Page 44 of The Malibu Destiny

"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.

"Saturday at eight, then!" She sounds triumphant as I slide into the driver's seat.

I nod curtly and pull away, my tires squealing slightly against the pavement. Twenty minutes later, I'm pushing open the door to Mystic Tides, the scent of sandalwood incense hitting me immediately.

Jack glances up from behind the counter where he's wrapping crystals in tissue paper for a customer. "Well, hello there, Mr. Gorgeous," he calls out with a wink.

My leg bounces nervously as I drop into one of Lilith's worn leather chairs—one of the few pieces that made it through the flood. Jack finishes with his customers before practically skipping over to join me.

"So," he says, leaning forward conspiratorially, "Lilith's thinking about bringing Gracie in as our shop cat. Thoughts? I told her I'd consult the Roman oracle before she makes any decisions. Cat allergies and all that."

A smile tugs at my lips despite my mood. There's something disarming about how Jack treats my opinion like gospel. I'm accustomed to deference—it comes with the territory—but this feels different. Genuine. Even Lilith seems to value my input, though she rarely asks directly. Maybe she doesn't need to.

"Cameron was just telling me about this," I say, leaning back. "Cat allergies can trigger serious asthma attacks in some people. Not life-threatening usually, but definitely lawsuit material. She might want to reconsider, much as she loves that furball."

Jack sighs. "That's exactly what I said to her. But she's been moping around about leaving Gracie by herself all day. I suggested getting another cat to keep her company, and I think she's warming up to the idea." His manicured fingers squeeze my forearm. "What's your vote for Gracie's new playmate? You've seen Gracie—mostly white with those black patches. I'm leaning toward a calico or maybe one of those all-black ones. Black cats get passed over at shelters, you know. Could be Lilith's good deed for the month."

I exhale slowly, fighting back a smirk. Cat color coordination—what a luxury to have such trivial concerns. "I'm sure Lilith will be happy with whatever she chooses."

"Obviously," Jack's eyes roll dramatically. "But what would you pick?"

"Calicos have always caught my eye," I admit, glancing at my watch. I'm dying to know how much longer Lilith's reading will take, but barging in and demanding her attention would be tactless. That brand of rudeness I reserve for my brothers. Lilith deserves better—she gets the version of me that remembers his manners.

Jack gives a knowing nod. "Calicos. I'll let her know you're a fan. So you're into the lady cats too, huh? That's Lilith's preference. I keep telling her it's all the same—I mean, who can even tell without looking under the hood?" He waves his hand dismissively. "But she swears the males get aggressive and spray everywhere. Between us, I think it's just her imagination. What's your take?"

I shrug in agreement. Biology dictates that calicos are almost always female, same with tortoiseshells, while orange tabbies skew male. Not that I've ever paid attention. If Lilith has her preferences, that's her business. But Jack's right—I couldn't spot the difference between a male cat and a female one if my life depended on it. Cats have never been my thing, but for Lilith? I'll learn to appreciate the furry little creatures. Small price to pay.