Chapter 24
Lily removed Victor from her salon appointments when she was eighteen.
He found this insulting.
“You have never cut my hair.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you involved?”
“I drive.”
“You have a driver.”
“I am aware.”
Lily had decided to change salons near college.
That was all.
No trauma consultation.
No child-friendly specialist.
No Victor sitting in the waiting area pretending to read emails while watching every tool.
She booked it herself.
Victor disliked how ordinary that felt.
Good.
At eighteen, other boundaries changed too.
Her medical portal became private.
Her college schedule belonged to her.
Her personal spending account transferred to adult oversight structures defined years earlier.
No family-office assistant could approve purchases simply because Victor told them verbally.
That rule now irritated Victor when the purchase was for Lily.
Useful.
Then the archive department contacted them.
The Bellandi family collection included wedding-investigation materials scheduled for long-term legal retention.
Most were corporate records.
Some were personal.
The question concerned Lily’s childhood photographs.
Flower-girl fitting.
Pre-wedding family portraits.
The uneven haircut afterward.
Victor wanted all restricted permanently.
Lily asked:
“Why?”
“Privacy.”
“They’re me.”
“Exactly.”
“That means I decide?”
Not entirely.
Some photographs had multiple subjects.
Some belonged to company archives.
Some were evidence.
But several were Lily’s personal copies.
She chose.
Keep the family portrait from before the wedding.
Destroy duplicate flower-girl styling photographs.
Keep one photograph from the salon where she chose her first corrective haircut.
Release no childhood images for public family history without her consent.
Simple.
Then she found the framed photograph in Victor’s office.
The one from Chapter 13.
Lily after choosing her own haircut.
Victor had kept it for twelve years.
She stared.
“You still have this?”
“Yes.”
“I look weird.”
“You chose the hair.”
“That doesn’t make twelve-year-old photograph good.”
“You were six.”
“Worse.”
Victor looked offended.
She laughed.
Then asked:
“Can I take it?”
He became still.
“Why?”
“It’s me.”
That answer had become difficult to argue with.
He handed it over.
Lily removed the photograph from the frame.
Put the frame back on his desk.
“What am I supposed to put in this?”
“New picture.”
“Of you?”
“If you want.”
Victor noticed.
Not:
You should.
Not:
Family needs one.
If you want.
A month later Lily sent him a photograph from college.
She was standing with three friends.
Hair shoulder-length.
One side dyed dark red.
Victor disliked the color.
He printed the picture anyway.
Placed it in the old frame.
No professional retouching.
No Bellandi photographer.
No continuity image.
May you like
Just Lily.
Still the goal.
