Page 310 of Blackwood

“¡¿Dónde está el sujetador con los flecos?! I swear to God, if you lose one more sequin—!”

I duck just in time as a rhinestone belt flies past my face. We’ve just come off The Legacy group number. Bella had landed her last center lift like she was born under a spotlight, not raised in shadows. Ellie stuck her triple pirouette and Haley threw in a midair hair flip that Knox swore deserved its own slow-mo reel. They crushed it.

And now we were twenty minutes out from The Trifecta’s first set, a Latin fusion trio that has Javi pacing like a lunatic and Rico clutching rosary beads backstage.

And through it all, there’s Bella. She’s ripping off her Legacy set like a woman on a mission, the deep burgundy sequined top already halfway over her head.

“Lex, shoes! Cade, get the purple! Javi, for the love of God, breathe! And someone find Haley’s earring before Rico throws himself into traffic.”

“Wait! What earring?” Haley calls from her chair, spinning as her curls are set with surgical precision.

Bella’s already stripped down to pasties and briefs, standing with one foot braced on a bench like some glittering Amazon general, sweat clinging to the lines of her back with glitter still still dusted across her collarbone from the group number.

Lex is on his knees at her feet again, silver stilettos in hand, muttering something about worship and war zones. I grab the next outfit off the rack and damn near forget what breathing is.

The dress is… lethal. Saturated amethyst, so rich it glows under the fluorescents. Rhinestoned fringe down one hip, a slit so high I’m surprised it doesn’t require a license, and a neckline deep enough to start a scandal. Backless, shoulder-baring, and bold.

I hold it out. “Your gown, m’lady.”

“You two are way too into this,” she laughs pointing a finger between me and Lex.

“Rico will cut us all if we don’t get you into this in the next ten seconds,” I counter.

Lex steadies her as she steps in. I guide the fabric up over her hips, careful with the fringe. She finishes securing the hidden side clasps herself, then plants a hand on my shoulder so Lex can zip up the back.

“You’re stressing,” I say, brushing a stray hair out of her face.

Bella’s voice tightens. “He hates Latin fusion. Hates trio sets. With my luck, probably hates purple fr—”

Lex cuts her off. “Baby. Breathe.”

She looks at him and for a second the mask drops. She’s not center-stage Bella. Not the storm. Just a girl trying to measure up.

“You’re not dancing for Santibañez,” I say gently, adjusting one of her earrings. “You’re dancing for the girls next to you. For Javi. For you.”

“And for me,” Lex adds. “Because watching you dance is the only religion I believe in.”

Bella laughs. Just a little, but it’s real.

Hair and makeup rush her. The twin glam artists from hell, curling her high pony into a sleek bounce while reapplying highlighter and triple-lashing her eyes. Someone shoves a water bottle into her hand.

“Baby, even my mother’s impressed.”

Bella’s head snaps toward Lex. “I thought just your dad was coming.”

He shakes his head. “Nope, she’s here too. Second row, dead center. Right behind the judges. Wearing that icy blue silk bullshit she saves for executions and weddings.”

Bella freezes.

Lex adds, “She’s… being her usual terrifying self. But she didn’t blink during Legacy. Didn’t look at her phone. Didn’t whisper to Dad. She watched you. Every step.”

Bella swallows.

Lex continues, quieter now. “When the lights came up, she said, and I quote,‘She commands well. Dangerous.’”

She stares at him like he just told her she was being reviewed by a war council.

Lex shrugs. “That’s the Bratva version of a standing ovation.”