Arden shook her head, but the warmth settled in.
While Penny waxed poetic about sequin dresses, Arden’s mind drifted.
To Gideon. To his hands. To the way he’d looked at her like she was the only thing he’d ever need.
Penny waved a hand. “Hello? Earth to Arden? Did you astral project back into your boyfriend’s arms or?—”
“Shut up.”
Penny gasped. “You did.”
Arden refused to confirm. “Tell me more about karaoke night.”
Penny grinned, victorious. “You’re on the list. No backing out.”
Arden sighed. “Fine.”
Penny clapped. “Perfect! Now let’s go try on clothes we can’t afford and pretend we’re rich.”
Arden laughed. “Lead the way.”
And she let herself have it all.
The caffeine.
The chaos.
The illusion of safety wrapped in laughter .
And the fiery imprint of Gideon’s mouth against her skin.
CHAPTER 35
The Family That Lies Together Stays Together
Evelyn Blackwell’s dining room exuded a calculated elegance—every inch of it curated, commanding, and cold.
The gleaming mahogany table stretched long beneath a chandelier’s soft glow. Polished to a mirror’s edge, it shimmered with liquid light. The silverware and china weren’t set for function. They were armor, silent messages that control wasn’t given, but enforced.
Paintings lined the walls, all gold-framed and deliberately muted, their brushstrokes too restrained to bleed emotion. They loomed like spectators. Watchers.
At the head of the table, Evelyn sat with effortless authority. Her charcoal Loro Piana dress tailored perfectly—cashmere as armor, not comfort. The diamonds at her throat glinted under the light, understated but undeniable. A quiet warning: real power didn’t raise its voice. It never had to.
“To the family,” she said, lifting her crystal glass in a toast wrapped in steel. “And to preserving what is rightfully ours.”
Glasses rose. The chime was brittle as bone.
Gideon barely sipped. The deep red swirl in his glass was a stain, too much like everything the Blackwell name had cost.
Alex lounged with that signature smirk, entitlement in charm, all shine and no soul. He was enjoying himself. He had always thrived on illusion and cruelty.
Evelyn’s gaze swept the table—sharp, assessing, lingering long enough to remind them who was in charge.
“The media narrative,” she said, her tone clean. Surgical.
Julia Fenton leaned forward, fingers delicate on her glass, her emerald blouse pristine enough to reflect. “The Richardson property has generated some noise,” she said with a practiced smile. “But I’ve secured local press highlighting our urban renewal campaign. By next week, we’ll be praised for revitalizing the community.”
“And the tenants?” Evelyn asked, knowing the answer.
