CHAPTER TWENTY
The lingering frost of the New England winter had finally begun to yield to the crisp, bright promise of early spring. But the shifting seasons were nothing compared to the transformation that had overtaken the interior of the Lockhart estate.
For the first time in nearly a year, the sprawling limestone manor was filled to the brim with unapologetic, echoing laughter.
Aurora Lockhart—formerly Kensington, now fiercely and happily married to the love of her life—had officially moved into the estate’s east wing with Spencer.
The moment her monogrammed Louis Vuitton luggage crossed the threshold, the quiet, measured tranquility of the house vanished, replaced instantly by a vibrant, whirling chaos.
Growing up, whenever Aurora and Kennedy were together, trouble was never far behind.
They had been a legendary duo of high-society mischief, constantly getting themselves into ridiculous situations and effortlessly dragging Grayson, Spencer, and Ryder into the mud with them.
Apparently, marriage and a seven-month pregnancy had done absolutely nothing to dilute that dynamic.
After everything the families had endured over the past year—the disastrous anniversary party, the horrific drugging, the agonizing accusations, and the bitter fallout—the return of that familiar, joyful chaos felt like breathing pure oxygen.
Kennedy was laughing again. The shadows under her eyes had vanished, replaced by the radiant, settled glow of impending motherhood. Aurora was back in her life, a whirlwind of European elegance and razor-sharp wit, and the entire estate felt infinitely warmer because of it.
On a bright weekday morning, the command center of this new era was established in the Lockhart’s sunlit morning room.
Aurora sat at the head of a long mahogany table, surrounded by a mountain of fabric swatches, floral catalogs, and catering menus.
Kennedy sat comfortably to her right, a cup of herbal tea in hand, her hands resting over the prominent swell of her stomach.
Across from them sat the three most powerful men in Rhode Island commercial real estate, all of whom had been summoned and ordered to remain seated.
"The theme is going to be subtle, elevated, and flawlessly executed," Aurora announced, tapping a manicured fingernail against a gold-embossed invitation prototype.
"We are going baby shopping today to finalize the nursery details, and then I am throwing the baby shower.
As your best friend, and now officially your sister-in-law, it is my divine right to organize this entire spectacle. "
"I don't need a spectacle, Aurora," Kennedy chuckled softly, taking a sip of her tea. "A quiet afternoon would be perfectly fine."
"Nonsense. You are carrying my nephew. The heir to the Ashford-Wale empire. We are not doing quiet," Aurora dismissed with a wave of her hand, turning her piercing eyes toward the men. "Which brings me to logistics."
Grayson leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.
Over the past few months, he had been a constant, unwavering presence.
He had attended every appointment, handled every background detail, and asked for nothing in return.
"I am happy to help, Aurora. Tell me what you need.
I will support whatever you want to do."
Aurora paused, her eyes narrowing as she studied him.
She had not exactly forgiven Grayson for the horrific accusations he had hurled at Kennedy in the study.
In Aurora’s mind, the billionaire CEO was still very much on probation.
But she was fiercely observant. She could see his unquestioning devotion to the baby, and more importantly, she could see the way he looked at Kennedy when he thought no one was watching.
His feelings for her sister-in-law were becoming increasingly, agonizingly obvious.
For that reason, and that reason alone, Aurora was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt—for now.
"I will accept your capital and your manpower, Grayson," Aurora said smoothly, her tone perfectly even.
She leaned across the table, her eyes flashing with a sudden, lethal sincerity.
"But let us be clear. If you ever hurt Kennedy again, in any capacity, I do not need my husband to deal with you.
I am perfectly capable of handling you myself, and they will never find the body. "
A beat of stunned silence fell over the room.
And then, Ryder snorted, slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh.
Grayson didn't flinch. He looked at the beautiful, terrifying woman across the table and nodded slowly, finding the declaration far more amusing than threatening, especially because he knew she was serious. "Understood, Aurora. I wouldn't expect anything less."
