I hang up because my mother just took everything I knew and flipped it.
There’s no way we’re related as I stare at myself in the mirror. We look nothing alike, not a single feature I look at looks familiar.
She’s wrong, she has to be. There is no other option.
I’m showing up tonight and I’m getting answers and getting Lucien Devereux off my back for good. No matter what it takes.
Chapter 9
Lucien
Ifeel her presence before I see her.
My blood hums with recognition, like a predator sensing its natural prey. The air in the cavernous great hall of the Devereux mansion shifts, electrifies, as Seraphina steps through the massive double doors.
She’s wearing my dress. The black silk clings to every curve like it was poured over her body, the neckline plunging between her tits in a way that makes my cock twitch behind the expensive fabric of my tailored pants. The slit up the side exposes a long stretch of creamy thigh with each step she takes.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
“Bold choice. Your father looks like he’s about to have a coronary,” Asher murmurs beside me, sipping champagne as he tracks her movements. Cassian snorts, adjusting his black tie.
I don’t need to look at Vincent to know Asher’s right. I can feel my father’s rage radiating from across the room where he stands with the other elders. Let him fucking seethe.
Seraphina moves through the crowd like she owns the fucking place, despite the whispers trailing in her wake. She looks defiant even with the fear she’s desperately trying to hide. My cock hardens just watching her pretend she’s not terrified.
“You’re staring,” Cassian mutters, nudging me with his elbow. “Try to look a little less like you want to bend her over the nearest surface.”
“I do want to bend her over the nearest surface,” I reply without taking my eyes off her. “And I don’t give a fuck who knows it.”
Around the edges of the room, I notice Valentina in her pristine dark red dress, playing the perfect Society princess. She’s flanked by Ophelia, Asher’s stepsister. The girl looks like she’d rather be anywhere else, wearing a dark emerald dress that’s elegant but doesn’t screampick me.
My gaze sweeps over the other “eligible” daughters scattered throughout the room—the Montgomery girl with her desperate smile, the Whitmore heiress practically shoving her tits in my direction, the Blake’s youngest daughter hovering near the champagne fountain. They’re all done up like fucking Christmas presents waiting to be unwrapped.
The joke’s on them. They were never real options. Not for me, not for Cassian with his pathetic hard-on for Valentina, not even for Asher who’s been eyeing his new sibling with a look that would make their parents disown them both if they knew.
We’ve all already Chosen. Some of us years ago when Seraphina first caught my eye across a crowded ballroom. Some more recently, like Asher’s sudden interest in forbidden fruit.
The ancient grandfather clock strikes ten, and the room falls silent asThe Headsteps onto the raised dais at the front of the hall. My father—the great Vincent Devereux—in his element, commanding attention with nothing but his presence. I hate how much I resemble him.
“Welcome to the annual Black Crown Society Sinners Choosing Ceremony,” he begins, his voice carrying to every corner of the massive room without effort. “Tonight, wecontinue a tradition that has sustained our society for generations.”
I tune out most of his bullshit speech, keeping my eyes locked on Seraphina. She’s pressed herself against a column, trying to blend into the shadows. It won’t work; it never works when I’m around.
“This is not just a ceremony,” Vincent continues, his voice dropping to that tone that makes everyone lean in. “This is your summons. Cross the threshold, and you will not return unchanged.”
The room is silent enough to hear a fucking pin drop. Even the servers have frozen in place, sensing the gravity of the moment.
“Every crown is bought with blood. Yours or another’s.” My father’s eyes sweep the room, lingering briefly on Seraphina before finding me. The challenge in his gaze is unmistakable. He thinks I won’t choose her, that I’ll spare her the embarrassment and humiliation when it comes out we’re siblings. It’s her or no one, and I’ll follow tradition and choose. I’d rather lock her away and keep her from anyone else, and it’ll be my cross to bear.
Having my obsession and yet not being able to really have her because of my fucking father and her mother.
Vincent raises his hand, silencing the murmurs that have started to ripple through the crowd. His eyes lock with mine, a cold warning flickering in their depths.
“Now,” he says, his voice carrying across the hall, “our Sinners will mingle. Tradition dictates they speak with each potential choice before the final selection.”
He waves his hand dismissively at Cassian, Asher, and me. The gesture is casual but loaded with meaning. Go play your part in this fucked-up pageant.
“Don’t embarrass me,” my father adds under his breath as I walk past him, just low enough that only I can hear.
