She Was Sold to a Mafia Don Before Noon, but During Their First Dance She Whispered the One Warning That Changed Who Owned Whom
“You trust him?” she asked.
“I trusted him enough to put him in charge of twelve million dollars in cargo every month.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Adrian stayed silent.
Grant checked his watch.
Rebecca touched his elbow.
They separated.
Grant moved toward the service corridor.
Rebecca headed for the women’s lounge.
Adrian placed his empty glass down.
“You’re going upstairs.”
Vivian stared at him.
“I’m doing what?”
“There are guards outside the bridal suite.”
“No.”
“Vivian.”
“You told me someone in this room tried to kill you, and now you want me to sit upstairs like a decorative hostage?”
“I want you away from whoever tries the second move.”
“And if they kill you?”
“They won’t.”
“That confidence is becoming irritating.”
His eyes hardened.
“This isn’t a negotiation.”
Vivian stepped closer.
“That attitude may have worked before you married me.”
“We have been married for three hours.”
“Then this is an excellent time to establish expectations.”
For an instant, something almost resembling admiration passed through his expression.
Then it disappeared.
“Go upstairs.”
He walked away.
Vivian watched him disappear toward the service corridor.
Then she turned and followed Rebecca.
The women’s lounge had black marble floors, brass fixtures, velvet couches, and mirrors framed in gold. Rebecca stood alone at the counter applying lipstick.
She saw Vivian in the mirror.
“Mrs. Cole.”
“Rebecca.”
“Quite a wedding.”
“That’s one word for it.”
Vivian turned on the cold water and pressed damp fingers against her throat.
Rebecca smiled without warmth.
“You look pale.”
“My dress was designed by someone who apparently believes women don’t need lungs.”
“You get used to suffocating.”
Vivian looked at her reflection.
“Do you?”
Rebecca’s smile disappeared.
She closed her lipstick and placed it in her purse.
Keys were already inside her hand.
Vivian saw them.
“Leaving?”
“Grant has a migraine.”
“Before the cake?”
“He hates cake.”
“Tragic.”
Rebecca moved toward the door.
Then she paused.
“Considering what happened with the window, I think everyone’s appetite is gone anyway.”
Vivian’s hand stopped beneath the running water.
The window.
Almost nobody knew the bullet had passed through it.
From the ballroom, all anyone had clearly seen was the exploding vase.
Tommy had deliberately announced that a light fixture and table decoration had broken.
The stained cathedral glass itself had remained in its frame.
Vivian turned off the faucet.
“What happened with the window?”
Rebecca froze.
Only for a second.
But a second was enough.
“The vase,” she corrected. “I meant the vase.”
Vivian slowly faced her.
Rebecca’s right hand entered her purse.
Vivian moved first.
She threw her shoulder into Rebecca’s chest.
They struck the marble vanity.
A compact pistol came out of Rebecca’s purse.
Vivian seized her wrist.
The gun discharged into the ceiling.
The sound was deafening inside the tiled room.
Rebecca drove a knee into Vivian’s stomach.
Pain ripped through her ribs.
Vivian stumbled backward, fighting for air against the corset.
Rebecca raised the weapon.
Vivian grabbed the heavy velvet bench beside her and shoved it hard.
The bench struck the backs of Rebecca’s legs.
Rebecca lost her balance and fell against the counter.
Her head struck marble.
The gun skidded across the floor.
Then everything went still.
Vivian stood shaking.
Rebecca was breathing.
A thin line of blood appeared beside her hairline, but her chest continued rising.
Vivian stared down at her.
The reasonable thing would have been to run.
Instead, she picked up Rebecca’s phone from the floor.
The screen was unlocked.
A message was open.
He missed.
Second message.
Loading dock. Five minutes. We leave before Cole realizes who paid for it.
Vivian photographed the screen with her own phone.
Then another message appeared from an unknown number.
Do not let the girl leave with him. Malcolm says she must survive until the transfer is signed.
Vivian stopped breathing.
Malcolm.
Her father’s name.
She read the message again.
Her first instinct was denial.
Her father was selfish.
Weak.
A gambler.
A liar.
But arranging an assassination?
Using his daughter?
She searched the conversation.
Several earlier messages had been deleted.
One remained.
