Another chapter for you! xoxo. One thing more, I have been getting so many messages from 'artists' claiming they want to make art for my stories. I wonder is what it is (I think spam) and if other writers have gotten the same messages as well.

Chapter 24

Rose lay tangled with Jack beneath the sheets, her head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The early morning sunlight crept through the curtains, illuminating the room in a warm, golden glow. Her fingers idly traced the lines of his hand, her delicate touch brushing over the calluses and scars etched into his skin.

"You've worked too hard in your life," she murmured, turning his hand over to inspect his palm.

Jack let out a soft chuckle. "These hands have done alright by me."

Rose smiled faintly, but something in her tone had turned wistful. "I can't believe I'm here with you… like this. It feels like everything terrible that's ever happened was just a bad dream."

Jack took a deep breath and tightened his arm around her. His jaw tensed, as though he were grappling with something unsaid. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady.

"Rose, there's something I need to tell you."

She lifted her head from his chest and looked at him, concern flickering across her features. "What is it?"

Jack hesitated, his eyes scanning her face as if searching for the right words. "It's about Cal."

Rose's expression froze, her body stiffening as the name sent a chill through her. "What about him?"

Jack sat up slowly, the sheets rustling around them. "He came to the farm, Rose. Two weeks after I brought you here."

Her eyes widened in shock, her hand clutching the sheet tightly against her chest. "He did not."

Jack nodded solemnly. "He did. Showed up out of nowhere, demanding to know where you were."

Rose stared at him in disbelief, her breath catching in her throat. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to scare you," Jack said softly. "You were finally finding some peace, and I didn't want to take that away from you."

Her heart was pounding, anger and fear warring inside her. "What… what did he say? What did you tell him?"

Jack's memory of that day was as sharp as if it had just happened. He could still feel the tension in the air as Cal Hockley's polished shoes clicked against the wooden floors of the farmhouse. Jack had been helping Mark pick apples in the orchard when the hum of an engine had interrupted the peaceful afternoon. They'd both looked up, squinting against the sunlight to see the car coming up the dirt road.

"Expecting anyone?" Jack had asked, brushing dirt from his hands.

Mark shook his head. "Nope. Better go see what this is about."

Jack had nodded and made his way to the house, his pace quickening when the car stopped and a well-dressed man stepped out. The sight of Cal Hockley, immaculate in a tailored suit and polished shoes, sent an immediate wave of unease through him.

"Can I help you?" Jack had asked, his tone even but wary.

The man gave a cold, practiced chuckle and extended his hand. "Good day, sir. I'm looking for Mark and Sarah Davison."

Jack folded his arms, ignoring the hand. "I'm Sarah's brother. And who are you?"

"Cal Hockley," the man said smoothly, with a touch of arrogance that set Jack's teeth on edge.

Before Jack could respond, Mark came up beside him, wiping his hands on his trousers. Jack shot him a warning look, but Mark, ever the polite host, extended his hand to Cal.

"This Cal Hockley," Jack clarified, his voice tight.

Cal didn't acknowledge the tension, only smiled thinly. "Gentlemen," he began, his tone as smooth as silk, "it might sound like a strange story, but I'm looking for my fiancée."

Mark hesitated, glancing at Jack, who was visibly bristling.

"Why don't you come inside," Mark offered cautiously.

Jack's eyes went wide, his jaw tightening. "Mark—"

But Cal was already stepping past them, heading toward the house as though he owned it. Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of baking bread and fresh coffee, but the atmosphere quickly turned cold as they sat at the kitchen table.

Cal reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a photograph, sliding it across the table. Jack stared at it, his stomach twisting. There she was—Rose, though barely recognizable. She looked hauntingly different, dressed in expensive fabrics, her hair styled to perfection. But her eyes were hollow, empty, and lifeless.

"Her name is Rose DeWitt Bukater," Cal said, his voice laced with practiced sadness. "I lost her in an accident last April. It… unfortunately caused her to have some issues with her memory, and she was just lost. I've been searching for her for months, and I almost lost hope until I received this letter. It says she was seen here—or, to be more specific, that she's been living here for a while now."

Jack forced himself to remain calm, even as his mind raced. "I've never seen her nor heard of her," he said, his voice steady.

"Me neither," Mark added, though his discomfort was obvious.

Cal chuckled again, but this time it was colder. "I don't like it when I'm being lied to."

Jack's fists clenched beneath the table. "What is there to lie about, sir, when we don't know who the woman in the picture is?"

Cal's cool demeanor cracked, and he slammed his hand on the table, making the cups rattle. "It's about the diamond, isn't it?" he hissed, his voice low and venomous. "I know she has it. Now tell me where she is."

