Page 227 of Blackwood

He walks forward, slow and regal, until he’s standing right in front of me. Then he leans down just enough to whisper, “A goddamn reckoning, my daughter.”

Chapter 62

LEX

The Obsidian at our girl’s twenty-first birthday party.

721 Days Since Zeke’s Death

The music’s low, the bass rolling like a slow punch to the ribs. Just enough to keep the crowd restless. Spotlights drift in lazy golden arcs across The Obsidian floor, catching on sequins, skin, and too many damn champagne flutes. Candles flicker in glass towers, throwing shadows that dance like they’ve got secrets. Velvet ropes pulse around the raised VIP section, packed with Wexley’s elite—football kings, trust fund brats, and Row royalty posing like they’re running the goddamn world.

Savannah’s sipping something pink and dangerous. Clay’s half-listening to Dad talk shop about glass-reinforced concrete. Mom’s looking around like she doesn’t want to be here. And Cade’s beside me, shoulder to shoulder, radiating that golden calm that drives me insane in the best and worst ways.

I’m dressed as Mars, Roman war god. Ellie put Rico in charge of all our costumes for tonight. Black leather harness. Burgundy-lined cape slung off one shoulder. Bracers. Boots. Blood-red paint streaked across my cheekbone like a warning.

Savannah raises her glass toward us, “So, what exactly are we all supposed to be tonight? Gladiators? Gods? Gold-plated sex cult?”

Clay chokes on his drink. Mom doesn’t blink.

Dad glances over my outfit with an arched brow. “Roman military meets couture runway?”

Cade laughs under his breath and lifts his glass. “Bella and Ellie’s idea. Rico’s vision.”

They all turn to me. I lean back in my chair, stretching my arm across the red velvet booth, and let the words hit slow. “They picked the theme,Roman gods and goddesses.Said if the Italians, the Russians, and the Whitmores were all gonna show up in one room, they might as well worship something. Might as well worship the birthday girl, and I for one can’t agree with her more.”

Mom exhales like she’s trying not to roll her eyes. Savannah full-on grins. “She’s not wrong,” Savannah says. “She looked divine at the fitting. What’s she coming down as again?”

I drag a thumb across my jaw, watching the staircase. “Nemesis.”

Dad grins slightly. “The goddess of vengeance?”

“Balance. Justice. Retribution. Our fucking girl.”

Cade sets his drink down a touch too carefully. “Her and Ellie came up with the idea after Fight Night. Changed the entire theme and everything in less than a few days. I’ve never seen Rico work so hard in his life.”

“I didn’t know there were so many curse words in the Spanish language,” I laugh.

I glance over at Mom. She’s trying to keep her face neutral, sipping her wine like it doesn’t taste like guilt. Too late. That’s what you get for cornering one of the loves of my life with your loyalty speeches and backhanded warnings. Like Bella owes you something.

You push Bella into a corner? She doesn’t run. She doesn’t cry. She fights back. With couture, theatrics, and a guest list thatcould ignite a war. This whole party? It’s a middle finger dipped in gold leaf.

“Smart theme,” Dad offers. “Classical. Commanding. I like it. It’s very Bella.”

Mom hums her agreement. “It’s… dramatic.”

I look at her, but she can’t meet my eyes. Good. Because what really pissed us off wasn’t the wholepick a sidebullshit. It was the way she erased Cade from the picture like he’s just an accessory. Like Cade and the Whitmores weren’t even a side for Bella to pick from in the first place. Like our love for him isn’t real enough to count.

Savannah, who’s always two steps ahead of everyone’s bullshit, arches a brow at Mom. “Well, Bella’s nothing if not decisive,” she says smoothly. “She knows exactly who she belongs to.”

That hits. A little too hard, because Mom flinches. Just barely.

Clay lets out a low whistle. “So, who’s walking her down tonight? I’m surprised you guys aren’t over there at the bottom of the stairs.”

Cade’s quiet. So, I answer. “Roman,” I take a slow sip of my drink, then set it down with a dull clink. “He’s playing Jupiter, king of the Roman gods.”

Mom stiffens.

“Jesus. That girl knows how to throw a party,” Clay says as Callum and his stupid Order bros walk down the stairs dressed as Bella’s personal guards.