Chapter 9

Rosalind

I stood there, leaning dejectedly against the wall. What the hell had just happened? Why was Beckett acting like this? And why did he seem to think I'd hidden something about Calloway from him?

The same eyes that had looked at me with such gentle concern just days ago now held nothing but cold suspicion. Maybe I'd mistaken his earlier kindness for something it wasn't.

A butler approached, breaking my reverie. "Ms. Blackwell?" he inquired softly.

"Yeah. What's up?" I replied absentmindedly, still trying to process Beckett's strange behavior.

The butler inclined his head. "Mr. Everett sent me to get you, ma'am. He wants you to meet Calloway's uncle right away—they're waiting for you."

That caught my attention. The mysterious uncle that everyone had been talking about. I forced myself to rally. "Oh? He's here? Please, take me to him."

But when I returned to the ballroom, Everett met me with a disappointed look. "Ah, Rosalind, sweetheart. What a shame. They got called away on urgent business just a few minutes ago. You would've met him if you'd been here thirty seconds sooner."

I was thoroughly dejected. Nothing was going right tonight.

Dinner with Everett was a blur. I was too exhausted and preoccupied to focus on anything he said. When I finally left there, I sat in my car, not wanting to move at all.

My phone rang—Paige again.

"Rosalind?" she said. "My mom's still at the hospital. Could you bring her the dinner I made? I can't get away from this emergency meeting."

"Of course," I replied automatically. Maybe doing something for someone else would distract me from my own problems.

The hospital was quiet when I arrived, the visiting hours nearly over. I found Mrs. Hayes's room empty—apparently she'd gone for a late-night walk with her nurse. The tomato soup Paige had prepared was still warm in its container.

As I headed toward the garden where the nurse had taken Mrs. Hayes, I froze at the sight before me.

Hannah sat in her wheelchair, surrounded by no fewer than a dozen attendants, looking like a queen holding court. Her skin glowed with genuine health, completely contradicting any previous claims of being critically ill. Today, strikingly, there was none of the dramatic pallor she often displayed, no sign of those mysterious bruises she'd always complained about.

Today, she simply radiated vitality. She was giggling, soaking up compliments, and clearly loving being the center of attention.

"Oh, Mrs. Montgomery, Mr. Montgomery is absolutely obsessed with you! He brings you fresh flowers every single day, the most expensive chocolates from Paris, diamond earrings that must've cost a fortune!" one attendant gushed breathlessly. "I've never seen a man so head-over-heels! He can't stand to be away from you for even a second!"

Hannah spotted me and her voice turned sickeningly sweet, yet deliberately loud. "Calloway is completely devoted to me! He says I'm his soulmate, that he's never felt love like this before! He tells me every day that I'm the only woman who truly gets his tortured soul, that he'd move heaven and earth for me!"

Something in me snapped. After everything that had happened—Calloway's threats, Beckett's sudden coldness, and now this bullshit show—I couldn't take anymore. I was in a terrible mood, and Hannah had just become the perfect target for my anger.

I walked toward her, the hot tomato soup container in my hands. "What an amazing coincidence, cousin. Enjoying your little royal performance?"

Before she could respond, before I even realized what I was doing, I dumped the hot tomato soup over her head. "Oops. My bad."

Her agonized screams echoed through the garden. The attendants rushed forward, shocked and furious.

"Who the hell are you?!" one nurse demanded. "What have you done?! Do you know who this is?"

I crossed my arms and said calmly, "I'm Calloway Montgomery's fiancée. And who, exactly, is this?"

Chaos erupted. Hannah was sobbing, her carefully styled hair and expensive clothes ruined by the sticky tomato soup. The attendants were torn between helping her and confronting me.

"Your engagement was just for show!" Hannah wailed, tears streaming down her face. "Calloway and I have real, deep love! Can't you just let him go, Rosalind?"

I smiled without warmth. "How pure. Then why, dear cousin, hasn't your 'true love' Calloway broken off our very public engagement in front of Grandpa Everett? Could it be... he's been lying to you?"

Her face twisted with rage before she suddenly composed herself. "I know you're pissed about the bone marrow, about having to save me." Her voice turned fragile. "I can't stand your pain, Rosalind! I'll end it! I'll kill myself so you can be happy!"

She wheeled herself toward a concrete pillar, as if to crash into it headfirst.

I almost laughed at her theatrics. "Go right ahead. Put a little more force behind it next time, maybe? Your death would certainly clear things up for everyone, especially Grandpa. All your 'shameless' behavior with Calloway would finally come to light."

She stopped abruptly, her suicide performance abandoned. Then, to my disgust, she threw herself off the wheelchair and began crawling toward me.

"No, Rosalind, it's not what you think!" she pleaded, clutching at my legs. "Calloway only feels sorry for me! There's nothing between us, I swear!"

I yanked her chin up, my patience completely gone. "Oh? 'Mrs. Montgomery,' they called you. A mistake, I guess? Then remember your place, cousin. Wait until others are done eating before you go after the scraps. Got it?"

I left her there, sobbing in the garden, surrounded by her bewildered attendants. I felt no remorse. Hannah deserved it after everything she'd done. She and Calloway had conspired to steal my bone marrow, and she had the nerve to parade around as if she were already his wife.

As I walked away, I realized I'd never delivered Mrs. Hayes's dinner. The tomato soup was now splattered all over Hannah's head and clothes. I'd have to go buy a replacement meal and apologize to Paige later.

A masked man was waiting in the corridor. "Ms. Blackwell? Mr. Montgomery asked me to drive you to Cambridge."

I hesitated. "Which Mr. Montgomery?"

"Mr. Everett Montgomery, ma'am. He said you looked tired at dinner and insisted I get you home safely."

"Oh, thank God," I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Thank you. That's incredibly sweet of Mr. Montgomery. And yeah, I'm absolutely wiped out. Actually, before we go home, could you possibly take me to a restaurant around here first? I need to grab a meal for someone. It's important."

"Of course, ma'am," the driver replied politely. "Mr. Montgomery told me to help you with whatever you need."

As we drove, a strange lethargy crept over me. I yawned, my eyelids growing heavy. It was weird—I was usually a night owl, rarely tired this early. I rubbed my temples, trying to stay alert.

"Everything okay, Ms. Blackwell?" the driver asked, his voice oddly muffled.

"Yeah, just... suddenly feeling kinda... dizzy," I mumbled. "Everything's getting... blurry. Your voice sounds... really far away."