Chapter 296

Chapter 296
Rosalind

The morning sun filtered through the silk curtains of our penthouse bedroom, casting golden stripes across the Egyptian cotton sheets. I stretched lazily, reaching across the bed for Beckett, but found only empty space and the lingering warmth where he'd been lying.

The sound of his voice drifted from the living room—low, professional, the tone he used for business calls. I glanced at the clock: 7:15 AM. Too early for most business, which usually meant something important.

I was just settling back into the pillows when his phone rang again. This time, his voice carried a different quality—sharper, more alert.

"Beckett Montgomery," he answered.

I couldn't make out the words, but something in the caller's tone made me sit up. Beckett's responses were terse: "I see." "When?" "No, that won't be necessary."

When he appeared in the bedroom doorway, still in his silk pajama pants, his expression was unreadable.

"That was Warden Richards from ADX Florence," he said without preamble. "Griffin Montgomery died yesterday evening. Heart attack in his cell."

I stared at him, my brain taking a moment to process the words. "Griffin is... dead?"

"Quite dead, yes."

I blinked, searching his face for some reaction—satisfaction, relief, anything. Instead, he looked almost... amused?

"Did you have him killed?" I asked, the question tumbling out before I could stop it.

Beckett threw back his head and laughed—that rich, genuine sound that never failed to send warmth through my chest. "Rosalind, darling, do you really think I need to waste resources on a man rotting in federal prison? That would be like..." He paused, considering. "Like bombing a building that's already been demolished."

Despite everything, I found myself smiling. "You know what? I think it's actually a relief. For Griffin, I mean. I heard Calloway completely cut ties with him—no more trust fund, no more family fortune, no more legacy to cling to."

Beckett nodded, moving to the window and gazing out at the Boston skyline. "Poor Griffin. Even his death had to spite me by being completely anticlimactic. I spent months planning elaborate scenarios, and the bastard goes and dies of natural causes."

I slipped out of bed and padded over to him, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind. He was warm and solid, and I pressed my face against his shoulder blade.

"So what now?" I murmured against his skin. "I heard Calloway disappeared completely. Hannah too. We're finally free to make our own plans without looking over our shoulders."

Beckett turned in my arms, his hands finding my face. "Funny you should mention plans," he said, his smile turning mysterious. "I have a gift for you today."

"What kind of gift?" I asked, intrigued by the gleam in his dark eyes.

"The kind that requires patience," he said, then kissed me before I could protest, his lips warm and demanding against mine.

"Beckett—" I tried to speak between kisses.

"Patience," he repeated against my mouth, "is a virtue."

"I hate virtues," I mumbled, but I was smiling.

That evening, Beckett led me through the marble lobby of the Four Seasons, his hand warm and possessive on the small of my back. I'd chosen a midnight blue Valentino dress that hugged every curve, paired with the diamond earrings he'd given me for my last birthday. Whatever this mysterious gift was, he'd insisted I dress for the occasion.

"Beckett, seriously, if you don't tell me what's going on soon, I'm going to—"

"You're going to what?" he challenged, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Storm off in those Louboutins? I'd love to see you try."

Before I could retort, the elevator doors opened to reveal the hotel's penthouse ballroom transformed into something out of a fairy tale. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over tables draped in cream silk, and towers of white roses filled the air with their intoxicating scent. At least a hundred people mingled throughout the space—I recognized several faces from the business world, local politicians, and what looked like half the media in Boston.

"Beckett," I breathed, "what is this?"

He didn't answer, instead leading me to a small stage at the front of the room where a microphone waited. The crowd gradually quieted as people noticed our arrival.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Beckett began, his voice carrying easily through the room, "thank you for joining us tonight for what I hope will be the first of many celebrations."

I stood beside him, completely bewildered but trying to maintain my composure. In the crowd, I spotted Paige waving enthusiastically from a front table, and Everett raising a champagne flute in our direction with a knowing smile.

"Three months ago," Beckett continued, "I made a promise to the most brilliant, fierce, and beautiful woman I've ever known. I told her that when the dust settled, when our enemies were defeated, I would give her the world."

My throat tightened with emotion as I realized what was happening.

"Tonight, I'm keeping that promise. Ladies and gentlemen, I'm proud to announce the launch of Phoenix Architecture Group—Boston's newest luxury development firm, specializing in sustainable urban design and historic preservation."

The crowd erupted in applause, cameras flashed, and I felt tears prick at my eyes.

"And," Beckett said, his voice growing warmer as he turned to face me fully, "I'm even more proud to announce that the CEO of Phoenix Architecture will be the incomparable Rosalind Blackwell."