No warning or goodbye. No second body in the ashes of her father’s estate. Just silence. And Reign’s note, laced with heartbreak and betrayal.
It shattered everything.
Berkley disappeared like a ghost fading in smoke, and none of us had the guts to chase the truth through the flames. Not back then. We swallowed it. Let it fester. Let it turn to rot in our chests. Because if Reign blamed her… then maybe we were supposed to, too.
But I never bought it. Not really. The entire thing never sat right in my gut, and no matter how many times I turn it over in my head, the pieces just don’t fit together the way they should. The timeline’s too neat. Reign’s emotions in that letter too rehearsed. And yeah, it’s Reign’s handwriting—her words, her signature. That’s what gets Rowen and Emerson. That’s why they stopped asking questions and swallowed the version our fathers fed us. But I can’t. I won’t.
Because there’s one thing they don’t have. One thing they didn’t see, no matter how many times I showed them.
That damn text.
It came through late—deep into the night when everything was already starting to crack. Berkley’s number. Just a broken string of characters, scrambled and wrong, like her fingers had slipped or she’d been typing in a hurry. Maybepanicking. Maybe running out of time. It didn’t make sense, but it didn’t have to. The second I saw it; something latched onto my chest and refused to let go.
We’d had spotty service when we got there. Barely enough to load a page, never mind sending a message. We hadn’t been able to tell her we wouldn’t be at the house that weekend, so we agreed we’d drive out the next day—find a signal, call her, explain. Let her know we were coming back. That we hadn’t disappeared.
We never got the chance.
And that’s what’s been eating at me ever since. That message wasn’t a mistake or a glitch. It was a cry for help. I feel it in my bones.
But the only two people who could tell us what really happened that night? Gone. Out of reach. And I know—down in my bones—that neither of them left willingly.
I grit my teeth and force down the frustration that’s been riding me hard all day. It’s a constant presence now—tight under my skin, simmering just beneath the surface. There’s only one outlet left tonight that might bleed some of it out before I do something I regret. “I’m heading out early. If you want to go, let’s roll,” I mutter, not bothering to mask the edge in my voice.
Five years ago, those words would’ve had all of us moving in unison, no questions asked. We were a solid front back then—brothers in blood and bond. Reign, Berk, the guys andme—we knew each other’s rhythms better than we knew our own. But everything fractured.
Now, there’s this silence between us, heavy and sharp, filled with all the things we’re not saying. I see it in the way Rowen’s eyes narrow slightly when he seems to know I’m thinking about Berk. In Emerson’s hesitation, the way he walks the line, never fully on one side or the other. There’s still loyalty there, sure—but there’s doubt too. Doubt in her. In me.
And that’s the part I can’t stomach.
That they could believe for even a second that she might’ve betrayed us. That she would’ve done something to deserve what happened that night. It’s not just frustrating—it’s infuriating. It festers in the cracks of our bond like corrosion, poisoning everything we were supposed to stand for. We’re still a family, technically. Still fighting the same war, living under the same roof, bleeding for the same legacy.
But it doesn’t feel the same anymore. Not when the one person who should’ve never been doubted is the reason for the silence in the room.
Emerson drives us through the city, weaving through traffic like it’s second nature, his knuckles tight on the wheel. None of us says much. The car’s thick with silence and barely veiled tension. I’m still chewing on the same thoughts that haven’t left me for weeks, maybe years if I’m honest. But Craig messaged earlier, saying there’s some hotshot new fighter drawing a crowd tonight at the Underground. Claimed she’s gotthe crowd foaming at the mouth, and we’d be idiots not to come watch. I wasn’t planning on going out before my fight later tonight, but the idea of a distraction is too damn tempting. Anything to keep my mind off the past.
The moment we step into the warehouse, the place explodes around us—sweaty bodies packed shoulder to shoulder; the air vibrating with heat and adrenaline. The roar of the crowd is deafening, a collective fever pitch pulsing like a second heartbeat. Emerson leans in close, his voice barely audible over the chaos.
“Are they yelling… Cupcake?”
I narrow my eyes and listen harder. The chant rises again, louder this time. “Cupcake! Cupcake!”
I nod slowly, the name lighting something in my brain I can’t quite place. “Sure are.”
Rowen’s lip twitches, almost like he wants to laugh, but it never reaches his eyes. We start pushing toward the ring, but there are too many people crushed around it for us to get anywhere near the front. Doesn’t matter though, not when a flash of purple hair slices through the crowd and catches my eye.
And then she strikes.
A blur of motion, she drives her knee hard into her opponent’s ribs, the brutal crack of bones snapping echoing through the warehouse like a warning shot. The poor bastard folds in on herself, collapsing under the sheer force of it. The crowd hisses in response—one of those collective, teeth-suckingwinces that saysDamn, that had to hurt. But it’s short-lived. Their sympathy burns off like steam, replaced with bloodlust as the announcer steps into the ring.
Craig’s voice booms over the speakers, full of bravado and pride. “Your winner!”
The place erupts. She barely lifts a hand in acknowledgment, already turning away from the spotlight like she doesn’t need it. Like she’s got nothing to prove, and no one to impress.
But something about her… it’s sticking in my chest like a needle. The name. That hair. Her fire. I don’t know why, but something about this girl is dragging my thoughts right back to places I’ve been trying to bury for years.
“Fuck, bro. Wish we hadn’t missed that,” Rowen mutters beside me, his tone low but laced with regret. His eyes follow the tattooed firecracker as she moves through the crowd like smoke, impossible to hold on to. “She looks like she’s got moves. I may have to introduce myself.”
I glance sideways at him, my jaw ticking. “Not if I get to her first.”
