Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
ROMAN
Fight day. My heart hammers against my ribs as I stare down Phoenix Fraser across the locker room.
Bastard's built like a brick shithouse—same height, same reach, but his eyes are dead cold.
Silicon Valley hedge fund prick with something to prove.
I catch him looking at the ALS Research logo on his shorts—his father withered away from it.
I touch the pink ribbon on my own gear, feeling Mom's absence like a phantom limb.
Fraser wants this win? He'll have to pry it from my bloody hands.
The arena for our charity match gleams under spotlights that catch on the eight-sided cage, its black padding worn at the corners from previous fighters' grips.
The canvas floor, stretched taut and painted with sponsor logos, gives slightly under my feet as I pace the perimeter.
Around us, tiered seating climbs toward a ceiling hung with banners from past tournaments—almost indistinguishable from the professional octagon where I've watched countless UFC championships.
Caspian is talking to me, making sure I have the Eye of the Tiger out there in that ring.
“You’ve been more focused lately than I’ve seen you.
Remember your arsenal—those lightning jabs that come out of nowhere, that vicious leg sweep that took down Dominguez last month, and especially that guillotine choke that makes even the veterans tap out in seconds.
You've got the killer instinct of a shark that smells blood in the water. You got this."
The crowd blurs until I spot my family—all seven brothers, Dad, even my grandparents.
Nana's going to clutch her pearls when Phoenix and I start throwing hands in the cage.
My gaze finds Lilith, leaning toward Max, her hands animated as they talk.
Max has my face plastered across his chest, my tournament number bold beneath it.
On his other side, Celeste—Max's wife—shadow-boxes with surprising intensity, jabbing and hooking at invisible opponents.
I've never given her much time, writing her off as bland after a few polite conversations.
Watching her now, mimicking fight moves with such enthusiasm, I feel a twinge of regret for keeping her at arm's length.
The referee goes through the rules, raises his hand, and the match is on.
I feel a focus I haven't felt before as I circle Phoenix, gauging distance.
When he telegraphs a jab, I slip left, countering with a leg kick that connects with a satisfying thud against his calf.
He winces but recovers, pressing forward.
I sprawl instinctively when he shoots for a double-leg takedown, driving my hips down and framing his head with my forearm, the charity match crowd roaring their approval.
Phoenix's right hook catches me square in the jaw.
My vision blurs as I stumble backward, my gloves instinctively rising to protect my face.
The canvas shifts under my feet. Sweat and blood sting my eyes.
Through the chain-link fence of the octagon, I glimpse Lilith's face among the crowd—her hands pressed against her mouth, eyes wide—flanked by Max, Celeste, and my brothers.
The ref hovers nearby, watching for signs to call it.
I spit my mouthguard into my glove, reposition it, and nod at Phoenix.
The buzzer marks the end of round two. In my corner, Caspian whispers urgently as he presses ice against my swelling eye.
"He's dominating the ground game. Keep it standing. "
The first two rounds are a brutal dance of near-misses.
His jab grazes my chin; my hook catches nothing but air.
Sweat stings my eyes as we circle each other under the glaring lights.
By the end of round two, the electronic scoreboard flashes his advantage: 5-4.
The crowd's roar fades to white noise. Three rounds is all we get in these charity amateur matches—one last chance.
Round three. My muscles burn, but I find something primal inside me.
I feint left, then slam a right cross that connects with a satisfying thud.
The buzzer wails. Final score: 6-5, my favor.
I raise my taped fists as my chest heaves, utterly spent but triumphant.
Half a million dollars for breast cancer research. Worth every bruise.
After the match, I towel off, throw on fresh clothes, and head out to find Lilith and my family waiting in the main part of the arena, by the glass entrance doors.
And—Serafina? Didn't spot her in the crowd earlier.
I slide my arm around Lilith's waist while my brothers circle me with backslaps and congratulations.
When I catch my father's eye, something unexpected happens—I step forward and hug him.
We've been reconnecting since his pacemaker surgery, both of us hoping that little metal guardian keeps another cardiac episode at bay.
Something clicked for me recently. The way Lilith breathes life into my world, makes everything brighter—Mom must have done that for him.
Losing her stole his air, left him fumbling in darkness.
I get it now. If Lilith vanished from my life?
Christ. I'd be worse than the monster I was before I met her.
Serafina comes up to me after I’m done hugging my father. “Congratulations, Roman,” she says. “You did fantastic out there.”
