Page 48 of Blackwood

He turns on Henry, voice rising. “You want to talk about loss? Pain? This kid built a war machine out of a trauma response and used it to savehundredsof children. And your daughter’s been right there beside him every step of the way.”

Nate’s voice drops, sharp and final. “The man who made her thinks she’s dead. We made sure of that. That’s why we keep secrets. That’s why this story stays straight. You want to blow that up because you’re hurting? Because you want a few more minutes with the fantasy version of her you had to let go of?”

He leans closer, nose to nose. “Not going to happen. So drop it. Or walk. But understand this, Bella’s not that ten-year-old you remember. She’s fire now. She’s purpose.And she’s family.”

His tone hardens. “Our family. Whether you can stomach it or not.”

Henry doesn’t speak.

Tex exhales slow. “Well, this is going great. Look I don’t mean to change the subject or anything, but we’ve got one big-golden-Gucci-problem.”

“Fuck,” I mutter. “Whitmore.”

“Yep, the glitter bomb of Wall Street. What are we going to do about her?” Tex responds raising a hand before I can speak. “And before you say it, no. We are not killing Bella’s best friend.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were thinking it.”

Chapter 17

BELLA – Age 18

Our Penthouse

Ellie’s gaze sweeps the room like a sniper picking her target.

“Okay, someone better start talking before I start assigning characters and inventing my own backstory. Spoiler alert, it will involve a secret affair and at least one illegitimate heir.”

Zeke groans, rubbing his temples like he regrets every life decision that got him here. “Jesus fucking Christ, Whitmore.”

Nate mutters under his breath, “Should’ve drugged her.”

Ellie turns to him slowly, smiling like a debutante about to commit a felony. “Try it, and I’ll lace your kale smoothies with estrogen and ruin your credit score.”

“I don’t drink smoothies.”

“I’ll adapt,” she says sweetly, tossing her hair.

“Okay!” I shoot to my feet, hands out like I’m breaking up a bar fight. “Everyone breathe. Ellie, please try to chill for like five seconds. Guys, maybe don’t threaten my best friend.”

“I am totally chill,” Ellie mumbles under her breath.

“I’m not really sure how to explain it. Or where to start,” I admit, shifting nervously under the weight of everyone’s eyes.

Zeke cuts in, “Just say it fast before she tries to pitch the rights to HBO.”

Ellie shoots him a glare. “Say what you want, Broody Spice, but I know drama when I see it and this is Emmy-level.”

Tex nods to me. “Just tell her the version that won’t get us all arrested.”

I draw a breath, heart pounding. “Okay. Just… let me talk. No interruptions. No judging. No selling this to theNew York Times.”

Ellie raises a brow. “Rude. I was thinkingVanity Fair. Seriously though, get talking.”

Zeke rolls his eyes so hard I think he might detach a retina.

I tell her about Arkansas. About the warm, golden years when life still felt safe. Game nights at Razorback Stadium, screamingWoo Piguntil my little voice gave out. Quiet mornings at the lake house where everything smelled like pancakes and pine.