Jack leaned forward, his eyes blazing with fury. "Listen, you arrogant penguin," he growled, his voice sharp as a blade. "Do you really think, in a town this small, I wouldn't recognize someone like her? Now hold that filthy tongue of yours and get the hell off my property before I make you regret coming here."

Cal glared at him, his face contorted with anger, but he didn't make a move. For a tense moment, the room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing and the ticking of the clock.

Finally, Cal straightened, brushing invisible dust from his suit. "This isn't over," he said coldly, his eyes narrowing at Jack.

Jack stood his ground, his glare unrelenting. "Yes, it is."

Leaning back against the headboard, Jack's fingers brushed lightly over Rose's as she handed him the small sack. His heart was still racing from what she had just said. The memory of Cal Hockley showing up at the farm, his arrogance, his threats—it had haunted Jack for months. But now, holding this weighty object, he realized just how deeply Cal's influence still lingered in her life.

Jack opened the sack carefully, and when the brilliant blue diamond caught the lamplight, he froze. "Jesus Christ, Rose," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "I've never seen anything like this."

Rose sat cross-legged on the bed beside him, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. She watched him, her face a mixture of unease and resolve. "It's called the Heart of the Ocean," she said quietly. "An engagement gift from him. It's supposed to be priceless."

Jack let out a low whistle, turning the necklace slightly in his hand, the stone catching and reflecting every angle of the light. "He gave you this?"

"I never even wore it," Rose admitted, her voice tight. "Not once. It felt like a chain around my neck, a reminder of everything I didn't want to be."

Jack glanced up at her, his brow furrowed in concern. "And you've kept it all this time?"

"Not because I wanted to," she said quickly, her words tumbling out. "It was out of fear. Fear that if I sold it, someone might trace it back to me. That he'd find me. And then there were times I thought… I thought it could give me a fresh start. When we were apart last year, I almost sold it. I thought maybe the money could bring us together again. But then I realized… if I let it define my choices, I'd never really be free of him. I don't want a life built on something that came from him."

Jack stared at the necklace for another moment before carefully placing it back in the sack and setting it on the bedside table. He reached for her hand, his rough, calloused fingers tangling with hers. "You don't need that diamond, Rose," he said firmly. "You've already built something incredible for yourself. With Lucinda, with the life you're carving out here… none of that came from him. It came from you."

Rose's lips trembled, and she looked down at their joined hands. "I know that," she whispered. "But sometimes it's hard to let go of the past, even when you know it's hurting you."

Jack tilted her chin up so that she was looking at him, his blue eyes steady and full of warmth. "You're not that girl in the picture anymore, Rose," he said softly. "You've fought too hard to get here. You've made a new life for yourself. And no matter what you decide to do with that thing, it doesn't define you."

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she smiled through them. "What would I do without you, Jack Dawson?"

Jack grinned, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "Probably a lot better," he teased gently. "But I'm glad you don't have to find out."

Rose took the diamond from Jack's hands and slowly lifted it to her neck, fastening the delicate clasp behind her. The cold weight of it rested just above her collarbones, an icy contrast to the warmth of her skin.

Jack watched her with an amused expression, his lips twitching into a smirk. "I forgot how heavy and uncomfortable it is," Rose whispered, running her fingers along the chain.

Jack shook his head, still unable to believe the sight of that lifeless, extravagant stone against her—so full of life, so real. "It's ridiculous," he said with a quiet laugh. "It doesn't belong on you, Rose."

"Then take it off," she murmured.

Jack didn't need to be told twice. His hands reached for the clasp, his fingers brushing over her skin as he unfastened it, letting the diamond slip away and fall onto the sheets with a muffled thud. Then, his touch lingered at her shoulders, tracing down the curves of her arms, drinking in every inch of her.

Rose shifted closer, lifting herself onto her knees as she peeled away the thin chemise that clung to her body. It slipped down her arms, pooling around her waist before she discarded it entirely. She was bared to him, the firelight flickering against her skin, illuminating the soft rise and fall of her breath.

Jack let out a surprised chuckle as Rose's hands slid up his chest, her eyes locked on his with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. "You're full of surprises tonight," he murmured, his voice low and teasing, though his gaze softened as he reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face.

"And you're full of charm," Rose shot back with a sly smile, her hands splaying over his broad shoulders. "Maybe too much for your own good."

She leaned down, capturing his lips in a kiss that deepened almost immediately, both of them pouring everything they couldn't say into the connection. Jack's hands instinctively slid up her back, pulling her closer as the kiss grew hungrier. But then Rose pulled away, sitting up and placing her hands on his chest, keeping him pressed into the mattress.

