Chapter 10 - Where the Roses Grow
Six months later, the cold Rhode Island winter had surrendered to the warm, fragrant embrace of late spring.
The Benefit Street townhouse was gone, sold to a preservation society that had completely gutted the interior to erase the ghosts of the past. The Harrow empire had undergone a surgical purge: Declan had cooperated fully with federal authorities, dismantling the criminal syndicate entirely, paying out tens of millions in restitution, and restructuring Northglass Neurotech into a non-profit medical research institute dedicated to curing degenerative neurological diseases.
Margot, Thomas, and their conspirators were serving consecutive life sentences in maximum-security federal facilities, their names erased from the social registry.
We had moved far away from the dark waters of Narragansett Bay.
Our new home was an old stone farmhouse nestled in the sun-drenched hills of Santa Barbara, surrounded by lemon groves, wild lavender, and climbing white roses. The Pacific Ocean stretched out below our terrace like a sheet of hammered sapphire.
I sat on the sun-warmed flagstone patio, sketching the coastline in my notebook, the breeze lifting my dark hair. The scars on my chest were still there—faded pink lightning strikes across my skin—but they no longer hurt. They were simply reminders that love had pulled me out of the grave.
Footsteps sounded behind me. Declan walked out onto the patio, carrying a tray with two tall glasses of freshly squeezed lemonade and a bowl of cherries.
He wore simple linen trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The dark, predatory tension that had haunted him for a decade was completely gone. His face had softened; the sharp edges of his jaw had relaxed into an easy, genuine smile.
""You've been working on that sketch for three hours,"" Declan murmured, setting the tray down and stepping behind my chair. He wrapped his strong arms around my shoulders, resting his chin against my head, inhaling the scent of my hair. ""Take a break, little bird.""
I leaned back against his solid chest, closing my eyes, savoring the steady, powerful rhythm of his heartbeat beneath his shirt.
""I like it here,"" I said softly, covering his hands with mine. ""It’s quiet. No ghosts.""
Declan turned my chair around so he could kneel before me on the stone terrace. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.
Inside sat a simple, unadorned gold band—not the opulent, five-carat diamond Margot had forced me to wear to family galas, but a ring made of pure, unblemished gold, inscribed on the inside with three simple words: Always Heard, Always.
""Our first marriage was built on family expectations, shadows, and lies,"" Declan said, his voice dropping into that deep, melodic tone that made my heart flutter. ""I want to do it right this time. No press. No syndicates. Just you and me, building a life from the ground up.""
He took my left hand, his thumb tracing the gold band. ""Laurel Ames, will you marry me? For real, this time?""
Tears of pure happiness welled in my eyes, spilling over my lashes as I smiled down at the man who had torn down an entire empire just to hold my hand again.
May you like
""Yes,"" I whispered, pulling him up toward me. ""A thousand times, yes.""
Declan caught my mouth in a kiss that tasted of sweet lemons, ocean salt, and new beginnings. Below us, the waves broke gently against the shore, and for the first time in our lives, the silence wasn't cold—it was filled with peace."
