Chapter 986
Lucian carried Rosalind to the marble ensuite, bathing her with tender care before wrapping her in a plush towel and carrying her back to the king-sized bed. Exhausted from their passionate reunion, Rosalind curled into the silk sheets and fell asleep instantly.
With an affectionate smirk, Lucian brushed his thumb along her flushed cheekbone. "Not so fast, princess."
Rosalind kept her eyes firmly closed, murmuring incoherently into the pillow. "Mmm...too sleepy..."
Lucian gathered her damp chestnut locks in his hands. "Your hair's soaked through. Let me."
He retrieved the Dyson hairdryer from the vanity, adjusting it to the gentlest setting before methodically drying each strand. Rosalind barely stirred, only sighing contentedly when his fingers massaged her scalp. The warm airflow and his rhythmic strokes lulled her deeper into relaxation as the moisture evaporated.
After tucking the dryer away, Lucian disappeared into the steam-filled shower. When he emerged, water droplets still glistened on his toned torso as he slid between the Egyptian cotton sheets. Though this was technically his penthouse's master suite, he hadn't slept here since bringing Rosalind home—had never held her in this bed they now shared.
Gathering her sleeping form against him, Lucian inhaled her jasmine scent as she instinctively nuzzled into his chest. "Lucian..." she sighed against his collarbone.
His lips curved against her hairline. "Right here, love."
Then, softer—a whisper laced with nostalgia—she breathed, "Everett."
The name struck like a blade between his ribs. Memories flooded him—sunlit afternoons at Cambridge, stolen kisses in the library stacks, when he'd been Everett Sinclair and she his entire universe. Even after losing everything, he'd clung to her light like a drowning man to driftwood.
She still remembered him as Everett.
Lucian pressed his lips to her temple. "I'm here."
Whether as Lucian Graves or Everett Sinclair, his soul would always belong to her.
Satisfied, Rosalind's breathing deepened into sleep's embrace. Lucian's palm drifted to cradle the gentle curve of her abdomen where their child grew.
Here, in his penthouse fortress, with her safe in his arms, they'd found the peace they'd fought so brutally to claim.
His whisper feathered across her hair. "Hey there, little star. Daddy's got you..."
A tiny flutter answered beneath his palm—not the first kick he'd felt, but the wonder never dimmed. Grinning, he traced circles over her belly.
"You recognize me, don't you? Alright, time to settle down. Mommy needs her rest."
Miraculously, the baby stilled as if understanding.
Lucian tightened his embrace, wishing he could crystallize this moment forever.
"Sweet dreams, princess," he murmured before surrendering to sleep himself.
Dawn painted the penthouse in gold when Rosalind stirred, reaching automatically for Lucian's warmth.
Her hands found cold sheets.
Blinking awake, she pushed up on one elbow. "Lucian?"
Silence.
"Lucian, where—"
The empty penthouse gave no answer.
Where had he disappeared to this time?