Chapter 3 The Blackwell Way
The Blackwell Way
Langston
What the fuck am I doing?
The thought hits me the second the words leave my mouth.
“The marriage will be to Sabrina. Or it won’t happen at all.”
Not Ariana.
Not the girl who was chosen for me.
The one who stood silent. Nervous. Obedient.
No—I just laid a multi-million-dollar deal on the altar and lit the match.
For the older sister.
For the one who speaks like she’s daring you to prove her wrong. The one who tried to talk me out of wanting her with a checklist of red flags and a middle finger wrapped in sass and sarcasm.
And I still can’t stop thinking about the way she tucked Ariana’s hair behind her ear.
Or the way she looked at me—like she wasn’t afraid of the empire I carry on my shoulders.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Celeste is screeching. Ariana’s gone quiet. Mr. Kensington is halfway through some kind of threat dressed in diplomacy.
But I don’t flinch.
Because the truth is—I’ve already made up my mind.
And once I do that? There’s no going back.
Still… for half a second, I feel the weight of my own last name pressing against my spine. Blackwell.
What would my father say?
He orchestrated this alliance behind the scenes. Months of coordination. Discreet negotiations. He knew the Kensingtons would bring logistics and distribution power to the East Coast. I was supposed to bring refinement. Legacy.
Not chaos.
Not a woman with combat boots and whiskey on her breath.
I clench my jaw.
But then I remember something else—my father has always trusted me to know the game. He handed me the reins at twenty-eight, let me run the European expansion solo. When I brought him back a profit line triple what he expected, all he said was, “I knew you’d deliver.”
He doesn't care about the face on the Christmas card.
He cares about control.
Territory.
Results.
And Sabrina may not look like the packaging they planned… but she’s the one with the guts to speak the truth in a room full of liars. She’s the one who can walk into a fight and walk out stronger.
I’m not trading down. I’m leveling up.
They just don’t know it yet.
“Langston, this is highly irregular,” Mr. Kensington says now, trying to rein it back in. “Sabrina is not involved in our business—”
“She is now,” I say simply.
He straightens. “She’s not—”
“If she’s your daughter,” I cut in, “then she’s part of the family. And if I marry into the family, I choose who.”
“Your father will be very interested to hear about this change of terms.”
I give him a look so cold he finally shuts his mouth.
“My father trusts me to make the best decision. I’d advise you to do the same.”
Celeste scoffs like she can’t believe this is happening. “She doesn’t know how to be a wife—let alone a Blackwell.”
I don’t even glance at her.
“She’s about to learn.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Sabrina’s expression.
She’s stunned.
Not speechless—not quite—but close. Like she doesn’t know whether to punch me or laugh. She’s still holding Ariana’s hand, like she’s ready to shield her from every storm in this room.
I wonder what it would take for her to believe that maybe this time… she doesn’t have to.
That maybe I’m the storm.
And I’m choosing her.
Mr. Kensington’s face is a shade of red I’ve only ever seen on men who realize they’re losing control.
I give him a cold, measured look.
“Have the contract rewritten,” I say. “The agreement now includes Sabrina. If you want access to Blackwell diamonds, get it done. Tonight.”
He opens his mouth like he wants to protest again, but I step in closer.
“I don’t bluff,” I say quietly.
Then I turn on my heel, ignoring Celeste’s muttering, Ariana’s stunned silence, and Sabrina’s smirk and walk out onto the terrace.
The night air hits like a reset.
I reach into my inside jacket pocket, pull out my phone, and call the one man whose opinion actually matters in all of this.
My father answers on the second ring.
“Langston.”
“Hey. I’ve made a change to the Kensington arrangement.”
There’s a pause. I can almost hear him straightening in his chair, wherever he is—probably sipping brandy and reading the financials from Tokyo.
“Change?” he echoes.
“They presented the younger daughter. Ariana.”
“I know. That was the agreement.”
“Well,” I say, “it’s not anymore.”
Another pause.
“I chose the older daughter,” I continue. “Sabrina.”
“Explain.”
“She’s smarter. Fierce. Protective of the younger one. She’s not involved in the family business, but she sees through them. She’s not what they wanted me to choose, but she’s what I want. And I believe she’s better for us in the long run.”
Silence.
Then a low breath.
“Is there a risk?”
“There’s always a risk,” I say. “But she’s not deadweight. She’s fire. And if I can get her on board, she’ll be a storm in our corner, not theirs.”
A beat passes.
Then—“You’ve never made a decision that didn’t serve us well.”
The tension leaves my shoulders as his voice softens just a fraction.
“If you believe she’s the right call,” he says, “then I’ll trust it. Finalize the paperwork. Get it done.”
I nod. “I will.”
We hang up without another word.
That’s how we operate—clean. Efficient. No emotional back and forth. I was given the family name because I know how to protect it.
And I just did.
I head back inside, straightening my cuffs as I reenter the parlor.
Sabrina is still in the corner, talking to Ariana in hushed tones, their foreheads almost touching. For a second, I don’t move. I just take her in—the dress, the fire, the way she exists like she was never meant to be caged.
She must sense me because she turns. Her mouth presses into a flat line.
I walk toward her, slow and steady.
“When’s your flight?” I ask.
She arches a brow. “Back to Chicago?”
“No,” I deadpan. “To the moon.”
She sighs. “Two days. I wasn’t sure if I’d need time to talk you out of marrying my sister… or help her pack her shit and disappear before the wedding.”
My brow lifts. “Planning to teach her how to disappear?”
“Please,” she mutters. “I had escape routes mapped before I even got on the plane.”
She rolls her eyes when I don’t respond fast enough.
I let it slide.
“You won’t need the full two days,” I say. “We’re getting married tomorrow. First thing.”
That wipes the amusement clean off her face.
“At the courthouse,” I add before she can fire off some snark. “Then I’ll fly you home to Chicago.”
She blinks.
“I can fly home on my flight.”
I step closer to her. Causing her to step back against the wall. I lean into her almost close enough to touch her, but I don’t.
Leaning down I whisper. “You will fly home with me.” I turn and leave her. I head into the office to sign the agreement with her father.
I don’t have to threaten or plead or promise.
I just deliver.
Because tomorrow, she’ll carry my name.
And soon… she’ll understand exactly what that means.