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I blink back tears. “It’s a girl?”

She nods, wiping at her face with trembling fingers, smearing the black streaks even more.

“I’m a disaster. I’ll make a terrible mother. I can’t do this without him.”

Empathy aches in my throat. “What about Vance?” I tiptoe the question out, testing the fragile ground of her complicated love life.

She gives a bitter laugh. “He won’t even look at me.”

“Because of the pregnancy?”

“Vance is…” The flutter of her wet lashes sends more moisture tracking down her cheeks.

“I hurt him too much. He’s prideful and possessive, not the kind of man you toy with and then ask to raise another man’s child.”

I recall the way they tore at each other on his birthday. He made me watch them that night, and yet I’d felt like an interloper, catching a glimpse of something volatile and private, a combustible coupling of two possessed souls.

“Have you asked him?”

“There’s no point.” She lets a beat pass. “We can’t marry. There’s no future for us.”

There’s so much I want to say. I could tell her she’s not as alone as she thinks she is.

Landon’s trying to redraw the lines, and if he, Liam, and the others succeed, the houses will finally be allowed to intermarry.

And then there’s the truth of all truths to break this delicate moment wide open…

She’s my half-sister.

But I don’t say any of it, leaving Landon to decide when it’s time to bring Lilith into the family secrets.

All I can do is reach for her hand, free of pride or judgment, my fingers lacing with hers as we both struggle through the pain.

“Talk to him,” I finally say. “Vance is completely in love with you. Don’t let another day go by without honoring that. You never know when fate might rip it away.”

“Why are you being kind to me?” She turns toward me, raccoon-eyed and vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen before. “I’ve been horrendous to you.”

“So was Sebastian in the beginning, but I saw him.” I pause, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I see you, Lilith. Vance will, too.”

14

Time blurs like watercolors bleeding together, reds and blues crafting a mural of dusty plum. I drift through the days, detached from everything that used to tether me.

The only constant is Oliver’s shadow in my doorway each night, his presence both an anchor and a cage as my fingers trace familiar paths. The edge always comes, threatening to bust through my shield with an explosion I might not survive.

And that’s why I pull back, night after night, denying myself the release I crave as his dark gaze burns into my skin.

I don’t understand this ritual we’ve created. Why he needs to witness my restraint. Why I let him. But it’s become the only thing that feels real anymore.

During the day, I’m as much of a ghost as Sebastian.

Astrid oversees my meals, dutifully watching me eat food I can’t taste. Sleep comes in fits and starts. I’ve thought about picking up my sketchbook to design my wedding dress, but it’s hard to plan a future I’m no longer excited about. The fashion line I once dreamed of feels like someone else’s ambition now, a remnant of a girl who no longer exists, so the pages remain blank.

Oliver disappears into his work, supposedly buried in Brotherhood ledgers and spreadsheets. But the few times I’ve passed his home office, I find him frozen in place, staring at the same document as if his mind isn’t in the room at all.

Each night, I rush past the locked door that lingers at the edge of my awareness and slip into the rhythm of our rendezvous. It’s the only thing that cracks through my apathy, this ritual straddling the line between intimacy and indecency. Not that I mind the numbness. It’s become my refuge, a quiet space between breathing and breaking.

But even apathy has its limits, because on the afternoon of the memorial, my tears come back with a vengeance.