Chapter 26 - Mara
TWENTY-SIX
MARA
“How do I look?” I ask, stepping into the living room of the hotel room in D.C.
Jasper’s eyes widen and he nods in approval as Dredyn whistles. “Damn. Your father is going to hate it.”
I smooth out the fabric of the dark green dress. “It was on the ‘approved’ list my mother sent,” I say. “So he can take it up with her.”
Talon swoops in, dropping to one knee and sliding on my gold heels, lingering as he clasps the hook. His lips kiss my ankle before he fixes my dress over my shoes.
“There’s a locator in your heel,” he says, his hand gliding up my calf as he rises. “So if they try anything, we’ll know.”
“I’ll be with Milo, Valen, and Kade on the drive over.”
Dredyn crosses his arms, jaw tight. “I would feel more comfortable if we could drive you.”
“You’re allowed at the dinner, thanks to Talon’s dad. I’ll see you then.” I reach up, cupping his face, forcing him to look at me. “I’ll be fine. They’re not going to do anything with Valen and my brothers there.”
“Your brothers are PTO. That doesn’t make me feel better,” Jasper signs.
“Milo is my twin. He wouldn’t—”
“Wouldn’t he?” Dredyn’s voice is harsher than I want it to be. “Two months ago, he watched your father give you to Chase. What makes you think he’ll protect you today?”
The words sting because there’s truth in them. Milo stood by while I was engaged against my will. Stood by while I was locked in that penthouse. Stood by while Valen—
I don’t answer because I don’t know. I want to believe Milo’s had some kind of awakening. That seeing me with the OCK boys has opened his eyes to the Syndicate’s poison. But wanting something doesn’t make it true.
There’s a knock at the hotel door.
“That’s them,” I say, grabbing my clutch.
The boys walk me to the door. Jasper hands me my coat, helping me into it, before Dredyn pulls me into a crushing hug that lifts me off my feet for just a second.
“If anything feels wrong...” he starts.
“I’ll signal, I know. I’ll be fine. This is just a photo op and a dinner—in and out.” I pull back, looking at all three of them.
“That’s what worries me,” Talon mutters. “When have we ever had an ‘in and out’ with your family?”
Fair point.
I kiss each of them and head out of the door with a Secret Service agent.
The black SUV idles in front of the hotel, exhaust pluming white in the frigid air. Through the tinted windows, I can make out shapes: Milo in the back, Valen and Kade in the middle row.
The driver—someone I don’t recognize, probably White House security—opens my door without a word.
I climb in beside Milo, and the door shuts behind me with a heavy thunk.
“Sister.” Milo’s voice is carefully neutral. He’s wearing a charcoal suit that probably costs more than most people’s cars, his dark hair styled to perfection.
Valen turns in his seat, looking back at us. “You look beautiful, Mara.”
“Thank you.”
Milo’s jaw tightens. “You’re playing a dangerous game letting them come tonight.”
“I’m playing the only game there is. And don’t lecture me about danger when you’ve been playing it your whole life.”
“That’s different—”
“How? Because you’re a man? Because you’re the heir? Because Father actually gives a shit about your opinion? I’m so tired of being told what I can and can’t do—what’s safe and what’s dangerous—like I’m some delicate thing that needs protecting instead of a person with agency.”
Silence fills the SUV. Even the driver seems to be holding his breath.
Then Milo says, quietly, “You’re right.”
I blink. “What?”
“You’re right. I’ve been complicit in treating you like property instead of family, and I’m sorry. I should’ve fought harder for you when Father announced your engagement to Chase... when they locked you in that penthouse. I should’ve burned it all down instead of standing by and watching.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“Because I was scared. Because I’ve spent my entire life being told that loyalty to family means loyalty to the Syndicate, and questioning that means losing everything.”
Valen turns around again, watching us. Kade has gone very still, keeping his eyes forward.
“But things are changing, or they need to. Because what they did to you, what they’ve done to so many others, it’s wrong. And I’m done pretending it’s not.”
“What are you saying?” I ask carefully.
“I’m saying I’m on your side, finally. Completely.” He reaches over and takes my hand, squeezing once. “Whatever you’re planning with OCK, with Valen—I’m in. And so is Kade.”
The SUV merges onto the highway, picking up speed.
