Chapter 18:The Vane Empire
1808 Words
Sienna
The air in the cathedral didn't smell like the stale, dusty "Old Money" of the Vane Estate. It smelled like five thousand white roses, expensive champagne, and something I could only describe as freedom.
I stood behind the massive oak doors, staring at my reflection in a full-length gilded mirror. This wasn't the girl in the black dress anymore. That girl had been a warrior, fueled by spite and protected by armor made of silk and sarcasm. The woman looking back at me today was wearing a gown of soft, shimmering ivory that flowed around me like moonlight. My "hot and perfect" goal had been met—the dress was tailored so perfectly that my tiny, twelve-week bump was our little secret, tucked safely away from the prying eyes of the five hundred socialites waiting on the other side of the doors.
"Ready, darling?" My mother stood beside me. For the first time in my life, she wasn't checking my hemlines or criticizing my lipstick. She looked at me and actually saw me. She reached out, tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and whispered, "He’s a good man, Sienna. He’s the first person I’ve seen who makes you look like you’re finally breathing."
I nodded, my throat tight. "I’m ready."
The music swelled—a live orchestra playing a slowed-down, orchestral version of the song we’d danced to in the Maldives. The doors swung open.
I didn't see the celebrities. I didn't see the cameras or the business rivals. I only saw Julian.
He was standing at the end of the long, petal-strewn aisle, and he was a mess. His hands were clasped so tightly they were white, and his eyes were already swimming in tears. As I walked toward him, I realized that everyone was watching the "Construction King" crumble, and he didn't care. He wasn't looking at the crowd to see if he looked "powerful." He was looking at me as if I were the only light in a dark room.
When I finally reached him, he took my hands. They were shaking.
"There is... there is far too much dust in the atmosphere today," Julian croaked, looking out at the front row where Leo was filming and laughing. Julian wiped a stray tear with his thumb and sniffled. "The ventilation in this cathedral is subpar. Sorry about that, everyone. My eyes are just... irritated."
A ripple of warm laughter went through the church. I leaned in, whispering so only he could hear, "It’s okay, Vane. I like you better with a little dust in your eyes."
The vows weren't written by lawyers. They were whispered promises about orange closets, pink bikinis, and the fact that we had found a home in the middle of a war zone. When he kissed me, the world didn't just feel right—it felt quiet. For the first time, the noise of the "Vane-Sterling Merger" was silenced by the sound of two hearts finally beating in sync.
The smooth rhythm of the reception was entirely shattered two hours later, courtesy of my brother-in-law.
Leo, obsessed with capturing the "perfect cinematic transition" for his social media followers, had managed to sneak a folding ladder behind the towering, five-tier floral masterpiece of our wedding cake. I watched in slow-motion horror as he leaned out at a ridiculous ninety-degree angle, his phone held high to get a bird's-eye view of Julian and me.
Then came the squeak of metal, a loud gasp, and a spectacular gravity-defying plunge.
With a deafening crunch and a wet splat, Leo crashed face-first directly into the top three tiers of vanilla fondant and sugar roses. The entire ballroom went dead silent. For three agonizing seconds, all anyone could see were Leo’s designer shoes kicking wildly in the air, surrounded by a massive explosion of white frosting.
"Leo!" his mother shrieked, burying her face in her hands, her face burning a bright crimson. His father looked ready to disown him on the spot, muttering apologies to the surrounding diplomats about his son's absolute lack of decorum.
Leo popped his head out of the crumpled cake, a giant blob of frosting sitting on his nose like a clown mask. He wiped his eyes, looked at the horrified crowd, and flashed a cheesy grin. "Well... I guess you could say this wedding is... sweet? Don't worry, guys, I saved the phone!"
Julian and I just stared at each other for a beat before we both burst into hysterical laughter. The great thing about having a combined net worth that could buy a small country was that a ruined cake wasn't a tragedy—it was just a minor inconvenience.
"Call the caterers," Julian chuckled, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye as he waved over a staff member. "Tell them to bring out the backup cake. The red velvet one we picked as our second favorite."
When you have money, you can solve almost any problem with a phone call. Within fifteen minutes, the ruined masterpiece was wheeled away, a brand-new, equally beautiful chocolate cake was in its place, and the two families—realizing the tension was broken—just laughed the whole thing off over more champagne.
But the real victory was mine. Before the waiters could clean him up, I had snapped a crystal-clear, high-definition photo of Leo completely covered in frosting, looking utterly ridiculous.
