Page 312 of Blackwood

“Legacy’s group set could go either way,” I admit.

“That’s not the one they care about,” Lex finishes.

Daniel raises a brow. “No?”

Lex shakes his head. “It’s the trio. That’s the one that matters.”

I nod, eyes drifting back to the stage. “They’ve danced solos. They’ve danced in groups. But The Trifecta? That’s different. They’re not just teammates, they’re family.”

“They want Worlds,” Lex says softly, almost like it’s a prayer.

“Those girls,” I say, “are sisters. And they want it all.”

The opening chords ofMi Gentesnaps through the sound system like a shot of adrenaline as the girls step forward. Bella center, Ellie and Haley on the sides like a perfectly calibrated V-formation in violet and silver fringe. The moment they hit the first count, it’s not chaos anymore. It’s precision. Fire and control in every step.

They don’t just dance to the beat, they shape it. Cha-cha and salsa footwork flickers beneath them, sharp and cut like glass. Their arms slice the air, fluid and fast. Feet pivot and snap through lightning-fast directional shifts, turns that land clean.

But it’s not just the movement. It’s the chemistry. The way they react to each other mid-spin, the unspoken sync in their spacing, the collective inhale before every dramatic pause. Like one organism split into three.

Judges are scribbling. Even the hardass ones. Their brows furrowed and nodding like they just got hit with something they didn’t expect. The judge on the left looks like he’s already added them to the winner’s sheet. The blonde woman beside him mouthswow.

And then there’s him, Santibañez. The Latin ballroom tyrant. The one Bella is so terrified of. He’s not writing. He’s watching, and not in the way he watched the Phoenix girls before. Those poor dancers who got a whole head shake and a scribble mid-performance. No, this time? He’s leaned forward, elbows on the table, lips parted just slightly. Like he’s… enchanted.

Lex notices too. “Is he—?” he whispers.

I nod. “Hooked.”

“Thank fuck.”

The final combo hits and Bella spins through a tight double, landing in perfect stillness as Ellie and Haley mirror her pose. They strike the final line together, all heels and presence and glitter that somehow feels like war paint.

Mom exhales. “Thatgirl’s a weapon.”

Dad whistles low. “That’s the one they wanted, huh?”

“That’s the one that matters,” I say.

Lex lets out a breath. “Okay, yeah, they killed that.”

“They owned that,” I correct.

Lex stands, brushing off his hands like he’s just watched a full-blown military op go down. He turns to me with that half-wild gleam in his eye, the one that only shows up when Bella dances or when someone threatens one of our lives.

“You ready to head backstage?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Let’s go help our baby get ready for her duet.”

Backstage is quieter now. No screaming. No rhinestones flying through the air. No Rico having a religious crisis. Just the low whirr of a blow dryer in the corner. Soft murmurs from a nearby coach. Someone adjusting a lighting cue over comms.

The storm has passed and Bella is standing dead center in the calm. She’s still in the trio set, glittering purple fringe clinging to her skin, heels steady, but there’s sweat beading down her spine and a flush in her cheeks that has nothing to do with the routine. Lex tosses her a towel, and she catches it midair without looking.

“That felt… good,” she says, chest rising and falling like she’s waiting for someone to tell her she imagined it.

Lex is crouched by her duffel, digging out the heels for her duet. “He didn’t blink, baby.”

Bella freezes. I step forward, kneeling beside her as she swaps out her shoes.