My husband's pregnant mistress set a "backless dresses only" rule for the gala to humiliate my burn scars—until my billionaire boss handed me a custom gown and a plan to destroy them both.

One year later.

The summer evening over Manhattan was warm, clear, and filled with golden light.

The rooftop terrace of the Glass Tower on Park Avenue was decorated with thousands of white orchids, crystal fairy lights, and live classical music played by a harpist.

Over two hundred elite guests—industry leaders, legal partners, and international diplomats—gathered to celebrate the second anniversary of Mercer Global Logistics.

Under my leadership, the firm had become the highest-valued supply-chain company on the East Coast, generating over two hundred million dollars in annual revenue.

I stood near the edge of the glass terrace, looking out over the glowing skyline of New York City.

I wore a breathtaking dress—a custom red silk gown designed specifically for me by a top Italian fashion house.

Like the gown from the Founders’ Gala, the back was cut low, exposing my scars completely to the warm summer breeze.

On my skin, where the silvery keloid scars once stood bare, was a magnificent work of high-fashion body art: intricate gold and diamond body jewelry custom-fitted to trace every single curve of my healed skin.

My scars weren't something I survived anymore.

They were my crown.

Footsteps sounded softly behind me on the stone patio.

Gideon walked up, wearing a tailored black tuxedo. He carried two glasses of vintage champagne.

He set one glass in my hand, then stood beside me, his broad shoulder touching mine as we looked at the city together.

"You look stunning, Vivian," Gideon whispered softly.

"I feel stunning," I replied, smiling up at him. "For the first time in my life, Gideon, I feel completely whole."

Gideon turned to face me. He looked into my eyes with a deep, burning tenderness that made my heart leap in my chest.

"Vivian," Gideon began, his voice raspy with emotion. "For two years, I've watched you fight. I've watched you turn heartbreak into an empire, and pain into power."

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small, velvet ring box.

My breath hitched in my throat.

Gideon dropped to one knee on the rooftop terrace, under the glowing white lights and the Manhattan stars.

He opened the velvet box. Inside sat a breathtaking ten-carat canary diamond ring framed by a halo of brilliant white baguettes.

"I don't want to protect you because you're weak, Vivian," Gideon said, his voice ringing with pure, unshakeable sincerity. "I want to walk beside you because you are the strongest, most extraordinary woman I have ever known."

He looked up into my eyes.

"Vivian Mercer, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Tears of pure, overwhelming joy spilled over my eyelashes.

I didn't hesitate for a single second.

"Yes," I whispered, stepping forward. "Yes, Gideon! A thousand times yes!"

Gideon stood up, slipped the brilliant diamond onto my finger, and pulled me into his arms.