“So, what’s the plan?” Milo asks. “For today, I mean. Are we just playing our parts or—”
Valen interrupts. “Playing our parts. Today is reconnaissance. We smile, we observe, we note who’s where and saying what. The real move comes later.”
“When?” Kade asks.
“Soon. But today? Today we’re the perfect children of the powerful. Loyal and obedient—exactly what they expect.”
“Until we’re not,” Milo finishes.
“Until we’re not,” I agree.
The rest of the drive passes in relative silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts.
Milo clears his throat. “Mara, I know I don’t have the right to ask this, but... are you okay? Really okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay since the night Father announced my engagement... maybe longer. But I’m surviving. And sometimes that has to be enough.”
“It shouldn’t have to be.”
“No, it shouldn’t. But it is. So I’m making the best of it.”
“With OCK.”
“With them, yes.”
“All three of them?” Kade asks.
“All three of them. They’re mine, I’m theirs, and I don’t care who that offends.”
The SUV slows as we approach the outskirts of D.C. Security checkpoints appear every few blocks, with uniformed officers checking credentials and waving vehicles through. The closer we get to the Capitol, the tighter security becomes.
“We’re the golden children of the elite, excited to witness history,” Valen says.
“Even though history is being written by monsters,” Kade mutters.
“Especially because history is being written by monsters.”
The guard at the checkpoint waves us through after checking our credentials. We drive past barricades and metal detectors and crowds of people bundled against the cold.
If only they knew how much blood had been spilled to make this moment possible.
The SUV pulls up to a VIP entrance on the east side of the Capitol and staff members in official badges swarm the vehicle, opening doors, checking names against lists, directing us toward the building.
I step out into the cold, the January wind cutting through my coat. Then I paste on my most perfect smile and take Milo’s offered arm.
“Ready?” he asks.
“No,” I admit. “But let’s do this anyway.”
Inside, the Capitol is warm and bustling with activity. Staff members rush past with clipboards and headsets, coordinating the thousands of details required for a presidential inauguration.
Savannah, my aide, comes to me in a neat black suit, appearing at my elbow. “Miss Black, if you’ll come with me. Your family’s being assembled for photos before the ceremony.”
“Of course.”
Milo squeezes my arm once before we part ways.
“See you out there,” he says.
“See you out there.”
The room they’ve set me up in is small but elegant, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Mall. Thousands of people are already gathered, bundled against the cold, waiting for the ceremony to begin.
My mother appears in the doorway, immaculate in a cream-colored coat dress. Her eyes sweep over me, cataloging every detail of my appearance.
“The green,” she says after a long moment. “It’s... bold.”
“It was on your approved list.”
“I’m aware.” She moves closer, adjusting my necklace with practiced fingers. “But bold doesn’t always mean wise, Mara. Today is about unity, about presenting a strong family front. Your choices reflect on all of us.”
“I’m aware,” I echo, throwing her words back at her.
“Mara—”
“I’ll smile, Mother. I’ll wave. I’ll be the perfect daughter.” I meet her gaze steadily. “Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”
“What I’ve always wanted is for you to be safe.”
“Then you should’ve protected me better.”
For a moment, I think she might actually respond with something real, something honest, but then her mask slides back into place and she’s Eleanor Black again—politician’s wife, master of appearances, woman who’s never had a genuine emotion in public.
“They’re starting to line everyone up.”
I follow her out of the room, down another hallway, and toward the staging area where the family is being assembled. My father is already there, looking presidential in his navy suit, an American flag pin on his lapel. He’s talking to the Chief Justice, laughing at something, completely at ease.
He doesn’t see me approach, doesn’t notice when I take my place in the family lineup, doesn’t acknowledge my presence until the photographer calls for our attention.
Then he looks at me, and his smile freezes for just a fraction of a second.
“Mara, you look lovely,” he says.
“Thank you, Mr. President-Elect.”
The title is technically correct—he won’t be President until he takes the oath—but using it now feels like a small rebellion.
He notices—I can tell by the way his jaw tightens infinitesimally.
But we’re surrounded by staff and photographers and important people, so he can’t say anything. He can only stand there and play the role of proud father while I play the role of dutiful daughter.
