Chapter 85: Wife Value
The knock reverberated through the room, a stark period at the end of their intimate sentence. Beth watched the man vanish and Damien Rossi solidify in his place.His spine straightened, the languid grace replaced by a predator’s alert tension. The shift was breathtaking, and terrible.“A package?” Damien’s voice was flat, cold. “From Accardi.To Beth.”
Her skin prickled. The humid warmth of the bed, the imprint of his body, turned cloying, suffocating. She slid her legs over the side, the marble floor shockingly cold on her soles. Damien was pulling on his trousers, his back to her, muscles coiled.“Get dressed,” he said, not looking at her. It wasn’t a request.But she wouldn’t scurry. She wouldn’t let his men, or Accardi’s, see her ruffled. She walked to the chair where his tailored black robe lay draped.She pulled it on, the silk lining cool against her naked skin. It swallowed her, the sleeves too long, the belt cinching tightly around her waist. She rolled the cuffs once, a deliberate, slow motion. It smelled overwhelmingly of him—bergamot, cedar, them.A claim.She would wear it like armor.
She followed him out, the robe whispering around her legs. The hallway was all dark wood and muted sconces, a gallery of old portraits—severe-eyed ancestors judging her barefoot progress. She heard the low murmur of voices from the grand foyer below.
Marco stood at the base of the sweeping staircase, a statue of contained vigilance. His hazel eyes flicked to her, to the robe, then back to Damien. A micro-expression—something between sympathy and grim understanding—crossed his scarred face before it settled into its usual impassive mask. Flanking the massive front door were two men she didn’t recognize.They wore expensive, understated suits, but their posture screamed soldier. Between them stood Carlo, Damien’s ancient, stone-faced butler, holding a small velvet box and a sealed parchment envelope on a silver tray.
“Signore,” Carlo intoned, his voice like dry leaves. “For the lady.”
Damien descended the stairs, a slow, deliberate descent that filled the space with his quiet authority.Beth followed, keeping a step behind, her chin level. She felt every eye on her, on the intimate drape of the robe.Let them look.
One of the strangers, a man with silver at his temples and eyes like flint, gave a slight, correct nod.“Mr.Rossi.Montgomery.My employer, Mr. Accardi, extends his regards.And his congratulations.”
“Congratulations,” Damien repeated, the word dull and dangerous.
“On Ms.Montgomery’s newfound… prominence. My employer was a great friend of her father’s.He was delighted to learn of her inheritance, her true position. He feels the past has seen her… undervalued.” The man’s gaze swept the opulent foyer, the portraits, landing meaningfully on Damien. “He wishes to rectify that.”
Beth’s stomach tightened.Undervalued. The word was a scalpel, designed to cut Damien in front of his own people. To remind her of every sidelong glance she’d ever gotten from Vittorio and Sophia Rossi, who saw her as their son’s beautiful, temporary rebellion.
“Get to the point,” Damien said, his voice low.The man gestured to the tray. Carlo stepped forward.The second stranger, younger, watched them all with the cold curiosity of a viper.
“A token of esteem,” Silver-Temples said. “And an invitation.”
Beth reached for the envelope first, ignoring the box.Her fingers were steady.She broke the thick, monogrammed seal. The note inside was written in a strong, old-fashioned hand.
Bethany,
Your father was a man of vision.He spoke often of his brilliant daughter. I regret our paths have not crossed sooner.The potential of your inheritance, properly aligned, is a thing of beauty. My son, Gavin, is a man of similar vision.He will be at the Met Gala next week. He would be honored to escort you.Consider it.The future is built by the bold.
- A.
She didn’t look at Damien. She could feel the rage coming off him in waves, a heat that warped the air.
“Open the box,” Damien commanded, his eyes on the messenger.Beth set the note on the tray. She lifted the lid of the velvet box.Nestled on black satin were two ruby earrings.They were not modern. They were Victorian, heavy, exquisite. Teardrops of perfectly matched pigeon’s blood red, surrounded by old-cut diamonds that threw fractured light onto her fingertips.They were worth a fortune. They were a statement.A crown offered by a different king.
