Marco’s laugh was flat; a crack across the surface of the room. “She doesn’t need the curtsy. She cuts clean, no warning.” He lowered his voice. “Watch yourself. Evelyn’s ruthless. And she’s already clocked the way Gideon looks at you.”
A flush crept up Arden’s neck. She turned, reaching for a bottle she didn’t need. “Gideon doesn’t?—”
“Don’t waste the breath,” Marco said, cutting her off. “Everyone sees it.”
Arden frowned, her voice quieter now. “Sees what, exactly?”
He gave her a look, equal parts knowing and exhausted. “The way he watches you. How you tense when he’s near. It’s not just you two anymore. The room’s catching on.”
Fatima passed with a tray of towels, catching the tail end of Marco’s warning. Her expression was pure mischief. “If it’s not a thing, it should be. The static between you two could take down the grid.”
Arden shot her a flat look. “Really not the time.”
Fatima gave her a side-eye. “Don't give me that face. I'm just stating the obvious.”
Marco rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled loudly. “We’re not giving you hell, Arden. Just be smart. The Blackwells don’t lose. And if Evelyn’s paying attention. And trust me, she is. You’d better tread carefully.”
The doors openedwith a hushed groan; the air in The Blackwell Room shifted.
Something in the atmosphere tightened like a wire pulled taut. An expectant silence crackled through the room, the kind that warns of thunder before it breaks.
Evelyn Hawthorne Blackwell entered first, her burgundy silk dress trailing behind her in a deliberate sweep of power and poise.
Evelyn didn’t arrive. She claimed.
And the room adjusted accordingly.
Voices dimmed. Movements slowed. A few leaned in, others pulled back, but no one looked away. Not when she was present.
Her gaze moved across the space with cold precision, pausing on Arden long enough to leave something behind. Not interest. Not curiosity. Judgment. Already sealed.
She didn’t flinch, but the weight of it lingered, cold as frost.
Behind Evelyn came Alex Blackwell, arrogance worn like a second skin. Hedidn’t walk so much as glide, sure of his place, his power. The smirk on his lips dared anyone to forget it. He didn’t need attention. He expected it.
Cate followed a step behind, pristine in pale pink, composed down to every eyelash. But her smile was stretched too thin—an echo of calm rather than the real thing. Tension pulsed beneath it, strained. Arden recognized it.
Tori Langston swept in behind them, silver and ambition shimmering with every step. She leaned toward the table’s gravity, aligning herself like a planet in orbit.
From the second floor, Gideon appeared.
He didn’t descend like the rest of them. No pageantry. Just quiet command. Presence without demand.
He hadn’t been summoned.
He knew.
The moment his family walked through the door, he felt it. His eyes swept the room, taking stock, measuring weight.
And then they found her.
Arden.
Their eyes met only for a flash, but it held like a struck chord.
Her pulse betrayed her, skipping before she could stop it. She’d told herself for weeks it was nothing. Coincidence. Circumstance.
But the flick of Evelyn’s gaze between them? Tori’s curling smirk? Alex’s low-burn amusement?
