Chapter 2

Rosalind

Before I could even properly contemplate the idea of facing my parents, Beckett had ushered me into his vehicle with a brisk "Let's not waste time."

The silence in his car was suffocating. I stared out the window as Boston's familiar streets blurred past, my fingers nervously tapping against my thigh. The marriage certificate burned in my purse like contraband.

"Your parents live in Beacon Hill?" Beckett asked, breaking the silence.

I nodded, unable to form words. The enormity of what I'd done was finally sinking in. I'd married a stranger. A complete stranger with piercing eyes and a sardonic smile that revealed nothing of his thoughts.

My phone vibrated again. Calloway's name flashed on the screen for the third time in fifteen minutes. I watched it ring, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"You should probably take that," Beckett said, his eyes fixed on the road. "Calloway, right? He seems pretty persistent."

I swallowed hard, then pressed accept. "Hello?"

"Where the HELL are you?" Calloway's voice crackled with rage. "The surgical team's prepped and waiting. Do you have any idea how much this is costing me? Get your worthless ass to this hospital NOW!"

My expression froze as the venom in his voice washed over me. Five years. Five years I'd spent loving this man, molding myself into what I thought he wanted.

"Rosalind! Are you even listening to me? I agreed to your pathetic demand to marry you—what more could you possibly want, you ungrateful bitch? And you really think that fake 'husband' bullshit fools me? Dream on!"

I smiled bitterly as something inside me finally, mercifully, died. My gaze grew cold.

"Don't you get it, Calloway?" My voice was surprisingly steady. "I want something you've never learned how to give. Something that requires seeing me as more than spare parts."

"What the hell are you talking about?" He laughed, the sound ugly and sharp. "You're delusional! You're nothing! Get here now, Rosalind, and you might still get to be Mrs. Montgomery. Defy me, and you'll have nothing and be nothing!"

"It's too late, Calloway. I'm married. So I'm afraid I can't help you with that." I hung up before he could respond.

For a moment, I just sat there, tears streaming down my face, my body trembling with five years of suppressed rage and heartbreak.

"Men are all fucking dogs!" I spat out, grinding my teeth.

By the time we pulled up to my parents' home, I'd managed to gather myself. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the rearview mirror and winced. Red, swollen eyes stared back at me, lips pale and bloodless. I looked like a broken porcelain doll.

I dug through my purse for my makeup bag, quickly brushing on eyeshadow and painting my lips a dusty rose. The familiar ritual was soothing, a mask I'd perfected over years of hiding my true feelings.

"Better?" I asked, turning to Beckett.

He looked away, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Impressive transformation."

I took a deep breath and stared at my childhood home. Each step toward the door felt like marching to my execution.

"Mom, Dad! I'm home!" I called out as we entered.

My father appeared first, pushing his glasses up in surprise. "Rosalind! What brings you back so unexpectedly?"

Before I could answer, my mother rushed down the stairs, her face alight with excitement. "Rosalind, sweetheart! Calloway just called! He said you're finally getting married! Is it true? This is such wonderful news!"

I stood frozen in place. Of course Calloway would call them. Of course he would twist this.

"Really?" My father turned to my mother, his eyes sparkling. "Calloway finally came around? After all these years!"

The shock rendered me mute. I bit my lip, paralyzed by their joy—joy built on a foundation of lies.

"Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Blackwell." Beckett's deep, composed voice cut through their excitement as he stepped forward. "I'm actually Rosalind's husband. We got married this morning."

The room fell silent. My father's face darkened as he stared at Beckett, then at me. "Rosalind, what the hell is this?"

"We registered our marriage this morning," Beckett replied before I could speak, his tone polite but distant. "Pretty sudden, I'll admit."

My mother grabbed my shoulders, her fingernails digging into my flesh. "What have you done, child? You've always been crazy about Calloway! He finally agrees, and you throw it all away for some nobody?"

I caught a glimpse of Beckett in my peripheral vision—the corner of his mouth twitched upward, but his expression remained otherwise unchanged, hands clasped calmly behind his back.

I pulled away from her grip. "Nobody forced me! I just refuse to marry a man who hates me, who'd use me like a spare parts warehouse!"

Mother's face contorted with confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Do you even know why Calloway suddenly 'agreed' to marry me?" My voice cracked. "He wants my bone marrow for Hannah. That's his price! That's what my five years of devotion was worth to him!"

A heavy silence followed. My parents exchanged a look that made my blood run cold.

"Honey," my mother said, her tone sickeningly sweet, "I know you're upset. But think logically. A bone marrow donation—it's routine these days. You save your cousin, you secure your future with the most powerful family in Boston. It's really quite perfect, isn't it?"

I recoiled as if she'd slapped me. "Perfect? Mom, you're talking about them drilling into my bones for marrow like I'm some kind of livestock!"

My father finally found his voice, though he wouldn't meet my eyes. "Don't be so dramatic, Rosalind. It's a small sacrifice for a lifetime of security. Besides, what's your alternative? This guy?" He gestured dismissively at Beckett. "What can he possibly offer you?"

"How about basic human decency?" I shot back. "Something you two seem to have forgotten I deserve!"

"Decency doesn't pay the bills," my mother snapped, her mask of sweetness finally slipping. "Decency doesn't restore the Blackwell name! You've been living in some fantasy, child. Time to face reality."

Before I could respond, the sound of car engines rumbling outside made us all freeze. Through the window, I could see three black SUVs pulling up to our house. Men in dark suits began emerging, moving with military precision.

My blood turned to ice.

"What the—" my father started, but his voice died as the front door opened without ceremony.

A tall man in an expensive suit stepped inside, flanked by several bodyguards. His smile was cold and predatory as his eyes found mine.

"Ms. Blackwell," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "My boss sends his regards. He's waiting for you at the hospital."