Chapter 6 EVER AFTER DEADLY

# CHAPTER 6: "EVER AFTER DEADLY"

Three months after my resurrection, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, carefully applying my signature red lipstick. Today marked what should have been my death day—the anniversary of when Barrett had supposedly pushed me overboard his yacht. Instead, I was very much alive and preparing for a rather unconventional celebration.

"Are you almost ready?" Barrett called from the bedroom. "The reservation is at eight."

"Almost," I replied, blotting my lips. "Just putting the finishing touches on your favorite face."

I heard his low chuckle. "Every version of your face is my favorite."

Such romantic declarations had become commonplace in our newly rekindled relationship. After the cemetery showdown with Benjamin, Barrett had transformed from the cold, distant husband I'd married into someone warmer, more open—a man unafraid to express his feelings. It was disconcerting at times, but I wasn't complaining.

I stepped out of the bathroom to find Barrett adjusting his tie, looking devastatingly handsome in a charcoal suit. His eyes widened appreciatively as he took in my fitted black dress.

"You look beautiful," he said. "Though I'm not sure the accessory matches."

I glanced down at the small pistol I was strapping to my thigh. "Better safe than sorry. Besides, it's our anniversary."

"Most wives would prefer diamonds."

"I have those too," I reminded him, wiggling my fingers to catch the light on my engagement ring. "But a girl can never have too many options."

Barrett crossed the room and pulled me into his arms. "Benjamin is locked away. The security detail is in place. You don't need to be armed for dinner."

I wrapped my arms around his neck. "Humor me. After all, the last time we celebrated an anniversary, I ended up dead."

He winced. "Technically, you weren't dead."

"Semantics."

Barrett pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. "I promise nothing will happen to you tonight. Or ever again."

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"I know," I said, softening. "But the gun stays."

He sighed in defeat. "At least tell me you're not planning to bring a drone to the restaurant."

"Of course not," I said innocently. "The drone is scheduled for dessert, back here at the penthouse."

Barrett's eyebrows shot up. "Diana—"

"Kidding!" I laughed, patting his chest. "Mostly."

The restaurant Barrett had chosen was exclusive even by Manhattan standards—a rooftop establishment overlooking Central Park, with only eight tables and a waiting list months long. Somehow, he'd managed to secure the most private spot, a corner table surrounded by greenery that offered both spectacular views and discreet seclusion.

"Impressive," I murmured as the maître d' seated us. "Though I'm surprised you didn't choose somewhere with fewer witnesses, considering the significance of today's date."

Barrett waited until we were alone before responding. "That's exactly why I chose a public place. I want to rewrite this anniversary. Create new memories to replace the old ones."

I reached across the table to take his hand. "That's... surprisingly thoughtful."

"I'm full of surprises." He squeezed my fingers. "For instance, I have something for you."

From his jacket pocket, he produced a small blue box—not Tiffany's, but something more exclusive. My heart quickened despite myself.

"Barrett—"

"Open it," he urged.

Inside the box was a delicate gold locket, antique in design. When I clicked it open, I found not a photo but a tiny vial of dark red liquid sealed behind glass.

"Is that...?"

"Blood," Barrett confirmed. "Mine. I thought it was time I returned the favor."

I stared at him, momentarily speechless. "You got your blood put into jewelry for me?"

"Too macabre?" he asked, suddenly uncertain.

A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me. "No, it's perfect. Absolutely perfect." I fastened the locket around my neck, feeling its weight settle against my skin. "Now we're both carrying a piece of each other."

Barrett's smile was warm. "That was the idea."

As we enjoyed our meal—exquisite food paired with wine that cost more than most people's monthly rent—I studied my husband across the candlelight. There was an ease to him now that had been missing before, as if the weight of his secrets had been physically pressing down on him.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked, catching me watching him.

"I was just thinking about how different you are now."

"Different how?"

I sipped my wine, considering. "More present. Less... calculated."

Barrett nodded slowly. "I spent three years compartmentalizing my life—keeping you separate from the danger, trying to protect you without alarming you. It became second nature to hold back, to keep secrets." He reached for my hand again. "I'm trying to break that habit."