I nod at Sera. "Thanks." My voice comes out even, neutral.
A month ago, I would've brushed past her without a word, but lately, things have shifted.
Dad and I managed a whole dinner without raising our voices last week.
And waking up next to Lilith each morning feels like the anchor I never knew I needed.
"Can I talk to you?" Sera gestures toward the exit, where the crowd streams out into the night.
"Sure." I turn to Lilith, press my lips to her cheek, breathe in that hint of sandalwood she always carries. "Be back in a few minutes."
Lilith's smile reaches her eyes—that calm, knowing look that tells me she's not worried. And why would she be? Next to Lilith's quiet fire, Sera is just... background noise.
I follow Sera into the night, the night chill raising goosebumps on my arms. "What's up?
" December's here, and with it comes the Winter Solstice—not Christmas, mind you, but the actual Solstice.
Funny how I've adopted Lilith's vocabulary.
My phone buzzes with her latest text: elaborate plans for honoring the Sun God's return instead of Christ's birth.
She wants us to light a yule log, feast together, and tell ancient tales of the Oak and Holly Kings.
There's even this ritual called Wassailing where we'll pour spiced cider on saplings and serenade them for good health.
Six months ago, I'd have rolled my eyes at all this. Now? I'm actually looking forward to it. Picking up mulled cider on the way home. Besides the tree-blessing part, it's not so different from the Christmas traditions I grew up with anyway.
A part of me wants to Google the whole Winter Solstice thing to see if any of it makes scientific sense. But I've seen how Lilith's eyes light up when she talks about these rituals. So I'll nod, I'll participate, I'll respect what matters to her—even if I can't bring myself to believe.
Sera clears her throat. "Well, Roman, I was wondering about Lilith. I hear you're pretty serious about her."
"I am. Why?"
She shrugs. "Well, I'm wondering if you don't know how it looks to the outside world for you to be dating a witch."
I burst out laughing at her characterization of Lilith as a witch.
That's not accurate at all. Lilith doesn't even identify as Wiccan.
She simply embraces alternative spiritual practices.
Her beliefs involve tarot readings, goddess worship, crystal healing, Reiki energy work, and aura perception.
She celebrates the same holidays everyone else does—Christmas, Halloween, Easter—just under their traditional names: Winter Solstice instead of Christmas, Samhain instead of Halloween, and Spring Equinox instead of Easter.
In many ways, her approach is more authentic than most people's.
She honors the ancient Celtic Druid traditions that gave these celebrations their original purpose—Winter Solstice marking the sun's rebirth and longer days ahead, Spring Equinox celebrating the earth's renewal after winter's dormancy.
I roll my eyes. "Come on, Sera. Lilith isn't brewing potions at midnight. She's just into alternative spirituality."
Sera leans forward and raises an eyebrow.
"Listen, Roman. Modern witches don't fly on broomsticks.
They burn sage, collect crystals, read tarot cards, and commune with nature—exactly like your precious Lilith.
" She smirks. "Though the way you've been following her around like a lovesick puppy, maybe she does have magical powers after all. "
I cross my arms. "Fine." My voice lowers to a growl. "Call her whatever you want. If she’s a witch, she’s my witch, so tread carefully." I narrow my eyes. "And how exactly do you know all this about her?"
"My friend sees her regularly for readings.
Lilith doesn't exactly keep her beliefs private.
According to my friend, she prays to goddesses, bathes in forests, heals with sound bowls, burns sage everywhere, and owns enough crystals to rival a museum.
You can sugarcoat it as 'alternative spirituality' all you want, but everyone else calls it what it is—witchcraft.
" She gives me a pointed look. "I'm just saying, be careful.
Your investors talk, Roman. They might start wondering if you're burning sage in the boardroom next. "
I shake my head. "Mind your own business, Sera." Through the doorway, Lilith's laughter rises above the conversation, my brothers leaning in like plants toward sunlight. They're under her spell—though not like me. For them, she's a charming addition to family gatherings. For me, she's essential.
Let the industry gossips whisper about how the cutthroat hotel magnate fell in love with some crystal-loving hippie.
In the boardroom, I'm still the same calculated predator who built an empire of luxury properties across four continents.
If anything, since Lilith, my deals have gotten sharper.
She grounds me, clears the static that used to cloud my judgment.
So Sera can take her concerns about Lilith being "bad for business" and shove them.