I leaned into Julian, showing him the screen. "If Leo ever tries to make a viral video of me or post my pregnancy cravings on the internet, this is my ultimate leverage."
Julian grinned, kissing my cheek. "Remind me never to get on your bad side, Mrs. Vane."
Six Months Later: The Baby Shower from Hell
If the wedding was a lavish affair, the baby shower was an all-out tactical maneuver.
My mother and Julian’s mother had formed an unholy alliance, transforming the penthouse into a botanical garden of white lilies and crystal strollers. They had invited everyone—from the Mayor to the editors of Vogue—turning what should have been a quiet celebration into a high-society event of the season.I was currently devouring my third banana and peanut serving my obsession with that particular craving were getting out of hand but I couldn't stop and no matter how many times I ate it, it was always the best thing I could ever have.
"Sienna, darling, try a macaron. They were flown in from Paris this morning," my mother said, hovering over me like a hawk. "And please, sit up straight. You’re slouching, and the Times photographer is near the mimosa bar."
"I am seven months pregnant with what feels like a professional wrestler, Mom," I groaned, readjusting myself on the velvet sofa. "Slouching is my only hobby right now."And I don't want no macaroons",I said popping a piece of banana smothered in peanut butter into my mouth.
Julian walked over, looking equally exhausted. He was carrying a mountain of gifts that looked like they cost more than my first car. He dropped them by the "Gift Tree" and slumped down beside me, taking my hand.
"Leo just tried to start a betting pool on the baby’s eye color," Julian whispered, leaning close. "And your uncle is currently trying to convince my father that the nursery needs a bulletproof panic room."
"A panic room? For a baby?" I laughed, shaking my head. "Our families are truly insane."
"It gets worse," Julian said, his eyes twinkling. "They’re demanding a gender reveal. My grandfather has a literal crate of blue and pink fireworks on the terrace ready to go. He wants to light up the Salt City skyline."
I looked out at the crowded room—the Sterlings arguing over which private preschool was the best, and the Vanes debating whether the baby should have a trust fund or a diversified stock portfolio.
"No fireworks," I decided, squeezing Julian’s hand. "No blue, no pink. Let’s keep them guessing. It’s the last bit of 'Vengeance' we have left—keeping the secret from them until the very last second."
Julian grinned, that wicked, handsome look that still made my heart skip a beat. "I like the way you think, Sterling. Let’s let them argue. It gives us an excuse to leave early."
We spent the rest of the afternoon dodging questions and laughing at the absurdity of it all. As I watched our families finally start to get along over a shared love of expensive champagne and "proper" upbringing, I realized the war was truly over. We weren't two houses who had friendly ties anymore; we were one giant, noisy, over-the-top empire waiting for its next generation.
Eight Months Later: The Hospital Chaos
The quiet didn't last, of course. We were Vanes and Sterlings; peace was a luxury we rarely afforded ourselves.
"Julian, if you don't stop pacing, I will have Alan sedate you," I gasped,still munching on a banana that I ended up mashing clutching the hospital railing in my hand as another contraction ripped through me.
"I’m fine! I’m calm! I am a pillar of stability!"baby why are you still eating Julian shouted,because I am in Pain!Julian!I shout back at him.I am the one giving birth "why he doing too much". He looked like he hadn't slept in a week, and he was wearing a t-shirt that said World’s Best Dad—a gift from Leo that Julian had initially called "garish" but now refused to take off.A few minutes later I was wheeled in.
The delivery room was a whirlwind. I remember the bright lights, the steady beep of the monitors, and Julian’s face hovering over mine, looking like he was about to pass out.
"You're doing it, Sienna.I know!I practically scream at him You're building our empire," he whispered, his voice thick with awe.I know!!I push hard on the last word.
And then, the first cry shattered the room. A boy. Healthy, loud, and already possessing his father’s stubborn lungs. Julian let out a sob of pure relief, but the doctor wasn't done.
"Wait," Julian blinked, his face turning a ghostly shade of grey. "Why are you still... why is there another—?"
"Surprise, Mr. Vane," the doctor grinned. "Meet your daughter."
The second cry was softer, sweeter. Julian stared at the two tiny humans being wrapped in blankets. He looked at me, then at the twins, and then his eyes rolled back. With a soft thud, the 6'2" billionaire hit the floor.
"He's down," the nurse sighed, stepping over him. "Classic."
- Writer