Spencer, sitting beside Ryder, looked at his wife with an expression of helpless devotion. He was smitten, endlessly entertained by the fact that the woman he loved was casually threatening a billionaire in his own dining room.
"Excellent," Aurora declared, clapping her hands together, immediately pivoting back to her role as commanding general.
"Ryder, you are in charge of the valet logistics and coordinating the valet staff.
Spencer, you are managing the floral delivery timeline.
Grayson, I need you to secure the string quartet.
No excuses. Kennedy and I are leaving for Boston. "
Ryder groaned, rubbing his temples, while Grayson merely offered a compliant nod. Kennedy sat back in her chair, a wide, genuine smile on her face, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle of her fierce best friend commandeering three titans of industry like they were interns.
***
Two hours later, the scene had shifted from the private estates of Rhode Island to the elite, tree-lined shopping district of Boston’s Back Bay.
Kennedy and Aurora were strolling arm-in-arm down the pavement, stepping into an exclusive, appointment-only boutique specializing in imported infant wear and luxury maternity garments. The air inside the shop smelled of expensive vanilla and fresh linen.
Whether it was maternity shopping, baby shopping, or simply an excuse for the two women to spend the day wandering through beautiful stores, neither particularly cared.
They were having a wonderful time. Kennedy was laughing as Aurora held up a pair of incredibly tiny, ridiculously expensive cashmere loafers.
"He cannot wear loafers, Aurora," Kennedy giggled, resting a hand on the small of her aching back. "He won't even know how to walk."
"He must be prepared for the yacht club, Kennedy, it is a developmental necessity," Aurora insisted, her eyes dancing with amusement.
They turned the corner of the display aisle, still laughing, when Kennedy suddenly froze.
Standing near the checkout counter, holding a stack of returned garments, were three women. The color drained instantly from Kennedy’s face as she recognized them. It was Linda Winters, flanked by Aunt Beatrice and Aunt Brenna.
The Winters women had not returned to Ohio.
Clinging desperately to the fringes of the wealthy world they had almost infiltrated, they had remained on the East Coast, fueled by a toxic, festering resentment.
They had learned absolutely nothing from the catastrophic consequences of their own actions.
In their warped, delusional reality, they had somehow managed to convince themselves that everything that went wrong in their lives—the loss of Grayson, the destruction of Olivia’s happiness, the evaporation of their future wealth—was Kennedy’s fault.
The moment Beatrice spotted Kennedy, her eyes narrowed into vicious slits.
Instead of walking away, instead of feeling an ounce of shame for the felony they had committed, the three women dropped their garments and marched directly toward the maternity aisle.
"Well," Beatrice sneered, her voice loud and carrying an ugly, bitter edge. "If it isn't the woman who ruined my niece's life."
Kennedy’s grip tightened instinctively on her handbag. She took a slow breath, attempting to maintain her composure. "Excuse me. We have absolutely nothing to say to one another. Please step aside."
"We aren't stepping anywhere," Linda hissed, her face twisting with entitled fury as she looked at Kennedy’s pregnant stomach. "You took everything from her. You knew Grayson belonged to Olivia, and you used that night to trap him. You stole her future."
"Are you delusional?" Kennedy asked, her voice dropping into a cold, incredulous register. "You drugged my drink. You committed a crime. I had nothing to do with creating that situation, and I am not going to stand here and be lectured by the architects of my own poisoning."
"You could have walked away!" Brenna aggressively pointed a finger at Kennedy’s face, stepping uncomfortably close. "But you didn't! You saw your chance and you took it, you calculating little—"
Aurora moved so fast the Winters women barely had time to blink.
She stepped smoothly and deliberately in front of Kennedy, placing her own body as a flawless, impenetrable shield between her pregnant sister-in-law and the aggressive trio.
Aurora stood to her full height, looking down her elegant nose at the women with an expression of such pure, undiluted aristocratic disgust that it made Linda physically recoil.
"Take one more step," Aurora said, her voice a soft, silken blade that cut the air in the boutique to ribbons. "I dare you."
Beatrice scoffed, crossing her arms. "And who do you think you are?"