After the ceremony she becomes the surviving spouse. Cole’s trust transfers voting control to her for thirty days. Malcolm handles her.
Vivian’s hand went cold.
The marriage had never been the payment.
It had been the setup.
She had not been sold merely because her father owed money.
Her father had intended Adrian to die.
Then he intended to control her.
Her entire marriage had been engineered as a path to Adrian’s empire.
Vivian closed her eyes.
For years she had made excuses for Malcolm Hart.
After her mother died, she told herself grief had ruined him.
When he sold the lake house, she told herself he was desperate.
When creditors appeared at midnight, she told herself addiction was a sickness.
When he offered her marriage to Adrian Cole as the only way to save himself, she told herself at least he had been honest about being a coward.
But this was not cowardice.
This was calculation.
She had spent half her life believing her father failed her because he was weak.
The truth was worse.
Sometimes he failed her because he was willing to.
Vivian put Rebecca’s phone into the hidden pocket of her skirt and hurried back toward the ballroom.
She found Adrian near the service corridor with Tommy.
The moment Adrian saw her face, he came toward her.
“What happened?”
“Rebecca knew.”
His eyes moved over the loose strands of her hair and the dust on her shoulder.
“Are you hurt?”
“She fired once. I’m fine.”
“Where is she?”
“Alive. Unconscious.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
Vivian pulled out the phone.
“Grant is running.”
He took it.
Then she caught his wrist before he could turn away.
“There’s more.”
He looked down at her hand.
“My father is involved.”
For the first time that night, Adrian looked genuinely surprised.
Vivian showed him the message.
He read it twice.
The expression that followed frightened her more than his anger.
There was no rage.
No visible emotion.
Just emptiness.
“Malcolm knew about the surviving-spouse clause,” Adrian said.
“You knew?”
“My attorneys insisted on it because our marriage merges two holding companies. It was intended to protect you if I died.”
“My father turned it into a motive.”
Adrian looked toward the corridor.
“Stay with Tommy.”
“No.”
“Vivian.”
“I’m finished being told to stay somewhere while men decide what happens to my life.”
“This may get violent.”
She looked directly into his eyes.
“My father arranged to make me a widow three hours after marrying me to you. I’m coming.”
Adrian studied her.
Then he nodded.
“Stay behind me.”
“I’ll consider it.”
They reached the loading dock less than two minutes later.
Grant stood beside a black sedan shouting at his driver.
“Where is she?”
Adrian stepped out of the shadows.
“She’s unavailable.”
Grant turned.
The color disappeared from his face.
His driver reached toward his jacket.
“Don’t,” Adrian warned.
The driver froze.
Adrian raised his pistol.
Grant lifted both hands.
“Adrian, listen.”
“I’m listening.”
“This isn’t what it looks like.”
Vivian stepped out behind Adrian.
Grant saw her.
His panic deepened.
“Where’s Rebecca?”
“Breathing.”
“Vivian, you don’t understand.”
“I understand enough.”
Adrian held up Rebecca’s phone.
Grant’s shoulders sagged.
“Malcolm planned it,” he said quickly.
Vivian felt something tear inside her even though she had already read the messages.
Adrian remained still.
“Explain.”
Grant swallowed.
“Your marriage agreement gave her temporary control if you died. Malcolm knew she wouldn’t understand the business. He planned to have her sign proxy authority back to him.”
“And you?”
“I got the south docks.”
“From Malcolm?”
“From whoever controlled the company after you were gone.”
Adrian took one step forward.
Grant backed into the car.
“It was supposed to be clean.”
Vivian laughed once.
The sound came out broken.
“Clean?”
Grant looked at her.
“You were never supposed to get hurt.”
“You arranged for a man to be shot while I was holding him.”
“The shooter had instructions—”
“To shoot around me?”
Grant had no answer.
Vivian stared at him and suddenly understood something that made her feel sick.
Grant did not think of her as a person.
Neither had her father.
She was a condition in a contract.
A signature.
A surviving spouse.
A piece of useful flesh that needed to remain alive until paperwork was complete.
Adrian’s pistol lifted.
Grant’s face collapsed.
“Please.”
Adrian’s expression did not change.
Vivian touched his arm.
“Don’t.”
He glanced at her.
“He tried to kill me.”
“I know.”
