I’ve just finished blow-drying my hair when my phone lights up with my mother’s face. Literally, what could she possibly be calling about to ruin my already shitty ass night about? I debate whether to let it go to voicemail, but she’ll just keep calling until I answer.
“What?” I snap, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder as I rummage through my makeup bag.
“Is that any way to greet your mother, Seraphina?” Her voice drips with that familiar disappointment. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”
“I’ve been busy.” I uncap my eyeliner, leaning closer to the mirror to draw a perfect wing. My hand is steady despite the anxiety churning in my gut.
“Too busy for your family? Your father and I were discussing?—“
“Let me guess. Another setup with some boy whose daddy has the right connections?” I smear on eyeshadow, making my eyes look darker. “Pass.”
“Don’t be crude. The Whitmores’ son is perfectly?—“
“Perfectly boring,” I cut in. “And has the personality of wet cardboard.”
She sighs that martyred sigh that makes me want to throw my phone out the window. “You’re being deliberately difficult. This attitude of yours is exactly why?—“
I tune her out as I apply mascara, watching my lashes grow thicker, longer. Making myself into someone who can face tonight without falling apart. My mother’s voice becomes background noise. It’s the same lecture she’s given a thousand times about duty and appearances and what’s expected of a Carvelli daughter.
“—and the fundraiser next month requires your attendance, so I’ve already had Marissa set aside three dresses for you to try?—“
“Are you even listening to me?” she suddenly snaps.
Something in me breaks. Maybe it’s the stress of tonight, or maybe I’m just fucking done pretending.
“No, I’m not,” I say flatly. “I’ve got to go. I’m going to be late.”
“Late?” Her voice sharpens with suspicion. “For what? You don’t have anything to do tonight or any night unless I force you.”
I apply my lipstick—blood red, like the ribbon on the box—and smile grimly at my reflection. “Oh, you didn’t hear? My presence was demanded for this year’s Choosing Ceremony . I’d rather stick needles in my eyes, but you know what they say. When they call, we must listen. Isn’t that right, Mother?”
The silence that follows is so complete I check my phone to make sure the call hasn’t dropped. Then I hear it—a sharp, ragged inhale that sounds like genuine fear.
“You can’t go,” she whispers, her voice suddenly stripped of its usual polish.
“What?” I frown, pausing with the lipstick tube halfway to my mouth. “What do you mean I can’t go? I’ve already been summoned. You know what happens if I refuse.”
“Seraphina, listen to me.” My mother’s voice has lost all its usual haughtiness, replaced by something I’ve never heard before—raw panic. “You need to leave campus right now. Packa bag and go to the lake house. I’ll have Davis meet you there with?—“
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I laugh, but it sounds hollow even to my own ears. “Run away? That’s your brilliant solution? They’d just hunt me down, and you know it. Black Crown doesn’t issue invitations you can RSVP ‘no’ to.”
“You don’t understand.” Her voice cracks. “There are...complications.”
“No shit.” I cap my lipstick with more force than necessary. “Being paraded in front of Lucien fucking Devereux like a prize heifer isn’t exactly my idea of a good time, but what choice do I have?”
“He can’t choose you.” The words burst from her like she can’t contain them anymore. “He can’t, Seraphina. It’s forbidden.”
“Since when does Black Crown care about consent?” I snort, gathering my hair into a high ponytail. “Pretty sure that’s not in their bylaws.”
“It’s not about consent.” She takes a shuddering breath. “It’s about blood.”
My hands freeze in my hair. “What are you talking about?”
“Vincent Devereux is your father.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. I stumble backwards, my legs hitting the edge of my bed as I collapse onto it.
“That’s not—“ My voice sounds strange, distant. “That’s not possible.”
