Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
ROMAN
I freeze at the entrance of the annual Kensington Gala.
Asher's living art installation takes my breath away.
Jellyfish-shaped chandeliers pulse with blue-violet light, casting moving shadows across the ballroom.
The dance floor ripples with each step, sending circles of turquoise light outward.
Waiters in silk capes that shift from green to gold carry trays of champagne, the glasses rimmed with edible silver.
In the corner, a pianist in a silver suit plays a grand piano that seems to melt into the floor, the keys flowing downward in a way that makes me doubt my eyes.
On stage, four ballerinas in blue tulle pose under azure lights.
Their bodies curve gracefully against a backdrop of autumn trees with vibrant leaves.
Two yellow figures stand motionless in the background.
The scene recreates Degas's “Dancers in Blue” so perfectly that, glancing between the reproduction displayed nearby and the living tableau, I struggle to tell which is more real.
The slight trembling of the dancers' muscles as they hold their positions brings the masterpiece to life.
I spot Asher near the bar and make my way over. "The living art tableau? Pure genius, Ash. You've completely transformed the standard gala experience."
A smile breaks across his face as he punches my arm.
"A Roman Kensington compliment? Mark the calendar.
" He takes a swig of amber liquid from his crystal tumbler.
"The brothers are scattered throughout. And...
" his voice drops, "Dad's camped at the northeast table with Patricia—Celeste's mother. They're looking rather cozy."
"Perfect," I mutter. "I'm sure he'll spare us both the awkwardness of a wedding invitation."
"No wedding plans yet," Asher says with a careful shrug. "But give it time. Maybe by then you might—"
My jaw clenches. "Don't. Not happening. Hell will need ice skates first."
Asher just nods, reading me like always.
Just then, Lilith shows up with Blake fucking Walsh. My lungs seize. She's wearing emerald silk that pools around her ankles, her dark hair loose with those new green streaks catching the light. The crystal pendant I gave her nestles at her throat.
She catches my eye across the ballroom, flashes that dimpled smile, then disappears into the crowd, arm linked through his. That five-foot-seven Irish elf with his perfect hair and designer suit. So he's got platinum records and a voice that's melted hearts. So what?
I watch his practiced laugh as he works the room, stopping to embrace Clooney while she stands beside him. Every A-lister gravitates to them. I watch them chat up Spielberg and make Dua Lipa laugh. My knuckles whiten around my tumbler as acid climbs up my throat.
If they could’ve only seen Blake the other night when he was threatening to fucking piss in my koi pond…
I feel Serafina before I see her. Something electric crawls across my skin.
When she touches my arm, I grit my teeth against the familiar jolt.
We're nothing but raw, animal chemistry—a goddamn biological mistake I kept repeating for two torrid and toxic years.
But I'm done with the mindless fucking against hotel walls with someone who means absolutely nothing to me. And that’s all she is, now.
A temptation I could drag behind that stage, tear into like a starving man, and fuck into oblivion until we're both sweating and broken—only to hate myself with every fiber of my being the second it's over.
Pure heroin rush followed by the most brutal comedown imaginable.
My eyes find Lilith across the room while Serafina's fingers slide up my arm.
I shut down the sensation. All I see is Lilith—the tilt of her head, her smile as she laughs at something Blake says.
My jaw tightens. She fits so naturally in this world that wasn't hers three weeks ago.
Now she's chatting with Spielberg like they're old friends, and I can't look away.
"Roman," Serafina's voice slithers into my ear. "Pathetic, isn't it? Watching the help pretend she belongs. That little fortune teller is drowning in water too deep for her. Someone should remind her exactly what she is before she embarrasses herself further. Don't you agree?"
"What the hell do you want, Serafina?" My voice comes out like gravel.
"You. Us. I want what we had." Her lips brush my earlobe. "No man has ever made my body feel the way you did. You've ruined me, Roman. I won't let anyone else have you. Our wedding will happen this time. You loved me once—you'll love me again."
A bitter laugh escapes me. Love? What a goddamn joke. I spent two years mistaking non-stop fucking for something meaningful, and I won't make that mistake again. That raw, desperate connection was never love. Love is what Cameron had. Love is what Max has with Celeste.
I spot them across the ballroom—Max with his arm possessively around Celeste’s shoulders, looking at her like she's the sun. And the moon and the stars, while we’re at it.