“He would have killed you afterward.”
“I know.”
“Then move.”
Vivian did not.
“If you shoot him, we get a corpse.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed.
“If he lives, we get evidence.”
Grant stared at her.
Vivian continued.
“My father spent years teaching me what desperation looks like. Grant is desperate enough to tell us everything.”
Adrian remained motionless.
“You’re asking me to spare him?”
“I’m asking you not to make my father’s crimes disappear into another body.”
That reached him.
Something shifted in Adrian’s face.
He lowered the gun.
Grant sagged with relief.
Then Adrian struck him once across the jaw.
Grant collapsed against the trunk.
“That,” Adrian said quietly, “was for the wedding.”
Tommy’s men arrived moments later.
Grant was restrained.
His driver surrendered without resistance.
Rebecca was taken to a private hospital under guard, where doctors confirmed she had a concussion but would recover.
Vivian expected Adrian to return to the ballroom and announce war.
Instead, he surprised her.
He ordered everyone to keep the truth quiet.
Then he took Vivian back inside.
The wedding cake still waited beneath the chandelier.
Five tiers.
White sugar roses.
Raspberry filling.
A ridiculous amount of money spent on dessert while lives were being bought and traded behind closed doors.
Tommy handed Adrian the cake knife.
Vivian stared at it.
Her hands began trembling again.
Adrian noticed.
He moved close enough to block the cameras’ view.
“You hold it,” he said.
“I don’t think I can.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I almost got shot. Rebecca tried to shoot me. My father tried to turn me into a widow.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel right now.”
“You don’t have to know.”
His voice lowered.
“You hold the knife. I hold your hand. We push together.”
Vivian looked at him.
Hours earlier, she had believed Adrian Cole was the worst thing waiting for her at the end of the aisle.
Now the strangest truth of the night settled inside her.
The man everyone warned her to fear had given her more choices in three hours than her own father had given her in ten years.
She wrapped her fingers around the knife.
Adrian covered her hand with his.
Together, they cut the cake.
Cameras flashed.
The crowd applauded.
Deep red raspberry filling streaked across the silver blade.
Vivian stared at it.
Adrian’s thumb moved once across her knuckles.
“Smile, Mrs. Cole.”
This time she did.
Not because she had been ordered to.
Because she had survived.
Near midnight, the door to Adrian’s penthouse closed behind them.
For the first time all day, there were no guests.
No guards.
No music.
No cameras.
Vivian kicked off her heels and stood barefoot on the thick carpet.
Adrian poured himself a drink.
She struggled with the laces at the back of her gown until frustration became panic.
The corset suddenly seemed unbearable.
She pulled harder.
“Damn it.”
Adrian put down his glass.
“Turn around.”
Her body stiffened.
He noticed.
And stopped several feet away.
“I’m not going to touch you without permission.”
The words disarmed her more effectively than anything else he had done.
Vivian slowly turned.
“You can help.”
He approached.
His fingers worked carefully at the knots.
When the corset finally loosened, Vivian inhaled deeply.
Her lungs expanded.
She nearly cried from the relief.
Adrian stepped back immediately.
“You’re bruised.”
“Rebecca had excellent aim with her knee.”
“You should have listened to me.”
“And you would be dead if I had listened to everyone tonight.”
He exhaled.
“Fair point.”
Vivian turned.
Adrian had removed his jacket.
Without it, he looked less like a king and more like an exhausted man who had spent years pretending exhaustion was weakness.
She studied him.
“Did you know my father hated you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know he wanted you dead?”
“No.”
“Why marry me?”
Adrian sat on the edge of the sofa.
“Because your father owed people who would eventually collect through you.”
Vivian frowned.
“He told me you were the creditor.”
“I bought his debts.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
Adrian looked up.
“I bought them because I knew who held them.”
Vivian waited.
“They weren’t going to take his house.”
Her stomach tightened.
“What were they going to take?”
“You.”
Silence.
“He had already offered your name as leverage to three different men.”
Vivian stared at him.
Adrian continued.
“I couldn’t erase the contracts without starting a fight. Marriage made you untouchable.”
Her eyes burned.
“So you saved me by owning me first?”
His face tightened.
“When you say it like that, it sounds exactly as ugly as it was.”
