Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
ROMAN
Two nights later, I meet Sera at her restaurant, Adelaide's. The valet whisks away my Aston Martin as I approach the gleaming glass entrance, where a doorman in crisp black livery holds open the door.
Inside, Sera's Beverly Hills flagship glows with amber light reflecting off polished marble and brass accents.
The air carries notes of saffron and truffle, while crystal stemware tinkles amid the hushed conversations of Hollywood elite and tech billionaires.
This crown jewel of her Blackwood chain could put any five-star hotel restaurant to shame.
I’m here at her request—and honestly, she’s the only one who’s shown any sympathy for how pissed off I am that my dad wants to slap my name on his new eco-resort.
Everyone else seems fine with him co-opting my identity for a project, especially after he bailed on me and my brothers twenty-two years ago, but Sera gets how shitty that is.
She makes her entrance in her typical grand style—after all, she owns this restaurant and has every A-lister from Hollywood to the C-suites on first-name terms. That translates to a solid thirty-minute parade of handshakes and hugs before she finally reaches our table.
When she slides into the chair across from me, I can’t help but notice how different she looks.
Gone is her signature plunging neckline—her usual attention-grabbing style that highlights her ample curves.
There’s no short hemline flaunting legs sculpted by a thousand lunges.
Instead, she’s chosen a modest green sweater dress that picks up her eye color exactly, with soft makeup—no fluttery falsies or scarlet lipstick.
She’s dialed way down, and somehow, she’s more magnetic than ever.
It hits me: she must’ve figured out I’m all about that natural beauty—like Lilith, who barely ever wears makeup or high-end labels, yet to me, outshines anyone. Tonight, though, Sera is giving Lilith a run for her money.
Next, I realize she’s skipped her usual perfume bomb. Instead there’s just a whisper of jasmine drifting off her.
I close my eyes. There’s no doubt she’s modeling herself after Lilith.
It’s strangely flattering to Lilith—a tarot reader in a modest Venice Beach flat with her best friend, who has zero influencer clout—that a billionaire hotel mogul with millions of Insta followers would steal her vibe.
Then again, maybe Sera just figured that’s the only way to sway me.
Newsflash: I’m drawn to Lilith for her heart, not her handbag.
I cut straight to the point. "What's your angle here, Sera?"
"Just offering some solidarity," she says, placing her hand on my forearm.
"Not many people understand what you're going through with your father.
" Her nails—shorter now, painted in a subtle beige—rest against my skin.
Part of me wants to call her out for this Lilith-lite transformation, but damn if she hasn't found my weak spot.
My instincts scream that she's playing me, but the hunger to have someone in my corner keeps me rooted to my seat.
"Right," I say flatly. "The real reason?"
She leans in. "It's about Lilith and Blake Walsh. They've been spending time together. I think something's happening between them."
“How do you know this?”
“I hear things, Roman. I listen to the gossip amongst the A-List crowd and people are buzzing about it.”
I shut my eyes as the words land like a sucker punch.
My gut knows she's feeding me exactly what will hurt most—she was at the gala, saw how I nearly demolished Blake for touching Lilith.
What Sera doesn't realize is how her manipulation hits its mark.
The image of Blake embracing Lilith a few days ago flashes through my mind, his lips against her cheek, and my blood simmers despite the innocence of the gesture.
“Roman," she says, her voice softening with concern. "I'm worried she's playing you. And that's not like you—you're brilliant with people. Always have been."
"Playing me how?"
"Come on. Your face has been splashed across every business magazine worth reading.
Forbes, Architectural Digest, all those hotel industry bibles.
" She ticks them off on her now-subtle fingers.
"A woman like that sees dollar signs, connections, status.
So she orchestrates getting hired at your resort, puts herself in your path.
" Her lips purse as she shakes her head.
"And while you're falling for it, she's using your attention to make Blake Walsh jealous.
It's classic—attach yourself to someone important, wealthy and devastatingly handsome, and suddenly everyone else sees you differently.
Like you're wearing designer clothes instead of knockoffs. "
She's a master at this game. Always has been. The way she tilts her head, times her smiles, chooses her words—it's like watching a chess grandmaster who's already planned ten moves ahead. And I know exactly what she's doing. So why can't I look away?
My fingers tap against the mahogany, betraying my unease. When the waiter appears, I order a steak, bloody. She requests salmon, delicate. I ask for Macallan, neat. She echoes my choice with a knowing smile.
"Tell me," I say, fighting to keep my voice neutral. "About my father's situation—you think I'm right to keep him at arm's length?"
"Absolutely," she purrs, leaning forward.
"What kind of man abandons his children for decades, then waltzes back expecting a welcome?
He deserves nothing." Her fingers brush my forearm, lingering.
"But you? You deserve everything." Her voice drops to a whisper, eyes never leaving mine.
"Remember how we were together? No one's touched me since that compared.
At night, I still feel you—like a ghost against my skin.
We could have that again, Roman. Forever this time. "
Her words break the spell I'm falling under. "I've changed my mind," I say, pushing back from the table. "Tell the kitchen to cancel my order. Coming here was a mistake."
I stand abruptly. The ease with which she watches me leave unsettles me—like she anticipated this reaction, like it's part of some calculated game.
I can't breathe in here anymore. Minutes later I'm gripping my steering wheel, tires squealing toward Venice Beach. Toward Mystic Tides. Toward her. Whatever's unfinished between us ends today.