She just had their first child, so Max is really making her the center of his universe, even more than before.
The intensity in his eyes makes my chest physically ache.
I've never once looked at a woman that way.
Not once. But Christ, I want to. I want that with a hunger that's eating me alive.
Serafina can go straight to hell.
The moment Blake gets dragged away by the paparazzi vultures, I pounce. Lilith stands alone—my target acquired. I cut through the crowd straight for her, my pulse hammering in my ears. Serafina's voice fades to nothing as I brush past her mid-sentence.
"Roman," Lilith breathes, her eyes widening. "You look devastating in that tuxedo. Not that you don't always look—God—but tonight you're just..." She catches herself, dropping her gaze. "Shut up, Lilith,” she scolds herself. “Making a fool of yourself."
Something primal stirs in my chest at her words, but my face remains carved from stone.
No way I'm letting her see one ounce of pleasure while Blake's cologne still clings to her skin.
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth might shatter.
One more time—just one more time I see that bastard's hand slide down her back—and I'll break every bone in it before he hits the floor.
Make him regret the day he ever laid eyes on what's mine.
I stare at her, jaw clenched. "How's your date going with Blake? He planning to piss in the fountain next? Or maybe take a chainsaw to the ice sculptures? Hell, why not storm the stage during one of the tableaus and ruin a masterpiece while he's at it?"
"Very funny," Lilith says, her eyes flashing. "Your brother created something magical tonight. Those tableaus—God—especially Renoir's ‘Luncheon of the Boating Party.’ The way he captured those aristocrats... like you can see straight into their souls."
My pulse hammers in my throat. Asher's tableaus are fucking brilliant, and Renoir's my favorite too, but all I can think about is whether she's falling for that jackass. If Blake touches her again—if he so much as breathes near her—I swear I'll put that little elf through the nearest wall.
I step closer to Lilith, close enough to catch the scent of her jasmine perfume. "Is Blake your actual date or just a friend?" My jaw clenches as I wait for her answer.
She tilts her chin up defiantly. "What's it to you? Aren't you here with that goddess with legs for days? What’s her name again—Jezebel or something?”
"Serafina.” I almost tell her Sera means nothing, but stop myself. Let her wonder. Let her burn with curiosity the way I'm burning right now.
"Serafina," she repeats, her eyes flashing. "Ironic name for someone hanging off you all night. Isn't that some kind of angel?"
"Seraphim. Six-winged angels of purity." I can't help but smirk. "And yes, the irony isn't lost on me."
"So she is your date." Her voice drops, almost challenging me to deny it.
I don't answer. Instead, I reach out, almost touching one of the vibrant green streaks in her hair. "This is new."
Her hand flies up, fingers grazing mine for a split second that sends electricity through my veins. "It's temporary. I'll fix it before Monday. Jack thought—"
"Don't." The word comes out like a command. "It's perfect on you."
The blush that spreads across her cheeks hits me like a physical blow. My hands curl into fists to keep from grabbing her right here, surrounded by half of LA's elite. Christ, I've never wanted anyone like this.
Blake arrives back. His hand slides onto her lower back, his lips brushing her ear. Her laughter hits me like a fist to the gut. Something primal surges through my veins—hot, electric. My MMA training kicks in: target assessment, muscle memory, the sweet spot where his jaw meets his neck.
Before I can stop myself, I've ripped his hand away from her body. The bones in his wrist grind together under my grip. My vision narrows to a tunnel with only him at the end of it. "Try that again," I say, my voice dropping to something barely human. "Give me a reason."
Lilith's eyes widen to saucers as she takes in the scene—my fingers crushing Blake's wrist bones, his face contorting in shock. The fool should've known better. Lilith is MINE. Period. End of fucking discussion.
I register the glint of smartphone cameras in my peripheral vision, guests salivating over their next viral moment.
Let them. They can plaster my face across every goddamn screen on the planet.
My blood is lava in my veins as I stare down this pathetic excuse for a man—the same degenerate who tried to desecrate my koi pond—now daring to put his goddamn hands on MY woman.
Something primal tears through me, a white-hot rage that obliterates rational thought. This. Ends. NOW.
Cameron's voice cuts through my rage like a knife. "Rome."