Chapter 8

Rosalind

Everett's expression had already begun to sour, a muscle twitching in his jaw, though he remained silent, watching the exchange with narrowed eyes.

I met Calloway's sneer with a slow smile, all traces of my previous tremulous act vanishing.

"Fine," I said, my voice now icy calm, each word cutting like glass. "You really wanna do this here? In front of Grandpa Everett? Then let's give him the full picture of what his precious grandson's been up to."

"Two days ago, then. Let's talk about the mature woman, shall we? The one in her late thirties, I'd guess?" I saw Everett stiffen at the mention of a specific timeframe.

"The one with the amazing curves," I continued, my voice devoid of emotion, "the kind you obviously prefer. The one whose laugh I heard coming from our bedroom while I was supposedly out." Everett's knuckles were white where he gripped his cane. "The one you had sprawled all over our bed, Calloway, making herself completely at home."

My voice dropped a little, as if sharing a particularly disgusting secret. "And then, the really classy touch—watching her come out of our bathroom, wearing my silk bathrobe, Calloway. My bathrobe." I let that sink in, my eyes flicking to Everett, whose face was now a mask of dawning fury, then back to a suddenly less confident Calloway. "Before you two... well, before you both went back to the bed we share and continued your very loud activities."

That was the breaking point for Everett. His face darkened ominously, the veins standing out on his temples.

He raised his cane, his hand trembling not with age but with sheer, unadulterated rage. "You worthless piece of shit!" he roared, his voice cracking. "Our family name dragged through the mud by your disgusting behavior! Have you no shame?"

The cane came down hard across Calloway's shoulders. I winced despite myself. Everett's cane was no ordinary walking stick—it was a symbol of his authority, designed to inflict real punishment. The blow was silent when making contact, but Calloway's face contorted in pain.

"Grandpa, I—" Calloway began, but another blow cut him off.

"Shut up!" Everett thundered. "You dare deny it when Rosalind's seen the proof with her own eyes?"

I knew I was playing a dangerous game. There were no recordings, no evidence. But I also knew that Everett hated infidelity above all else, having lost his wife to another man in his youth. And he trusted me implicitly—a trust I was exploiting, but for my own survival.

A red stain began to spread across the back of Calloway's white shirt. Everett had drawn blood. I felt a twinge of guilt, quickly smothered by the memory of Calloway's cruel ultimatum. He'd demanded my bone marrow and threatened my life. He deserved this humiliation.

"I'm sorry," Calloway finally muttered, lowering his gaze. "I screwed up, Grandpa."

Everett's anger seemed to subside slightly. "Look how mature Rosalind is! Learn from her! Go clean up your mess and cut ties with all those shameful relationships, or you'll answer to me again!"

"I get it, Grandpa," Calloway said through clenched teeth, his eyes never leaving mine. His cold gaze promised retribution.

I met his look with a serene, almost unreadable smile.

"You better be a good husband to Rosalind from now on, understood?" Everett added, his tone slightly less harsh.

"Crystal clear, Grandpa," Calloway replied, his fists clenched so hard that his knuckles crackled. Just you wait, Rosalind! his eyes seemed to say.

Griffin cleared his throat. "Calloway, your uncle stepped out to take a call a minute ago. Why don't you go find him and bring him back? I'd like him to properly meet his nephew's future wife." He paused, fixing his son with a meaningful look. "And Rosalind's absolutely right, of course. You need to be a proper husband. No more of that cheating bullshit. A Montgomery man keeps his commitments."

"Yes, Dad," Calloway said eagerly, grateful for the escape. "And I'll go find him right away, Grandpa."

---

The moment I stepped into the corridor outside the grand ballroom, a hand seized my throat. I was slammed against the wall, gasping for air.

"Nice work, Rosalind," Calloway's face was inches from mine, his fingers tightening around my neck. "You found yourself some fake husband who's good at playing games. I waited at that hospital for hours, and you had the balls not to show up. And now, this bullshit accusation?" His grip tightened. "Think you're smart? Don't imagine Grandpa's protection makes you untouchable."

I could hardly breathe, but I managed to keep the smile on my face. If he thought he could intimidate me now, he was dead wrong. I'd tasted victory against him, and I would not cower again.

"And you can stop fantasizing about my bone marrow as a wedding present," I choked out. "Fix your shit with Grandpa. Or who knows what other inconvenient truths I might remember."

His grip tightened, his eyes blazing with hatred. "Play your little games. But this marriage will happen. And you will give Hannah the bone marrow she needs! It's going to her. Don't push me."

He shoved me away and stormed off, leaving me gasping against the wall.

I steadied myself, rubbing my bruised neck. The corridor was dimly lit, the sounds of the party muted behind closed doors. I needed a moment to compose myself before returning.

"Having fun tonight, Ms. Blackwell? Or should I say, the fiancée of Boston's most illustrious family, the Montgomerys?"

I froze at the voice, turning to see Beckett standing there, his expression unreadable in the shadows. What was he doing here?

"Beckett?" I frowned, surprised by his presence and tone. "What're you doing here? Are you following me?"

He stepped closer, the scent of mint wafting from him. "Tell me, Rosalind," he said, his voice like ice as he lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "When you agreed to our little arrangement, did you conveniently forget to mention your engagement to the heir of the Montgomery family?"

My mind went blank. I couldn't process what he was asking. "What are you talking about?"

"Do you have any clue who I am?" He leaned in closer, his grip tightening on my chin, leaving a faint mark.

"Beckett, what the hell are you talking about?!" I stammered, truly confused. Did he think I'd lied to him about being engaged to someone in the Montgomery family?

My answer seemed to infuriate him. His eyes narrowed, his gaze turning sharp as a knife. "This whole charade ends now," he said abruptly. "We're getting divorced tomorrow. City Hall, nine AM."

"Divorce?" I inhaled sharply, stunned by this sudden announcement. "Why? Are you scared Calloway will come after you? He doesn't give a damn about me, Beckett, really! He only wants—"

"Nine AM," he repeated, cutting me off. He let me go irritably, tugged at his tie, and walked away quickly, not giving me a chance to explain.