plants; every worker keeps their position and all benefits intact.”

Sebastian watched me from his chair beside mine, a spark of pride and something deeper glowing in his dark eyes, as he signed bank authorizations. We were perfect partners in business — but our true test would not be fought within these walls. It would be faced at the most dangerous, judgment-driven event in the country: the Annual Financial Consortium Gala.

Scheduled for Friday evening at the Grand Metropolitan Theatre, it was the most exclusive charitable and social gathering of the year. International bankers, diplomats, cabinet ministers, and the nation’s most powerful families would all be watching. With the Serrano empire fallen and my uncles removed from power, high society waited with bated breath to see us step out together — to judge whether I stood beside Sebastian as a temporary convenience, or as the foundation of a consolidated dynasty.

When the workday ended, we rode the private elevator straight up to the penthouse.

The apartment lay in warm, peaceful quiet. Selene was in the playroom with her tutor, happily drawing pictures of her great-grandmother’s gardens. Entering my suite, something resting atop the velvet coverlet caught my eye at once.

A magnificent satin-black gift box, tied with silk ribbon sealed in gold — the unmistakable signature of a legendary Parisian couture house.

I approached slowly, fingers trembling as I untied the ribbon. When I lifted the lid, my breath caught in my throat.

Inside lay a breathtaking gown — liquid silk satin in the deepest, most vivid emerald green I had ever seen. It featured an asymmetrical neckline that draped elegantly over one shoulder, a bodice fitted with exquisite precision, and a soft, flowing skirt that parted in a subtle, devastatingly elegant slit. Resting beside it in a black velvet case hung a pair of long drop earrings — Colombian emeralds and diamonds, cut to catch the light with hypnotic, unearthly fire.

“It is one of a kind”, Sebastian’s deep, velvet voice spoke from the doorway.

I turned slowly. He had removed his tie and jacket, leaning one shoulder against the frame, hands resting loosely in his trouser pockets. His gaze settled on me with such warm intensity that my skin prickled all over.

“Sebastian... this is too much”, I murmured, brushing my fingertips over the impossibly smooth fabric. “It is a masterpiece.”

He walked toward me, slow and deliberate, stopping only inches away. He lifted one hand, brushing his thumb gently along my jawline, holding my gaze with a devotion that stole every word from my lips.

“Nothing is too much for you, Aitana”, he whispered, his voice low and rough, sending my pulse racing. “You were the woman who stood in silence to protect our daughter. You recovered what was yours, head held high. You gave me my life back. You deserve every jewel, every honor, and every door this world can open for you.”

He reached into his vest pocket and withdrew a card of heavy cream stock edged in gold foil, placing it gently into my palm.

My heart rose into my throat as I read his bold, unmistakable handwriting in rich black ink:

“The whole city will be watching us this Friday. Some will look for weakness. Others will hunt for a crack through which to strike. Walk beside me, Aitana. Stand as my equal before the world — and show them that our empire has no flaw.”

I lifted my eyes to him, stinging with happy tears. This was no mere invitation to a gala. It was a formal declaration — a powerful man publicly claiming me as his equal, closing forever six years of silence, judgment, and hiding.

“Sebastian...” was all I could whisper.

He smiled — that warm, possessive smile reserved only for me — and wrapped his arms firmly around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest.

“Will you take my arm and walk into that world with me on Friday night?” he asked, brushing his lips softly against my forehead in a silent vow of eternal love.

I smiled back, winding my arms around his neck, melting completely into the safety and warmth of his embrace.

“With you, Sebastian... I would walk anywhere. Even to the very ends of the earth.”