"I appreciate that," I said. "Though I have to admit, I sometimes miss the challenge of breaking through your defenses. The blood coffee was particularly inspired, if I do say so myself."

His lips twitched. "My security team is still traumatized."

"Speaking of your team," I said, leaning forward conspiratorially, "how's Zoe working out?"

After everything had settled, Barrett had made good on his offer to hire my tech specialist. Zoe now headed a newly formed cybersecurity division at Barrett Industries, much to the chagrin of his more traditional executives.

"She's... disruptive," Barrett admitted. "In the best possible way. Last week she caught an attempted breach that would have cost us millions."

"I told you she was good."

"Yes, you did." Barrett's expression grew serious. "You saw something in her that I missed. Just like you saw something in me worth fighting for, even when you thought I'd tried to kill you."

I traced the rim of my wineglass, choosing my words carefully. "I didn't know what to believe. Part of me was convinced you were a cold-blooded killer. But another part... another part couldn't reconcile that with the man I married."

"And now?" Barrett asked, vulnerability evident in his voice.

"Now I know the truth is always more complicated than it seems." I met his gaze steadily. "You went to extraordinary lengths to protect me, Barrett. You were willing to let me hate you, to let me think the worst of you, if it meant keeping me safe."

"I would do it again," he said without hesitation.

"I know. And that terrifies me a little."

Barrett's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Because that kind of love—the kind that would sacrifice everything, including itself—is rare. And powerful. And dangerous." I took a deep breath. "Promise me something?"

"Anything."

"No more unilateral decisions about my safety. We're partners. We face threats together."

Barrett was quiet for a long moment. "Even if it puts you at risk?"

"Even then." I leaned forward, my voice firm. "I came back from the dead for you, Barrett Montgomery. I think I've earned the right to decide what risks are worth taking."

A slow smile spread across his face. "Fair point."

As we finished our meal, Barrett's phone buzzed. He checked it, his expression shifting subtly.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

"Just business," he said, tucking the phone away. "Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow."

But I knew my husband too well now—knew the tiny tells that betrayed his concern. "Barrett. Partners, remember?"

He hesitated, then sighed. "Benjamin's psychiatric evaluation came back. The doctors believe his obsession with destroying me—and by extension, you—stems from childhood trauma that was never properly addressed."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better about him trying to kill me?"

"No," Barrett admitted. "But understanding his motivations might help us predict his behavior if he ever..."

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.

"If he ever escapes," I completed for him. "You think that's possible?"

Barrett's expression was grim. "I don't like taking chances. Not with your life."

"Hence the security detail following us all evening?"

He didn't even look surprised that I'd noticed. "Hence the security detail."

I reached across the table and took his hand. "Thank you for telling me. For not hiding it."

"I'm trying," he said simply.

After dinner, we strolled through Central Park, the spring air crisp and clean after a light rain. Barrett kept me tucked against his side, his body warm against the evening chill.

"Do you ever think about what might have happened if your plan had worked?" I asked suddenly. "If I'd woken up in Switzerland with a new identity, thinking you'd tried to kill me?"

Barrett was quiet for so long I wondered if he'd heard me. Finally, he spoke. "I used to torture myself with that scenario. Imagining you alone, scared, hating me. It was the worst kind of hell."

"Would you have come for me eventually? Explained everything?"

"I wanted to," he admitted. "I had this fantasy of finding you once Benjamin was dealt with, of somehow making you understand why I'd done what I did." He shook his head. "But I knew it was selfish. You would have built a new life. Been safer without me in it."

"I wouldn't have been happier," I said softly.

Barrett stopped walking, turning to face me under the glow of a park lamppost. "No?"

"No," I confirmed. "That's why I came back, isn't it? Even thinking you'd tried to kill me, I couldn't stay away. Some part of me knew there was more to the story."

"Or you just wanted revenge," he suggested, a hint of his old smirk returning.

"That too," I conceded with a laugh. "The drones were particularly satisfying."

Barrett pulled me closer. "Have I mentioned how incredibly sexy it was watching you systematically dismantle my defenses? The blood coffee, the surveillance systems, the contract with the burial clause—it was terrifying and impressive and absolutely irresistible."

"Is that why you signed the contract? Because you were turned on?"

