Lahat ng Kabanata ng Heels & Handcuffs - Club Gold Trilogy: Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

Angela. Three months after Marcus Steele's arrest, life had finally settled into a beautiful rhythm. The Victor Foundation was thriving beyond my wildest dreams. We'd awarded fifteen scholarships for the fall semester, launched our mentorship program pairing emerging artists with established professionals, and secured funding for the next three years. My mother's legacy was alive and growing, touching more lives every day. Damien and I had found our balance—passionate and intense, but also comfortable and domestic in ways I'd never experienced before. He'd officially asked me to move in permanently, and I'd said yes without hesitation. His penthouse had become our home, filled with my paintings and his books, our lives intertwining more completely every day. This morning, I was at the foundation office, interviewing candidates for our new art therapy program—an initiative to bring creative healing to trauma survivors. It was deeply personal work, honoring not just my mother but my

Angela. I'd faced down threats from Marcus Steele, navigated the cutthroat world of Chicago society, and built a foundation from the ground up. But somehow, dinner with Damien's parents terrified me more than all of those combined. "You're going to be fine," Damien said for the tenth time as we drove to the exclusive restaurant where we were meeting Dr. Jonathan and Eleanor Black. "Just be yourself." "That's what worries me," I admitted, smoothing down my conservative navy dress. "What if myself isn't what they want for you?" He reached over and took my hand. "Then that's their loss, not ours. Angela, I need you to understand something—my parents' approval isn't a requirement for our marriage. It would be nice, but it's not necessary." I knew he meant it, but I also knew how much it would hurt him if they rejected me. Damien's relationship with his family was complicated, marked by years of distance and unmet expectations. I wanted to bridge that gap, not widen it. The restauran

Damien. Six months into our marriage, life had settled into a beautiful rhythm. Angela's foundation had expanded to three cities, now providing scholarships and mentorship to over fifty young artists. The art therapy program she'd launched was gaining national recognition, with other cities requesting to replicate the model. Black Industries was thriving under my more balanced leadership approach. I'd promoted Viktor to Chief Operating Officer, allowing me to step back slightly from day-to-day operations and focus on strategy—and on my marriage. This particular Monday morning, I was in my office reviewing quarterly reports when Viktor knocked and entered, a knowing smile on his face. "You have that look," he said. "What look?" "The 'my wife is amazing and I can't believe she's mine' look. You get it approximately ten times a day." I didn't even try to deny it. "Angela called this morning. The foundation just secured a ten million dollar grant from the Kellerman Trust." Viktor

Damien. Eighteen hours into labor, I'd never felt more helpless in my life. Angela was a warrior—breathing through contractions, following the nurse's instructions, staying remarkably calm despite the pain. But watching her suffer, knowing I couldn't take it away, was agony. "You're doing amazing, Angel," I said, wiping her forehead with a cool cloth. "So strong, so brave." "I'm dying," she panted. "This baby is killing me." "You're not dying. You're bringing our daughter into the world." "Same thing." She gripped my hand as another contraction hit, squeezing so hard I thought my bones might crack. I didn't complain. The doctor checked her progress again. "You're at nine centimeters. Almost there, Angela. Soon you'll be able to push." "I want the epidural," Angela said desperately. "I changed my mind. I want all the drugs." "Too late for that, I'm afraid," the doctor said sympathetically. "But the good news is, you're almost done. Your daughter is ready to meet you." Another

One Year Later. Angela. The Victor Foundation's fifth anniversary gala was the event of the season. The Grand Ballroom of the Palmer House was filled with Chicago's elite—politicians, celebrities, philanthropists, and artists, all gathered to celebrate five years of transforming lives through art. I stood at the podium in a stunning emerald gown, looking out at the crowd of over five hundred people. Damien sat at the head table, Victoria—now eighteen months old and adorable in a little pink dress—on his lap, both of them watching me with identical expressions of pride and love. "Five years ago, the Victor Foundation was just an idea," I began. "A way to honor my mother's memory and her belief in the transformative power of art. Today, we operate in twelve cities across the country. We've awarded over three hundred scholarships, launched seven different programs, and impacted thousands of lives." Applause rippled through the room. I smiled, feeling my mother's presence as clearly