Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
BASTION
The crowd was deafening.
Stadium lights burned white against the early dusk, turning the field into a battlefield soaked in noise, testosterone, and expectation.
Dynasty flags rippled from the skyboxes.
Every family was here — Caplans, Grimaldis, Harlans — even our own crest waved from the VIP box, black and gold stitched like a warning.
But none of it mattered.
Not the pressure.
Not the noise.
Not the weight of bloodlines and contracts.
Because all I could think about was her .
Emilia.
Walking straight up to us like she wasn’t the forbidden daughter of the Adams line.
Like she hadn’t been paraded at gala after gala beside men who wanted to buy her future.
And then she gave us something no dynasty contract ever had :
Permission.
A promise, whispered between the noise.
“If you win tonight, you can claim me.”
I felt it like a fist to the chest.
It echoed between my ribs as I stood there, already soaked in sweat from warmups, staring at the field — but not seeing it.
Not anymore.
Luca jogged over, helmet under his arm.
He didn’t speak right away. Just glanced at me, then back toward the box where Emilia would be seated by now — if she’d gone.
If her family hadn’t locked her behind glass like some gem they thought they owned.
“What numbers?” I asked, jaw tight.
“Twenty-two, five, and twelve,” he said without hesitation. “She told me.”
My eyes narrowed.
“ Those fuckers? ”
“Yeah,” he said. “Same family that made the offer last year. Might’ve tried again.”
My jaw clenched. Hard enough it ached.
Luca stared at the grass for a moment, then added — quiet but clear?—
“She said we can collar her.”
I turned to him. “What?”
“She said — even if we lost — we could still do it.” His voice dropped. “She said regardless. ”
My stomach turned molten.
She meant it.
The collar we’d had made wasn’t some leather fantasy.
It was black-forged steel.
Cold to the touch — heavy with promise .
Lined in rare black diamonds, each stone sourced from the same mines that supplied dynasty kings.
At the center sat a white gold crow crest, hand-carved by our family’s private jeweler.
Within the delicate featherwork, etched into the metal, were our names — Bastion and Luca — woven into the design like vows sealed in silver.
It was a collar made for a dynasty daughter…
But owned by no one but us.
Ours.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
“She’s ours, Bastion.”
I looked at him and grinned.
“Then we better do what our wife says.”
Because that’s what she was.
Maybe not on paper — not yet — but in every breath, every vow she made when no one else could hear.
And once we were twenty-one, it wouldn’t just be a collar.
She’d wear our rings.
Our family crest, with our names tattooed on her back.
We would cut her, bleed on her in front of our family, and make her a Crow .
Her name would be tattooed into our skin, carved across our shoulders, embedded inside the family crest that marked every Crow heir.
Not just below it — within it.
The top arc would bear our legacy. Emilia Crow. Black ink laced through red. Claiming her as ours in blood and oath.
The Adams girl they tried to use as a bargaining chip?
She was the fucking queen now.
And tonight, we’d ruin anyone who forgot it.
The whistle blew.
We lined up.
And I searched until I saw them — twenty-two, five, and twelve —
Cocky, sharp-shouldered, laughing in that way men do when they think a woman is an object to claim.
Luca saw them too.
His grin mirrored mine.
“Let’s fucking go.”
The ball snapped.
Everything blurred.
Not because I wasn’t focused — but because I was . More than ever.
Luca passed.
I intercepted.
I took a hit — and welcomed it.
Because all I could think was:
She’s watching.
Every time I knocked one of those numbers to the ground, I thought about how they’d talked about her — and how she’d kissed me.
Every play was a warning.
Every shove was a vow.
By halftime, all three had taken hits so hard they couldn’t walk straight.
And Luca hadn’t said a word.
Just played harder.
Eyes sharp.
Steps calculated.
Looking up at her seat every time the whistle blew.
And I knew.
He was thinking the same thing I was. We were gonna make her wear that collar tonight. Not because she was a prize.
But because she was our future .
In the end, we walked off the field victorious. The crowd roared. Cousins slapped our backs. Coaches shouted praise.
But all I wanted was her .
“Let’s go,” I said to Luca.
He didn’t ask where. He knew.
Because it might’ve started with a game… But it would end with our girl wearing a collar, standing between us. Not as a secret.
But as ours .
Publicly. Irrevocably. Forever.