“Don’t get used to it,” she said, cool as ever. Almost.
She threw him a smirk. Quick. Shield raised, but he didn’t take the bait.
Gideon watched her, quiet and unblinking.
And he seemed to see everything.
Every layer. Every lie she told herself about not needing anyone. About being fine on her own.
And for one terrifying, electric second, she wasn’t sure she could look away.
As the night wore on,the noise of the world slipped further away. Up here, none of it could touch them like the city had pressed pause for this.
For the first time in weeks, Arden felt it.
Peace.
No shadows at the edges.
No roses left in her wake.
No phantom footsteps trailing her.
Just… quiet.
Gideon leaned back in his chair, the hard lines of him softened by wine and quiet surrender.
His voice, when it came, was low and thoughtful—raw in a way she wasn’t used to from him.
He spoke of his grandfather, Richard Blackwell II, the man whose legacy clung to the bones of everything they touched.
“He believed in creating a foundation that would last. Something good.”Gideon’s gaze drifted, fingers brushing the rim of his glass, almost absently. “But that dream didn’t survive him. It got swallowed by greed.”
The shift in his tone sharpened the space between them.
“What happened?” Arden asked. No teasing. Genuine concern.
“My father happened. And Evelyn.” The names landed like dead weight. “They took what he built and twisted it—used it to control people. To erase them.”
A bitter smirk flickered and died at the corner of his mouth.
“The Blackwell name used to mean something,” he said. “Now it’s just… leverage.”
His words settled over her, thick and unvarnished. But it wasn’t self-pity.
It was grief.
Arden leaned in, elbows braced against the table, her gaze steady on his. “You’re doing more than surviving,” she said, voice low but certain. “You’re trying to rewrite it.”
Not a question.
Gideon nodded once. A hard, quiet motion. “Trying.” His voice roughened. “But Evelyn… she doesn’t just want to shape the narrative. She wants to control it. Every word. Every page.”
He looked at her then, really looked. “If she sees you as part of my story…”
He didn’t finish.
He didn’t have to.