“Because it was ugly.”
“Yes.”
There was no excuse in his answer.
No attempt to make himself noble.
That honesty mattered more than Vivian wanted it to.
Adrian leaned forward.
“I thought I could give you money, distance, protection. You could live wherever you wanted. We would appear together when necessary.”
“A decorative wife.”
“A protected one.”
“A cage with better furniture is still a cage.”
He nodded slowly.
“You’re right.”
Vivian blinked.
She had spent her childhood fighting a father who could never say those two words.
Adrian continued.
“So we change the agreement.”
She watched him carefully.
“How?”
“You tell me.”
It was such a simple sentence.
It nearly broke her.
Vivian sat opposite him.
“No ownership language. Ever.”
“Done.”
“No deciding where I live.”
“Done.”
“No ordering me into rooms for my own protection.”
“That one may require negotiation.”
Despite herself, she laughed.
Adrian smiled faintly.
“My money stays mine.”
“Yes.”
“I want access to every document involving my family.”
“Yes.”
“And if I decide tomorrow that I want an annulment?”
Adrian was quiet.
Then he nodded.
“I’ll sign it.”
No anger.
No threat.
No price.
Vivian looked away because suddenly she was dangerously close to crying.
Adrian noticed.
He did not reach for her.
That restraint finally undid her.
“My father was supposed to love me,” she whispered.
The sentence sounded childish the moment it left her mouth.
But she could not take it back.
Adrian’s voice softened.
“Yes.”
“I kept thinking if I fixed enough things, paid enough bills, lied to enough creditors, maybe he would become the person I remembered before Mom died.”
Adrian said nothing.
“He sold her jewelry.”
Vivian swallowed.
“Did I ever tell you that?”
“No.”
“She left me a bracelet. Cheap little silver thing. Not worth much. He sold that too.”
Her laugh shook.
“He said he would buy it back after one winning weekend.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“He never did.”
“No.”
Vivian wiped beneath one eye.
“I hated him for the gambling. I hated myself more because part of me still kept waiting for him to choose me over the next bet.”
Adrian moved slowly and sat beside her.
He did not touch her until she leaned against him first.
Then his arm went around her shoulders.
“You should never have had to earn being chosen,” he said.
Vivian closed her eyes.
The words hurt.
Because they were true.
They sat silently until her breathing steadied.
Then Adrian said, “There’s something else.”
She lifted her head.
“Grant gave Tommy access to a cloud account. Your father wasn’t only planning to control your shares.”
“What else?”
“He borrowed against them before the wedding.”
Vivian stared at him.
“He couldn’t.”
“He forged preliminary authorization.”
“How much?”
“Thirty-eight million.”
She went cold.
“He was planning to disappear.”
“Yes.”
“With the money?”
“Yes.”
“And leave me here?”
Adrian’s expression answered before his mouth did.
Vivian stood.
The grief inside her changed shape.
It became anger.
Not the hot, childish anger she had felt for years.
Something cleaner.
“I want to see him.”
“Tonight?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“That could be dangerous.”
“No.”
Vivian looked down at Adrian.
“It’s necessary.”
At eleven the next morning, Malcolm Hart walked into Warehouse Four on the south docks expecting to negotiate his daughter’s future.
Instead, he found Adrian sitting behind a metal table with Vivian beside him.
Grant Mercer sat twenty feet away under guard.
Walter Mallory, the elderly power broker, had arrived to witness what Adrian described as an accounting dispute.
Malcolm stopped walking.
His face changed when he saw Grant.
Then he saw Vivian.
“Sweetheart.”
Vivian felt nothing.
That frightened her more than hatred would have.
“Sit down.”
Malcolm looked at Adrian.
“What is this?”
Adrian folded his hands.
“Your daughter asked you to sit.”
Malcolm hesitated.
Then obeyed.
Vivian placed several printed messages on the table.
His eyes dropped to them.
He went pale.
“Vivian, I can explain.”
“That sentence has been the soundtrack of my entire life.”
“You don’t understand what I was trying to do.”
“You arranged to have my husband murdered.”
Malcolm looked toward Mallory.
“This is family business.”
Mallory took a slow breath through his oxygen line.
“Seems to me your daughter is family.”
Malcolm looked back at Vivian.
“I did it for us.”
