Chapter 23 #2
I can feel my jaws clenching so hard my molars might crack.
The vein in my temple throbs like a countdown timer.
"Let me fucking guess." My voice drops to a dangerous whisper.
"You want to brand this chain of eco-friendly resorts as Kensington Properties, so that Dad's concept can capitalize on the Kensington name.
So that people will flock to his resorts thinking that I'm behind it. "
Heat crawls up my neck, my skin tight as a drum.
"Absolutely fucking not. No fucking way.
" I finally look at my father, whose watery green eyes dart away like frightened fish.
"Dad, how dare you? How fucking dare you?
" My fist comes down on the mahogany table, rattling the crystal water glasses.
"You leave us for over two decades, no word, now you're here and you want to ask me to help you launch a resort chain?
Goddamn, that's probably the richest thing I've ever heard. "
I slam back into my chair, knuckles white against the armrests. Cameron's lost his goddamn mind. He knows—KNOWS—how I feel about that bastard who calls himself my father. Twenty-two years. Twenty-two FUCKING years he was gone, and now he wants to ride my coattails?
My blood is practically boiling under my skin.
They're trying to hijack everything I've built, every sleepless night, every deal I clawed my way through.
The Kensington name on my resorts means something because I MADE it mean something.
And they want to slap that prestige onto his properties?
I'd sooner burn my entire empire to the ground.
Cameron, my brothers, my father—they can all go to hell if they think I wouldn't see through this pathetic scheme.
Cameron leans forward in his leather chair, his expensive watch catching the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Max’s office.
"Now, Roman," he says, his voice taking on that placating tone he's used since we were kids.
"Hear me out. You have a name in the resort business.
One of the most prestigious names, if not the most prestigious.
The guests you host are royalty with their private jets and entourages, business titans who close billion-dollar deals in your conference rooms, A-list celebrities hiding behind designer sunglasses.
They'll still flock to your marble-floored lobbies.”
I narrow my eyes. "Cut the crap, Cam. I can see right through your sweet talk. Whatever bad news you're about to drop, no amount of flattery is gonna soften the blow. Just saying."
He nods. “Noted.” And then goes on with his fool idea.
“Dad's new concept won't interfere with your brand at all.
He'll be chasing a completely different clientele—the kind of wealthy eco-conscious elites who glide through Malibu in matte-black Teslas and custom Lucid Airs with sustainably harvested walnut dashboards. The type who host charity galas for endangered butterflies while wearing vintage Rolexes, who demand their five-star luxury be wrapped in reclaimed bamboo and organic linen. They'll pay triple for bedding hand-stuffed with ethically sourced Mongolian cashmere, expect their heated infinity pools to run on rooftop solar arrays, and won't touch a morsel unless the menu specifies which local farm grew each microgreen garnishing their plates. And we’d like to fold it into your Verde resorts, so it could be a subsidiary or an off-shoot of the Verde name. It’ll be called ‘Sunstone by Kensington.’”
I narrow my eyes, feeling the muscle in my jaw twitch the way it always does when Dad comes up.
"So, Dad will steal Leonardo DiCaprio from me, then.
" My fingers tighten around my water glass.
"Because Leo's passion is saving the planet.
Right now, he stays in my presidential suites when he visits overseas.
But Dad will snag him right out from under my nose, along with his Hollywood entourage and all that influence. "
I slam the glass down, clear liquid sloshing over the rim.
"No. I won't have Dad riding my coattails after twenty-two years of nothing.
Dad can build his eco-resort empire, but the Kensington name stays with me.
If he tries to use it, I swear to God, I'll drain every account I have fighting him in court. And as for this concept being folded into Kensington Properties as an off-shoot of Verde, cold day in hell comes to mind.”
"Roman," Max pipes up, leaning forward in his Italian leather chair, his Rolex glinting under the chandelier.
"I've been working with Dad on this concept for several months.
He had everything meticulously mapped out—blueprints, sustainability reports, projected financials—when he arrived in Malibu.
He was trembling when he first showed me, afraid we'd slam the door in his face.
But once I saw what he'd created..." Max's eyes light up like emeralds catching sunlight.
