Chapter 62
LEX
The Obsidian at our girl’s twenty-first birthday party.
The music’s low, the bass rolling like a slow punch to the ribs.
Just enough to keep the crowd restless. Spotlights drift in lazy golden arcs across The Obsidian floor, catching on sequins, skin, and too many damn champagne flutes.
Candles flicker in glass towers, throwing shadows that dance like they’ve got secrets.
Velvet ropes pulse around the raised VIP section, packed with Wexley’s elite—football kings, trust fund brats, and Row royalty posing like they’re running the goddamn world.
Savannah’s sipping something pink and dangerous. Clay’s half-listening to Dad talk shop about glass-reinforced concrete. Mom’s looking around like she doesn’t want to be here. And Cade’s beside me, shoulder to shoulder, radiating that golden calm that drives me insane in the best and worst ways.
I’m dressed as Mars, Roman war god. Ellie put Rico in charge of all our costumes for tonight. Black leather harness. Burgundy-lined cape slung off one shoulder. Bracers. Boots. Blood-red paint streaked across my cheekbone like a warning.
Savannah raises her glass toward us, “So, what exactly are we all supposed to be tonight? Gladiators? Gods? Gold-plated sex cult?”
Clay chokes on his drink. Mom doesn’t blink.
Dad glances over my outfit with an arched brow. “Roman military meets couture runway?”
Cade laughs under his breath and lifts his glass. “Bella and Ellie’s idea. Rico’s vision.”
They all turn to me. I lean back in my chair, stretching my arm across the red velvet booth, and let the words hit slow.
“They picked the theme, Roman gods and goddesses. Said if the Italians, the Russians, and the Whitmores were all gonna show up in one room, they might as well worship something. Might as well worship the birthday girl, and I for one can’t agree with her more. ”
Mom exhales like she’s trying not to roll her eyes. Savannah full-on grins. “She’s not wrong,” Savannah says. “She looked divine at the fitting. What’s she coming down as again?”
I drag a thumb across my jaw, watching the staircase. “Nemesis.”
Dad grins slightly. “The goddess of vengeance?”
“Balance. Justice. Retribution. Our fucking girl.”
Cade sets his drink down a touch too carefully. “Her and Ellie came up with the idea after Fight Night. Changed the entire theme and everything in less than a few days. I’ve never seen Rico work so hard in his life.”
“I didn’t know there were so many curse words in the Spanish language,” I laugh.
I glance over at Mom. She’s trying to keep her face neutral, sipping her wine like it doesn’t taste like guilt. Too late. That’s what you get for cornering one of the loves of my life with your loyalty speeches and backhanded warnings. Like Bella owes you something.
You push Bella into a corner? She doesn’t run. She doesn’t cry. She fights back. With couture, theatrics, and a guest list that could ignite a war. This whole party? It’s a middle finger dipped in gold leaf.
“Smart theme,” Dad offers. “Classical. Commanding. I like it. It’s very Bella.”
Mom hums her agreement. “It’s… dramatic.”
I look at her, but she can’t meet my eyes.
Good. Because what really pissed us off wasn’t the whole pick a side bullshit.
It was the way she erased Cade from the picture like he’s just an accessory.
Like Cade and the Whitmores weren’t even a side for Bella to pick from in the first place.
Like our love for him isn’t real enough to count.
Savannah, who’s always two steps ahead of everyone’s bullshit, arches a brow at Mom. “Well, Bella’s nothing if not decisive,” she says smoothly. “She knows exactly who she belongs to.”
That hits. A little too hard, because Mom flinches. Just barely.
Clay lets out a low whistle. “So, who’s walking her down tonight? I’m surprised you guys aren’t over there at the bottom of the stairs.”
Cade’s quiet. So, I answer. “Roman,” I take a slow sip of my drink, then set it down with a dull clink. “He’s playing Jupiter, king of the Roman gods.”
Mom stiffens.
“Jesus. That girl knows how to throw a party,” Clay says as Callum and his stupid Order bros walk down the stairs dressed as Bella’s personal guards.
Savannah hums. “No. She knows how to rule a kingdom.”
The music shifts, subtle, but powerful. The kind of tone change that hits your spine before your ears.
Knox’s voice crackles over the speakers, smooth as ever. “You’ve seen the warriors. Now bow to your gods.”
A hush falls across the club floor. Students in designer togas, leather straps, and gold crowns all suddenly going still. Spotlights cut through the dark, golden beams slicing air like blades.
“Please welcome the goddesses of Wexley,” Knox’s voice booms over the speakers, smooth and rich. “Descending from Capitoline Hill, your huntress and your heart-breaker… Haley, the goddess Diana, and Ellie, the goddess Venus. Try not to worship too loudly.”