"I signed it because I recognized the determination in your eyes," he said, suddenly serious. "It was the same look you had on our first date when you told me you always get what you want."

I smiled at the memory. "And what I wanted was you."

"What about now?" Barrett asked, his voice low. "What do you want now, Diana?"

I stood on tiptoe, bringing my lips close to his ear. "I want to go home and properly commemorate the anniversary of my not-death."

His arms tightened around me. "That can be arranged."

Back at the penthouse, Barrett poured us each a glass of champagne—the same vintage we'd been drinking on the yacht the night of my "accident." A pointed choice that didn't escape my notice.

"To cheating death," he toasted, raising his glass.

"And to second chances," I added, clinking my glass against his.

As we sipped our champagne, I moved to the balcony doors, looking out at the city lights. Barrett came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

"What are you thinking about?" he murmured against my hair.

"I was wondering what happens next," I admitted. "We've been so focused on Benjamin, on the past, on staying alive... I haven't really thought about the future."

Barrett turned me in his arms. "What do you want the future to look like?"

I considered the question seriously. "I want us to build something real this time. Not just the perfect power couple for the society pages, but a genuine partnership."

"I want that too," Barrett said, his eyes intense. "More than anything."

"Even if it means putting up with my occasional grand gesture involving drones or blood-based beverages?"

His lips twitched. "Even then. Though I do have one request."

"What's that?"

"Next time you decide to hack my security systems, give me some warning. My IT director is still having nightmares."

I laughed, leaning into his embrace. "Where's the fun in that?"

Barrett's expression grew serious again. "I know we still have work to do. Trust to rebuild. But I want you to know that everything I did—the journal, the plans, even letting you think the worst of me—it was all because I couldn't imagine a world without you in it."

"That's either the most romantic or the most disturbing thing anyone has ever said to me," I mused.

"With us, it's usually both," Barrett pointed out.

I couldn't argue with that. Our relationship had always existed in the space between passion and danger, love and obsession. Maybe that's what made it work—the knowledge that we'd both go to extreme lengths to protect what we had.

"So what now?" Barrett asked. "Where do we go from here?"

I smiled, taking his hand and leading him toward the bedroom. "Forward. Together. Preferably with fewer near-death experiences."

"I can work with that," he agreed, pulling me close for a kiss that promised much more.

Later, as we lay tangled in sheets, Barrett traced lazy patterns on my bare shoulder. "I have a proposition for you."

"I think you just thoroughly propositioned me," I murmured sleepily.

He chuckled. "A different kind of proposition. A business one."

That got my attention. I propped myself up on one elbow. "I'm listening."

"Barrett Industries is expanding its charitable foundation. I need someone to head it—someone smart, determined, with excellent taste in weaponized affection."

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you offering me a job, Mr. Montgomery?"

"I'm offering you a purpose," he corrected. "Something that's yours, not an extension of being my wife. The foundation would focus on supporting survivors of domestic violence and psychological abuse."

The thoughtfulness behind the offer touched me deeply. In my past life as Barrett's wife, I'd been little more than an accessory—the beautiful woman on his arm at galas, the hostess of his dinner parties. The idea of having something meaningful, something that mattered...

"I'd have complete control?" I asked.

"Complete control, full funding, whatever resources you need," Barrett confirmed. "Though I do have one non-negotiable condition."

"Which is?"

"No blood donations at charity events."

I laughed, swatting his chest playfully. "Spoilsport."

Barrett caught my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. "Is that a yes?"

"It's a yes," I decided. "Though I reserve the right to use drones for promotional purposes."

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

As we drifted toward sleep, I found myself reflecting on the strange journey that had brought us here. From death to resurrection, from revenge to reconciliation, from mistrust to a deeper, more honest love than we'd ever shared before.

"Barrett?" I whispered in the darkness.

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad I didn't stay dead."

His arms tightened around me. "That makes two of us."

Outside our window, the city continued its restless pulse, unaware that within these walls, two people who had nearly destroyed each other had found their way back to love—a love tempered by darkness, strengthened by trials, and all the more precious for having almost been lost.

Not the typical happily ever after, perhaps. But then again, we'd never been a typical couple.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.


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