Three months passed.

The Sterling empire had completely collapsed. Arthur Sterling was denied bail and sat in a federal penitentiary awaiting trial on charges carrying a cumulative sentence of eighty-five years. Callaway Enterprises had absorbed the viable assets of the Sterling Group, protecting the jobs of thousands of innocent employees while stripping the Sterling family of every single penny they possessed.

Victoria was remanded to the Rosewood Women’s Correctional Facility, her bail permanently revoked after the full surveillance footage and her encrypted text messages detailing the murder plot were entered into public record.

The world had moved on, captivated by the story of the brave, humble server who had become the hero of New York.

Rose was sitting in the sunny courtyard of the Callaway Greenwich estate, reviewing architectural blueprints.

Nathaniel had not simply given her money. Knowing her passion for botany and landscape design—a dream she had abandoned years ago to pay for her brother’s medical treatments—Nathaniel had gifted her a historic commercial greenhouse in upstate New York, along with full seed funding to launch her own botanical restoration company.

Her brother Leo was thriving. The Kessler Institute had worked miracles; he was now walking with only the assistance of a light cane, his smile brighter than it had been since their parents had passed.

“You’re squinting at those elevations again,” a deep, familiar voice chuckled.

Rose looked up, her face instantly lighting up with a radiant, genuine smile.

Nathaniel was walking across the manicured lawn toward her, wearing an unbuttoned cream linen shirt and tailored trousers. He carried a small wicker basket filled with freshly picked peaches from the estate’s orchard.

Over the last three months, the cold, ruthless billionaire had completely vanished whenever he was around Rose. In his place was a man who listened attentively to her every word, who remembered that she took her tea with a drop of wildflower honey, who had spent an entire Sunday afternoon patiently helping Leo practice his steps in the garden.

“These greenhouse plans are ambitious,” Rose said, setting her pencil down as Nathaniel sat beside her on the stone bench. “The irrigation system alone will cost more than my entire family earned in a decade.”

“Then it’s a good thing your business partner has deep pockets,” Nathaniel said smoothly, leaning in close enough that his shoulder brushed hers. He picked up a peach, carefully slicing a piece with a small silver pocketknife and offering it to her.

Rose took the slice, her fingers brushing his. A familiar, intoxicating warmth sparked between them.

“You’re not my business partner, Nathaniel,” she teased softly. “You’re my patron. There’s a difference.”

“I’d prefer the title of ‘suitor,’” Nathaniel murmured, his dark eyes darkening with an emotion so tender and intense that Rose’s breath caught in her throat. “If the lady would permit it.”

Rose’s heart thudded against her ribs. Before she could answer, the courtyard gate flew open.

Marcus sprinted across the lawn, his radio blaring static, his face pale with alarm. “Mr. Callaway! Sir!”

Nathaniel stood up instantly, his protective instincts snapping back into place in a fraction of a second. “What is it, Marcus?”

“It’s Victoria,” Marcus breathed, holding out his tablet. “She escaped. Approximately forty minutes ago during a medical transfer from Rosewood to Westchester Medical Center. An armed transport van was ambushed by two men on the interstate. One guard was shot. She’s in the wind.”

Rose gasped, rising from the bench. “Escaped? How could she escape?”

“Arthur’s remaining private loyalists,” Nathaniel snarled, his jaw clenching like iron. “A mercenary extraction. Lock down the estate immediately! Bring my mother to the safe room!”

“Sir, Mrs. Callaway isn’t at the estate,” Marcus said, horror creeping into his voice. “She left thirty minutes ago with a light security detail to inspect the new Callaway Children’s Pavilion at the midtown hospital!”

Nathaniel’s phone rang.

A blocked number.

Nathaniel hit speakerphone. “Callaway.”

*“Hello, darling.”*

The voice on the other end was cracked, frantic, and dripping with manic hysteria. Victoria.

“Where is my mother, Victoria?” Nathaniel said, his voice dropping into a lethal, terrifying register. “If you touch one hair on her head, I will hunt you to the ends of the earth.”

*“Your precious mother is currently sitting in the backseat of an SUV on the eighty-second floor of the Sterling Tower construction site,”* Victoria laughed, a high-pitched, unhinged cackle that made Rose’s blood run cold. *“The very same building where my life was destroyed! Bring the girl, Nathaniel. Bring your little gutter-rat maid. If you call the police, if you bring security, if I see a single helicopter in the sky… I push the old woman off the edge again. And this time, there won’t be anyone to catch her.”*

The line went dead.