There it was.
The same excuse.
The same phrase he had used after selling the lake house.
After emptying her college account.
After borrowing against her mother’s life insurance.
For us.
Vivian leaned forward.
“No. You did it for you.”
“I was trying to get back what our family lost.”
“You lost it.”
His face tightened.
“I made mistakes.”
“You made choices.”
“I was sick.”
“You were addicted. That explains some things. It doesn’t excuse planning a murder.”
Malcolm’s voice rose.
“You think he’s better than me?”
He pointed at Adrian.
“You think because he wears a nice suit and talks quietly, he isn’t dangerous?”
Vivian looked at Adrian.
“No.”
Malcolm faltered.
“I know exactly what he is.”
“Then come home.”
Vivian almost smiled.
“Home?”
“You’re my daughter.”
“And yesterday that meant something you could collateralize.”
Malcolm flinched.
Good.
For once, Vivian wanted the truth to hurt him.
He reached across the table.
She moved her hands away.
“I loved your mother.”
“I know.”
“I loved you.”
“Maybe you did.”
Malcolm’s eyes filled.
“Maybe?”
Vivian’s voice broke despite her effort to keep it steady.
“Love isn’t only what you feel when you’re afraid of losing someone. It’s what you refuse to do to them before they leave.”
The warehouse became completely silent.
Even Adrian looked away.
Malcolm lowered his head.
For several seconds, he looked old.
Not powerful.
Not clever.
Not manipulative.
Just old.
Vivian hated that part of herself still felt sorry for him.
Compassion, she realized, was not the same as surrender.
She could pity the broken parts of him without handing him another weapon.
Adrian slid a folder across the table.
Malcolm opened it.
His hands began shaking.
“What is this?”
“Your forged loans,” Vivian said. “Your offshore transfers. Grant’s testimony. Rebecca’s statement.”
Malcolm looked up.
“You’re turning me over?”
“The financial evidence goes to the attorneys and investigators this afternoon.”
“You can’t.”
“I can.”
“I’m your father.”
“Yes.”
Tears appeared in his eyes.
That nearly destroyed her.
But nearly was not enough anymore.
Vivian stood.
“I spent fifteen years rescuing you from consequences because I thought consequences would kill you.”
She placed one hand on the table.
“Maybe consequences are the only thing that can save whatever is left.”
Malcolm stared at her.
“You’d let them put me in prison?”
“If that’s where the evidence leads.”
His face crumpled.
Vivian’s throat tightened.
“I won’t ask Adrian to kill you.”
Malcolm looked toward him.
Adrian remained silent.
“I won’t ask anyone to hurt you,” Vivian continued. “But I will not lie for you again.”
She walked around the table.
For a moment, she almost touched her father’s shoulder.
She stopped herself.
“I hope you finally become someone who can live without destroying the people who love you.”
Then she left.
Outside the warehouse, the wind off the lake cut through Vivian’s coat.
She reached the edge of the dock before the tears finally came.
Adrian followed but stayed several feet behind.
She laughed bitterly through them.
“You can come closer.”
He did.
Vivian covered her face.
“I thought it would feel better.”
“It rarely does.”
“You sound experienced.”
“I am.”
She looked at him.
“Did you ever forgive your father?”
Adrian’s expression changed.
“My father died before I learned forgiveness and permission are different things.”
“What does that mean?”
“You can forgive someone without allowing them back into your life.”
Vivian looked across the water.
“I don’t know if I can forgive Malcolm.”
“You don’t have to decide today.”
For once, nobody was demanding an immediate answer from her.
She leaned into Adrian.
He put his coat around both of them.
Walter Mallory emerged from the warehouse a few minutes later.
The old man approached slowly.
“I expected bodies today.”
Adrian looked at Vivian.
“So did I.”
Mallory studied her.
“You stopped him?”
Vivian shook her head.
“No.”
Adrian answered instead.
“She gave me a better option.”
Mallory grunted.
“More expensive.”
“Usually is.”
The old man glanced between them.
“Grant’s gone.”
Vivian stiffened.
Mallory raised a hand.
“Not dead. Your husband arranged for him to disappear from the business after he gives full testimony. Rebecca too. They won’t be working these docks again.”
Vivian looked at Adrian.
“You did that?”