"I absolutely love it. Every A-lister from Malibu to Beverly Hills would kill to stay there.
The solar panels alone are revolutionary, and the water reclamation system would cut usage by sixty percent.
If Dad launches his flagship here in California, the waitlist will stretch to next summer before we even break ground.
" He runs his manicured fingers through his sun-kissed hair.
"But yes, we need the Kensington name. That five-star reputation you've built.
One word—Kensington—and investors will be throwing money at us. "
Max fixes those infuriating green eyes on me, the same eyes that have graced magazine covers and closed million-dollar deals.
His chiseled jawline tightens as he waits for my response.
The golden boy. The Ken doll with perfect teeth and dimples that could charm the devil himself.
But now I see past the polished veneer to the snake beneath.
I grip my water glass until my knuckles turn white.Yes, I’ve secretly always blamed him for the disintegration of our family, which is totally unfair.
Now I have legitimate grounds for loathing him.
He's been conspiring with our father behind my back, plotting to leverage my ten years of sleepless nights building this empire, all so Dad can slap our name on his eco-fantasy and pretend he didn't abandon us when we needed him most.
Acid rises in my throat as I clench my jaw.
Don't lose it, Roman. Don't fucking lose it.
I squeeze my eyes shut and reach for the memory of Lilith—her sun-dappled skin against mine on the beach, the salt air in her hair when I thought about those three words I'd never given anyone.
But the image shatters. Even she can't calm the tremor in my hands.
I force my voice into something controlled, each word precise as a knife. "Max. You went behind my back with him? Developed this whole concept in secret and then what—thought I'd just smile and nod?" My gaze sweeps across my brothers' faces. "Who else was part of this little conspiracy?"
"No one else," Cameron says, shifting his weight. "Just Max. He and Dad have been holed up planning this for months since Dad moved into the guest house. They brought it to us after everything was finalized. And now—"
"And now I'm supposed to just roll over and accept it?
" I cut him off. "This won't touch any of your businesses.
But mine? Dad's trying to piggyback on everything I've built.
Not happening. And for the record, I find it fucking laughable that any of you thought I'd lift a finger to help the man who walked out on all of us twenty-two years ago. "
“Rome,” Max says.
I slam my fist on the mahogany conference table.
"Don't. Just fucking don't." My voice echoes off the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Pacific.
I rise slowly, my six-foot-four frame casting a shadow as I lock eyes with each brother—Cameron's resigned gaze, the twins' matching scowls, Ansel's downturned mouth, Max’s practiced innocent look.
I deliberately avoid the weathered face at the end of the table and I also avoid looking at Sera.
My jaw clenches so tight I taste blood. "Now, hear this, every last one of you.
It will be a cold day in hell before I let Dad piggyback off what I've built.
Ten years. Eighty-hour weeks. My resort empire, constructed brick by bloody brick while he was God knows where.
" My voice drops to a dangerous whisper.
"Blood, sweat, and tears doesn't begin to cover it.
" I lean forward, knuckles white against the polished wood.
"Cold day in fucking hell before the man who couldn't send so much as a birthday card for over twenty years uses my reputation.
" I turn to Max, whose defiant expression falters.
"And you. Try launching that eco-resort using my name, and I'll bury you in litigation.
I'll drain every account I have fighting you in court. Don't.Even.Think.About.It.”
I get up out of my chair, the mahogany legs scraping against Italian marble as I push back with enough force to nearly topple it.
My jaw clenches so tight I can feel a vein throbbing at my temple.
There's only one person I want to see right now—Lilith.
But the click of Sera's heels echoes behind me as I storm through the grand foyer.
Sera's heels click rapidly behind me as I stride toward my Aston Martin. The gunmetal finish catches the sunlight under the resort's terracotta-tiled portico.
"Roman, wait!" Her voice rises with desperation. "That ambush wasn't my doing, I swear."
I keep walking, keys already in hand.
"Please," she persists, "let me make it up to you. Dinner at Adelaide's—my treat."
I know her game. Adelaide's isn't just any five-star restaurant—it's the crown jewel of her Beverly Hills hotel, The Blackwood.
"Sure, whatever," I mutter, hitting the unlock button.