Chapter 289

Chapter 289
Rosalind

Morning sunlight streamed through our bedroom windows, and I felt absolutely radiant. Last night had been... therapeutic, in more ways than one. Not just the physical reconnection, but the emotional healing of finally being able to love my husband openly, without fear or pretense.

I stretched languidly, feeling deliciously satisfied and completely at peace for the first time in months. The nightmare was over. Griffin was locked away, our love was public knowledge, and we could finally—

A strong arm tightened around my waist, pulling me back against a familiar chest.

"Where do you think you're going?" Beckett murmured against my neck, his voice still rough with sleep.

"I thought I might get up, have some breakfast, maybe go shopping with Paige," I said, trying to wiggle free from his grip. "You know, normal married lady activities."

"No," he said firmly, his arm becoming an iron band around me. "I've spent months sleeping in a prison cell, dreaming about holding you like this. I'm not ready to let go yet."

I couldn't help but smile at the petulant note in his voice. This was a side of Beckett I rarely got to see—the boyish, slightly selfish part that wanted what he wanted when he wanted it.

"Sweetheart," I said gently, the way you might speak to a child who didn't want to give up their favorite toy, "I'm not going anywhere forever. Just for a few hours."

"Few hours is too long," he mumbled, pressing his face into my hair. "I've been without you for months. I deserve at least a full day of unlimited access."

"Unlimited access?" I laughed. "What am I, a resort amenity?"

"The best kind," he said seriously, then tightened his hold even more. "My personal paradise that I'm never letting anyone take away again."

The vulnerability in his voice made my heart clench. Beneath the playful possessiveness, I could hear the real fear—that somehow, this happiness might be temporary.

"Okay," I said softly, turning in his arms to face him. "How about this? You let me get up now, and I promise to spend the entire evening doing whatever you want. Deal?"

His eyes lit up with the kind of mischief that had made me fall in love with him in the first place. "Whatever I want?"

"Within reason," I amended quickly.

"Fine," he sighed dramatically, loosening his grip. "But I'm holding you to that promise."

I was just reaching for my robe when my phone rang, shattering the peaceful morning with its sharp electronic trill.

Calloway's name flashed on the screen.

I almost didn't answer it. After last night's public humiliation, I expected he'd need at least a few days to regroup before making any new moves. But something about the early timing made me curious enough to pick up.

"Calloway," I said neutrally. "This is unexpected."

"Rosalind." His voice was different—not defeated as I'd expected, but energized with something that sounded almost like triumph. "I thought you should know—you and Beckett are finished."

I sat up straighter, instantly alert. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm at Xavier Vandoren's estate right now," he continued, and I could hear the satisfaction in his voice. "And I have some very interesting news about Celestina."

The name hit me like ice water. Celestina Vandoren—Xavier's daughter, the spoiled society princess who'd made my life hell during my engagement to Calloway. The same woman who'd been reduced to a babbling wreck after her last encounter with my husband's justice.

"What about Celestina?" I asked carefully.

"She's recovered," Calloway said, and I could practically hear him grinning. "Completely recovered. Her mind is clear, her memory is intact, and she has some very specific accusations to make about who destroyed her sanity."

My blood went cold. If Celestina was truly lucid again, if she could testify about what Beckett had done to her...

"She's been telling me all about that night," Calloway continued relentlessly. "About how your husband's people dragged her into that room. About what they did to her mind. About how you stood there and watched while they broke her."

"Calloway—"

"I'm recording everything," he cut me off. "Every detail, every accusation. By tonight, the entire city will know exactly what kind of monsters you really are."

The line went dead, leaving me staring at the phone with a mixture of anger and cold calculation.

So. Celestina thinks she can cause problems for us.

"What's wrong?" Beckett's voice was instantly sharp, all traces of playful sleepiness gone. "Who was that?"

I turned to look at my husband, this man who'd moved heaven and earth to protect me, who'd spent months in prison for our future together. The thought of anyone threatening him—threatening us—sent something dark and primitive racing through my veins.

"Nothing important," I said calmly, reaching for my clothes. "Just some unfinished business I need to handle."

"Rosalind." His tone carried a warning. "What kind of unfinished business?"

I pulled on my jeans and a cashmere sweater with deliberate precision, my mind already working through possibilities, strategies, solutions. The old me would have panicked, would have run to Beckett for protection and guidance.

The new me had learned that sometimes the best defense was a very targeted offense.

"The kind that requires a personal touch," I said, grabbing my car keys from the dresser. "I'll be back in a few hours."

"Where are you going?"

I paused at the bedroom door, looking back at the man I loved more than my own life. "To remind someone why it's dangerous to threaten the people I care about."