The crowd’s eyes lock on the stairs as Haley and Ellie appear first. Draped in emerald and blush. The girls glide down like royalty, all fire and gold, heading straight toward Callum and the rest of The Order.
“And now,” Knox says, voice dropping into something reverent, almost unholy, “Capitoline bows to vengeance. To power. To the storm and the silence. Our gods of the night, Jupiter and Nemesis.”
The spotlight sharpens dead center on the top of the stairs and there she is. Bella, on the arm of Roman Russo. The fucking King and his heir. The goddamn goddess of vengeance.
“Bow to your gods,” Knox commands.
Everyone drops. Toga after toga, head after head. The Roman guards kneel. Even Dad dips his head slightly.
I glance toward my mother, she doesn’t move. “She certainly knows how to make an entrance,” she says, clipped.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “She always does.”
Bella reaches the bottom step. Roman kisses her cheek, formal and reverent, and steps away as Josh, Drake, and Sam dressed in black and gold Roman guard uniforms move out from the shadows. They take their positions in front of the girls.
A soft piano. A single voice. “Ordinary” by Alex Warren begins to play.
The girls move like smoke and fire. Lifted and spun across the floor with reverence and precision.
Every sway of their skirts looks like a painting torn to life—gold catching light, fabric slicing the air like blades.
Arms stretch like wings. Heels land with surgical control. It’s not a dance. It’s a declaration.
Bella is dead center. Josh lifts her high as her head tilts back. Her cape unfurling behind her like a black flame. She doesn’t dance. She commands.
That line that talks about praying at the altar hits and all three guys drop. Right there, at their goddesses’ feet. Knees bowed. Heads down.
Then, on the next beat, they launch the girls skyward. Bella soars. Arms wide. Cape arcing. Her eyes fierce and untouchable. And for a second, everything disappears, the crowd, the noise, even the war in my chest. It’s just her, midair. Like vengeance incarnate wrapped in gold, power, and fire.
“Jesus Christ,” I say leaning toward Cade.
Cade leans in just slightly, voice quiet but full of awe. “This isn’t just a performance, Lex. It’s pure art.”
And when they hit that final note, arms extended, backs arched, and heads tilted to the ceiling like they were born from constellations? The room explodes. Screams. Cheers. Savannah wipes a tear and mutters something about “never seeing anything so divine.”
“Give it up for our goddesses!” Knox yells over the chaos. “I’d like to give a shout out to our birthday girl, Bella! Happy 21st babe.” He raises his glass toward her. “It’s Halloween, and we are at The Obsidian! So I think it’s about time we get this party officially started!”
The lights drop again, then flicker back to life with a strobe-pop blast as the beat shifts. Something bass-heavy and dirty kicks in, a club remix of, “Where the Party At” by Jagged Edge, pulses through the speakers like a heartbeat on cocaine.
The crowd surges. Bodies move. Glasses clink.
Bella’s still glowing under the lights, standing with Ellie and Haley in the middle of it all like they’re carved from gold and sex and sin. The Order boys are around them, drinking, cheering, trying not to look like they’re dying to be picked for the next dance.
Too bad for them. This one’s already claimed.
“That’s our girl,” Cade mutters beside me.
“Yeah,” I growl. “Let’s go mark that shit.”
We move through the crowd like sharks cutting water—slick, silent, lethal. People step back, eyes flicking toward us, but no one stops us. No one even tries.
Bella spots us just before we reach her, those eyes snapping to mine like a fuse being lit. Her lips curl, all spark and challenge. I don’t stop walking. Just grab her waist, spin her around, and pull her straight into me. Her ass grinds against my hips like she knows exactly what I need.
“Jesus, baby,” I growl into her ear, hands sliding low. “You know what you do to me?”
“You planning on showing me properly?”
“I’m planning on ruining you,” I whisper, teeth grazing her jaw. “Right here. On this floor. Let them all watch.”
Her breath stutters. But she doesn’t stop dancing.
Cade steps in front of her, smiling soft and dangerous in a way people always underestimate. He runs a hand down her side, just brushing her hip. “You were unreal tonight, sweetheart. Like something a man would paint and never recover from.”
She laughs. Sharp and hot and wicked. And then we’re moving with her, sandwiching her, syncing to the beat like we’ve done this a hundred times. My hands on her thigh riding up the slit in her dress. Cade’s on her waist. Her body sliding between us like we were built for this.
A few songs in, the lights flash again. Floodlights swing toward the DJ booth, and Knox cuts the track with one arm raised like a damn prophet of the party gods.