"You've had your turn, Dawson," she said playfully, her voice breathy as she grinned down at him. "Now it's mine."

Jack's eyebrows shot up in mock surprise, though the mischievous glint in his eyes betrayed him. "Oh, is that how it's gonna be?"

"That's exactly how it's going to be," Rose replied, leaning down to press soft kisses along his jawline, moving toward his ear. Jack closed his eyes, letting out a low groan as her lips traveled down to his neck.

"God, Rose," he muttered, his hands gripping her waist. "You're dangerous."

…

Rose lay awake, her body still tingling from Jack's touch, her heart filled with something too vast to name. She turned her head slightly, taking in the sight of him—his bare chest rising and falling with every slow breath, his arm sprawled across where she had been only moments ago. The moonlight carved soft shadows along his face, highlighting the peacefulness in his expression.

She reached out, fingers ghosting over his wrist before pulling away. Careful not to wake him, she slipped out of bed, grabbing the thin blanket draped over the chair and wrapping it around herself. Her bare feet padded against the cool wooden floor as she made her way to the balcony.

Stepping outside, Rose inhaled deeply. The air smelled of the ocean, even from here, mixing with the lingering scent of the city. She folded her legs beneath her as she sank into the chair, the blanket pulled tight around her shoulders. The memory washed over Rose like a ghostly whisper, so vivid that for a moment, she could almost smell the salt in the air, hear the distant hum of the Titanic slicing through the waves. She closed her eyes, letting herself fall back into that night.

It had been late—so late that the halls of first class were eerily silent, save for the occasional creak of the ship's movements. When the soft knock echoed against her cabin door, she had almost ignored it. But curiosity got the best of her.

Opening the door just a sliver, she found herself staring into the mischievous eyes of Maureen, clad in a worn woolen coat, a cigarette and lighter balanced between her fingers.

Rose gaped at her. "How on earth did you manage to get into first class?"

Maureen smirked. "I know the captain."

Rose raised an eyebrow.

"Alright, alright," Maureen chuckled. "I may have snuck past a very distracted steward." She leaned in conspiratorially. "I couldn't sleep. Thought I'd have a smoke on the deck. Care to join me?"

Rose hesitated only for a moment before glancing over her shoulder at her empty, suffocating room. "Let me grab my coat."

The night air had been crisp when they stepped outside, the stars so sharp and clear that they felt close enough to touch. Maureen led her to a quieter part of the deck, away from lingering passengers, and perched herself on the railing, lighting her cigarette with ease. She took a slow drag, then offered it to Rose.

Rose hesitated, then, with a small, reckless laugh, took it between her fingers and brought it to her lips. She coughed almost immediately, making Maureen chuckle.

"Not exactly a lady-like habit, is it?" Rose rasped, blinking away tears from the harsh smoke.

"Neither is sneaking around first class in the middle of the night," Maureen teased.

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the ocean.

"A friend of mine back in Chippewa Falls taught me to smoke," Maureen had said, taking a slow drag before exhaling into the cold night air. "He taught me a lot of things, actually. Most of them very unladylike." She had smirked then, but there was something almost wistful in her eyes.

Rose had smiled, intrigued. "Oh? And who was this scandalous young man corrupting you?"

Maureen chuckled, shaking her head. "His name is Jack."

The name had meant nothing to Rose then. Just a name. Just another part of Maureen's wild and untamed world.

"We would often lay in the fields at night when we couldn't sleep," Maureen continued, gazing out at the vast, dark ocean. "Just talking about everything and nothing at all. His whole family was like that—free, careless, always laughing. It was like they had the secret to life, you know?" She sighed, flicking ashes over the side of the ship. "Then tragedy struck. A house fire. His parents and youngest brother didn't make it."

Rose had gone quiet at that.

"After that, Jack was different. Still wild, still restless. But there was something in his eyes—like he knew how cruel the world could be, and he wasn't going to waste a second of it."

Rose had watched Maureen then, fascinated, but before she could ask more, Maureen had changed the subject, steering the conversation back to something lighter, making Rose laugh again.

She had never thought much of it after that night, but Jack Dawson had been a part of her story before she had even known his name.

A soft, breathless laugh escaped her lips, barely louder than the wind. Fate had a funny way of working. She stood, slipping back inside, her feet silent against the wooden floor. Carefully, she climbed back into bed, curling up beside him. Jack stirred slightly, his arm instinctively pulling her close even in sleep. Rose pressed a kiss to his shoulder, closing her eyes.