“You wanted evidence.”
“You could have killed him.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Adrian’s answer came quietly.
“Because last night you asked me not to.”
Something shifted inside her.
Not love.
Not yet.
Something more important at the beginning.
Trust.
Six months later, Cole Logistics no longer moved unregistered cargo through the south docks.
Adrian lost money at first.
A great deal of it.
Several old allies called him weak.
Two threatened to leave.
Vivian advised him to let them.
They rebuilt the company around legitimate freight, construction contracts, warehousing, and import businesses that could survive daylight.
It was not clean because Adrian suddenly became a saint.
He did not.
He was still dangerous.
Still feared.
Still capable of making ruthless choices.
But the target Vivian had seen on his forehead that first night forced him to acknowledge something he had known for years and refused to say aloud.
His empire was not power.
It was a machine that required a constant supply of enemies.
Vivian helped him build something that did not.
They established a fund for dockworkers injured in businesses Adrian’s organization had once controlled.
He resisted the idea.
Vivian won the argument.
They returned money Malcolm had stolen from several small investors.
Adrian complained about that too.
Vivian won again.
Malcolm eventually pleaded guilty to financial crimes and conspiracy.
He received a prison sentence.
Vivian visited him once.
He looked older.
Sober.
For the first time in years, completely sober.
“I’m sorry,” he told her through the glass.
Vivian studied him.
“I believe you.”
His eyes filled.
“Do you forgive me?”
She took a long breath.
“Not yet.”
He nodded.
“But I hope someday I can.”
That was all she could honestly give.
It was enough.
On their first anniversary, Adrian rented the same cathedral where they had married.
No five hundred guests.
No politicians.
No armed entourages pretending not to be armed.
Just Tommy, Nathan, a handful of close friends, and a string quartet.
Vivian walked into the empty ballroom wearing a simple dark blue dress.
Adrian stood at the center of the floor.
“No snipers?” she asked.
“Tommy checked twice.”
From across the room Tommy called, “Three times.”
Vivian smiled.
Adrian extended his hand.
“Dance with me.”
She walked toward him.
“One condition.”
“Of course.”
“You don’t own me.”
Adrian took her hand.
“I learned that somewhere around the time you started rewriting my company’s contracts.”
“And?”
“And you were extremely expensive.”
She laughed.
He pulled her gently into his arms.
The quartet began to play.
For a while they moved without speaking.
No audience judging whether their marriage looked convincing.
No rival waiting to discover weakness.
No father waiting to profit from her obedience.
Only two people who had met under the ugliest possible circumstances and somehow made one decent thing out of what should have destroyed them.
Adrian looked down at her.
“What?”
Vivian smiled.
“There’s something on your forehead.”
He immediately stopped dancing.
Her laughter echoed through the cathedral.
Adrian narrowed his eyes.
“That isn’t funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
“Vivian.”
She reached up and brushed a strand of his hair aside.
“No red dot.”
His shoulders relaxed.
“What, then?”
She looked into the same cold gray eyes that had terrified her one year earlier.
They did not look cold anymore.
“Nothing.”
She touched his cheek.
“I just wanted to make sure you were still paying attention.”
Adrian wrapped his arm around her waist.
“To you?”
He leaned down.
“Always.”
And when they started dancing again, Vivian realized the strangest part of their story was not that she had saved a mafia boss from a sniper on the night she had been sold into marriage.
It was that the man who had once believed he could protect her by possessing her had eventually learned to stand beside her without closing the cage.
And the woman who had spent her entire life being traded, indebted, rescued, and used had finally learned that survival was not the same thing as living.
She no longer needed someone to save her.
She needed someone willing to walk beside her while she saved herself.
Adrian had once thought he was marrying a pawn.
Vivian had once thought she was marrying a monster.
They had both been wrong.
He had married the woman who would force him to become something better than the empire that made him.
And she had married the first man powerful enough to protect her who eventually understood that loving her meant giving her the freedom not to need his protection at all.
The first time they danced, Vivian had placed her body between Adrian and a bullet because she believed his survival was tied to hers.
The second time, there was no bullet.
No bargain.
No debt.
No audience that mattered.
When Adrian offered his hand, Vivian took it for the simplest reason of all.
Because she wanted to.
THE END.
