I give him a smile that’s down right devilish. “You do enough of that yourself.”
I can feel the eyes of every Society parent on us—calculating, hoping, scheming. Each one thinking their precious daughter might be the one we choose.
“This is such bullshit,” Asher mutters, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing server and downing it in one go. His eyes keep darting to where Ophelia stands, looking bored as hell next to a chattering Valentina.
“Play nice,” Cassian warns, his face a perfect mask of polite interest as the Montgomery girl practically throws herself in his path. “We have roles to fulfill.”
I scan the room for Seraphina, but she’s disappeared from her spot by the column. Fucking typical. Always trying to run from what’s inevitable.
“Lucien,” a breathy voice purrs next to me. I turn to find Vanessa Bosworth pressing her tits against my arm, her dress cut so low I can practically see her fucking belly button. “I’ve been hoping to speak with you.”
“Vanessa,” I acknowledge flatly, not bothering to hide my disinterest. “How’s your father’s insider trading case going?”
Her face falls for a split second before she recovers, plastering on that practiced smile again. “Daddy says it’s all a misunderstanding. You know how these things are.”
“Sure do.” I step away from her, creating distance. “If you’ll excuse me.”
I work my way through the daughters like I’m checking items off a fucking grocery list. The Blake girl with her nervous giggle. The Whitmore heiress who not-so-subtly mentions the merger possibilities between our families. Each one more desperate than the last, all of them thinking they have a chance when they never fucking did.
All the while, I’m tracking Seraphina through the crowd. She’s like a ghost, appearing briefly before slipping away again. Playing hard to get when she’s already been caught.
After an hour of this bullshit, Vincent signals to us from across the room. Time for the next phase. Cassian, Asher, and I break away from our respective conversations and head toward the east wing of the mansion. Each of us knows what’s coming next.
“Gentlemen,” one of the masked attendants says, bowing slightly as we approach the ornate door that leads to the ceremonial chamber. The ancient wood is carved with symbols only those initiated into Black Crown can truly understand—power, legacy, blood oath. “Are you prepared to make your selections?”
“Get on with it,” I growl, straightening my tie. My patience is fucking paper-thin tonight. All I can think about is Seraphina in that dress.
The attendant’s face remains impassive behind his mask. “Very well. Please follow the traditional protocol.”
We line up before him—me first, as heir to the Devereux legacy, then Cassian, then Asher. The hierarchy is clear, has been since we were children playing in these same halls. I lean in close to the attendant’s ear, my voice low enough that only he can hear.
“Seraphina Carvelli.”
I feel rather than see his slight hesitation, the momentary stiffening of his shoulders before he nods once.
Cassian steps up next, whispering his choice. His face betrays nothing, but I already know who he’s Chosen. The De la Cruz girl has been his obsession since we were teenagers. A forbidden fucking fruit if there ever was one, with the blood feud between their families stretching back generations. How very Shakespearean of them.
Asher is last, his usual smirk replaced with something more serious as he leans in to make his selection. When he steps back, there’s a darkness in his eyes I recognize all too well. We’re all about to cross lines tonight that can’t be uncrossed.
The attendant bows again. “It will be done. Please enter the chamber and prepare yourselves.”
We walk into the ceremonial room, and the heavy door closes behind us with a sound like a coffin lid slamming shut. The space is dimly lit with dozens of black candles, their flames casting long shadows across the stone walls. A massive table of polished obsidian dominates the center, three ornate chairs positioned along one side. Above it hangs the original Sinners emblem—a twisted crown of thorns cast in black metal, dripping with what looks like fresh blood but is actually some kind of resin that never dries.
On the table, three masks await us. Blood red, with a subtle glow emanating from beneath the surface, as if the material itself is alive. More modern than the ornate masks Sinners used to wear but this is a new generation heralding in. Lifting the mask to my face I slide it on and it conforms to my face. The world shifts through the eye sockets, everything bathed in a crimson glow.
“Fuck, I hate this room,” Asher mutters, loosening his tie slightly as he drops into one of the chairs. “Always feels like the walls are watching us.”
“They are,” Cassian says, running his finger along the edge of the stone table. “The eyes of every Sinner who came before us.”
“Save the creepy ghost stories for someone who gives a shit,” I snap, taking my seat at the center chair. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel my pulse in my fucking teeth. “Let’s just get through this.”
The door to the chamber opens with a creak, and my body tenses instinctively as they file in—our Chosen ones. First comesValentina, her face a perfect mask of composure despite the rage simmering in her eyes. Then Ophelia, looking like she might set the whole fucking place on fire if given the chance. And finally, Seraphina—my Little Sinner—her chin tilted up defiantly even as her hands tremble at her sides.
All three of them glance at each other, then back at us, their expressions ranging from contempt to outright hostility. The tension in the room is thick enough to choke on, and I fucking love it.
I can’t help the smirk that spreads across my face as I take in their expressions. “Well, I guess we’ll never be bored, brothers.”
Cassian shoots me a look that says I’m not helping, but Asher chuckles darkly beside me. I don’t wait for their responses. I’m up and out of my chair in one fluid motion, crossing the room to Seraphina and wrapping my fingers around her wrist. Her pulse jumps wildly against my thumb—a hummingbird trapped in a cage.