The photographer arranges us—Father in the center, Mother on his right, me on his left, Milo beside me. We smile. We pose. We look like the perfect American family.
The pictures will be beautiful.
The pictures will be lies.
“It’s time. President-Elect Black, if you’ll follow me. Family members, you’ll be escorted to your seats on the platform,” an aide announces.
This is it—the moment everything changes. The moment my father becomes the most powerful man in the world.
I take my seat on the platform, arranged between my mother and Milo, with a perfect view of the podium where my father will take his oath. The crowd below is massive—tens of thousands of people stretching down the Mall as far as I can see.
The ceremony begins with the national anthem, everyone standing with hands over their hearts. Then prayers, speeches, musical performances—all the pomp and circumstance of democracy in action.
And then it’s time.
The Chief Justice steps forward and my father stands, resting his hand on the Bible.
“Repeat after me. I, Clark James Black …” the Chief Justice says.
“I, Clark James Black...”
“Do solemnly swear…”
“Do solemnly swear...”
“That I will faithfully execute the Office of the President of the United States...”
I should be proud. Should be moved by this historic moment, this peaceful transfer of power, this demonstration of democracy.
Instead, all I can think about is Evangeline’s body floating in the catacombs. About the girls sold at Syndicate auctions. About Chase’s hands on my throat and my father’s signature on the engagement announcement.
About all the ways power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.
“So help me God,” my father finishes.
The crowd erupts and cannons fire—a 21-gun salute that makes me flinch despite knowing it’s coming. The Marine Band launches into “Hail to the Chief,” and my father turns to the crowd, hand raised, that megawatt smile firmly in place.
President Clark Black.
My father, the monster.
He gives his inaugural address. The words are pretty—carefully crafted by speechwriters who know how to manipulate emotion. The crowd eats it up.
The speech concludes to thunderous applause, and my father steps back from the podium. Then we’re all standing, waving, playing our parts for the cameras one more time.
After, we’re hustled off the platform, back into the Capitol, and toward the limousines waiting to take us to the parade route.
“Well done, dear,” my mother says, adjusting my coat. “You looked perfect up there.”
“That’s all that matters, right?” I can’t quite keep the bitterness from my voice.
She pauses, studying me with those sharp eyes that miss nothing. “Mara—”
“I’m fine, Mother. Just tired.”
“The day’s not over yet. We still have the parade, the ball, the dinner—”
“I know the schedule.”
“Then you know you need to pace yourself. No more of this... attitude. Not today.”
She sighs, and for just a moment, she looks old—tired. Maybe even sad.
But then the moment passes and she’s Eleanor Black again—perfect, poised, unshakeable.
“Come along,” she says. “The cars are waiting.”
I follow her out to where the motorcade is assembled, a long line of black vehicles with flags and security details and all the trappings of power.
But before I reach our designated car, a hand catches my elbow.
Milo.
“Ride with us,” he says, gesturing to where Valen and Kade are waiting by a different vehicle. “Father won’t notice, and you look like you need a break from Mother’s scrutiny.”
I glance at my mother, who’s already being helped into the lead vehicle by a Secret Service agent.
“She’ll notice eventually,” I warn.
“By then we’ll be at the White House and there will be too much chaos for her to say anything.” Milo tugs me toward the other car. “Come on. Consider it your twin using his one useful power: being equally expected and therefore interchangeable.”
I let him pull me into the car with Valen and Kade. The door shuts, and we’re moving—part of the long procession heading down Pennsylvania Avenue toward 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
Toward the White House.
Toward whatever comes next.
“That went well,” Valen says, watching the crowds through the tinted windows. “No one tried to assassinate your father, the oath went smoothly, and you managed to look appropriately dutiful without vomiting on camera.”
“The bar is so low it’s in Hell,” I mutter.
Kade laughs. “She’s not wrong.”
“Tonight is going to be harder. The inaugural ball, the dinner—that’s when the Syndicate will really be out in full force. Every major player will be there, celebrating their puppet’s ascension,” Milo says.
“We’ll be ready,” Valen says.
“Then we strike,” I finish.
The car rolls on, carrying us toward the next performance, the next lie, the next battle in a war most people don’t even know is happening.
But I know.
We all know.
And we’re done playing by their rules.
The revolution starts today.