“Priceless,” she murmured, almost to herself.“Yes,” the messenger agreed.“From his personal collection. He believed they would suit your… coloring.”
It was a move of breathtaking arrogance. Sending a courting gift for his son into the heart of the Rossi compound.To the ex-wife of the Rossi heir. It wasn’t just a proposition; it was a verdict. It said the Rossis had had a treasure and failed to appreciate it.It said Accardi’s sight was clearer. It was a direct, elegant insult to Damien’s entire family.
Marco shifted his weight, a hunter sensing a change in the wind.Damien was terrifyingly still.
“Gavin Accardi,” Damien said, the name tasting like poison. “He thinks he can woo what’s mine under my own roof?”
“The invitation is for Ms.Montgomery to decide,” the man replied smoothly. “My employer merely provides the opportunity.He believes in… choice.”
The word hung there.Choice. The one thing Damien had tried to manipulate, to circumvent, to own since she’d walked back into his life. And now a more powerful player was handing it to her, wrapped in velvet and rubies.
Beth closed the box with a soft click.The sound was final in the silent foyer. She looked at the messenger, then past him, at Damien.“Tell Mr. Accardi I received his gift,” she said, her voice clear and cool, echoing slightly in the marble space. “And his… suggestion.”
Damien’s gaze snapped to her, green and blazing. Don’t, it screamed.She picked up the note again, folded it carefully. “I’ll consider it.”
A muscle ticked in Damien’s jaw. Marco let out a slow, quiet breath.The messenger bowed, just deep enough.“He will be pleased. Good day.”
They turned and left, Carlo showing them out. The heavy door thudded shut, sealing them in a new, volatile silence.
Damien stared at her, his chest rising and falling with controlled fury. “You’ll consider it.”
“He knows about my father’s business,” she said, holding up the note.“The real inheritance. He’s not just chasing a pretty face, Damien.He’s making a strategic offer. One your father never did.”
“He’s making a play!” Damien snarled, closing the distance between them in two strides. He didn’t touch her, but his presence was a physical force. “He’s spitting in my face, in my father’s face, by sending his boy to sniff after you. You think Gavin Accardi gives a damn about you?He wants the pipeline.The access. He wants what comes with you.”
“I know exactly what he wants,” Beth fired back, her own temper igniting.“At least he’s honest about it.He’s offering a partnership. What are you offering?Another night in your bed? Another rose on the pillow while your family whispers about the gold-digger who came crawling back?”
Marco took a subtle step toward the library, a silent offer to give them privacy.Damien didn’t even notice.
“I offered you everything!” Damien’s control was fraying, his voice raw. “I offered you me!”
“You are a liability, Damien!” The words tore out of her, harsh and true. “Your love is a crisis.It’s a gun to my head every single day. Accardi isn’t sending me love letters.He’s sending a business proposal. A powerful one.You asked me to stay here, to let you keep me safe.From what? From this?” She waved the note.“This is the world.This is the game. And he’s just put me on the board as a queen, not a pawn. For the first time in my life, someone in this world sees me as something other than Bethany Rossi, the mistake.”
The truth of it vibrated between them, ugly and undeniable. She saw the blow land in his eyes, the flicker of pained understanding beneath the fury. He had always seen her value, but he’d also always tried to contain it, to make it his. His family had never seen it at all.
He reached out finally, not grabbing her, but his hand closing around the belt of the robe, his robe, pulling her a fraction closer. His voice dropped, low and rough, for her alone.
“Do you love me, Beth?”
It was the question from the bedroom, stripped bare of passion, naked and vulnerable.
She looked at the velvet box in her hand, at the folded note, then back into his desperate, beautiful, dangerous face. “That’s the problem, Damien. It’s never been a question of if.”
She pulled the belt from his loose grip. “It’s a question of how much it’s going to cost us both.”
She turned and walked back up the stairs, the robe flaring behind her. She didn’t look back.She couldn’t. She carried the weight of the rubies, the promise of Gavin Accardi, and the shattered, furious love of the man watching her go, feeling the first real crack in the foundation of his world.