Chapter 877

The Frostbloom Gamble

Rosalind's voice was icy as she confronted Genevieve.

"Is this how you define love? Threatening me with the Frostbloom, forcing me to leave him? You're truly despicable."

Genevieve's lips curled into a coy smile. "Then let's see who loves him more—who's willing to make the greater sacrifice. The one who loses... is the one who loves him most."

Rosalind's fists clenched at her sides, her nails biting into her palms. She didn't respond. Instead, she shot Genevieve one last scorching glare before turning on her heel and striding away.

As Rosalind disappeared down the corridor, a figure emerged from the shadows.

Julian Blackwood.

He had accompanied Genevieve to Santorina—an unlikely alliance forged in shared ambition.

Watching Rosalind's retreating figure, Julian mused, "Do you really think she'll end things with Lucian?"

Genevieve tilted her head, a knowing glint in her eyes. "What do you think?"

"She will," Julian said without hesitation. "She's obsessed with him. Always has been, even years ago."

"Precisely," Genevieve agreed. "We both know the depth of her feelings. That's exactly why she won't hesitate."

Julian studied her, impressed. "I must admit, I underestimated you."

Genevieve smirked. "If I didn't have a few tricks, how could I have stayed by Lucian's side all these years? Rosalind doesn't stand a chance. Just be patient—she'll be yours soon enough."

Julian's lips quirked in satisfaction. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"The pleasure," Genevieve purred, "is all mine."

Back in the suite, Rosalind found Lucian fresh from the shower, a white towel slung low around his hips. He held the note she'd left earlier.

"You're back."

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Hungry? I'll order room service."

Rosalind drifted to the floor-to-ceiling windows, pressing her lips together as she gazed at the glittering cityscape below.

Lucian approached silently, his arms encircling her waist from behind. "What's troubling you?"

Through the glass, Rosalind studied his reflection. His damp hair made him look younger, almost boyish. Yet the ever-present black mask obscured half his face, a constant reminder of his scars.

She turned in his embrace. "You just showered. Why put the mask back on? It must be suffocating. You don't need it with me."

Her fingers lifted to remove it, but Lucian caught her wrist. "I prefer it on."

Her lashes fluttered. She understood his insecurity—how terrified he was of frightening her. Beneath the ruthless CEO persona lay a vulnerability that broke her heart.

Lucian gently turned her to face him. "Since we failed to secure the Frostbloom, my scars won't heal. Is that why you're upset?"

Rosalind almost laughed. Did he truly think that was her concern?

"How many times must I say it?" She cupped his masked cheek. "I don't care about your scars. I never have."

Lucian's eyes softened. He knew—yet some part of him still longed to be the flawless man she'd fallen for.

Perhaps losing the Frostbloom was fate's cruel joke. Perhaps he was meant to remain this broken version of himself forever.

He lowered his head, his lips brushing hers. "I need you."

The raw hunger in his voice sent shivers down her spine. Rosalind wound her arms around his neck, meeting his kiss with equal fervor.

"Then take me," she whispered against his mouth.

And he did.