Page 49 of The Malibu Destiny

I glance up from my water glass. "Had dinner with Sera last night."

Caspian's face brightens with that familiar look—like a puppy who thinks you're about to throw his favorite ball. I cut him off with a raised palm before he can start planning our wedding reception.

"Not happening. Ever. But she mentioned something about Blake and Lilith spending time together. Said people are buzzing about it.” I rub my jaw, the stubble rough against my fingertips. "Look, I know she's your sister and you worship the ground she walks on, but Sera lives to stir shit up. I'd ignore her stories about Blake and Lilith completely if I hadn't already been wondering the same thing myself."

“So you don't trust Lilith because...?" Caspian asks, eyebrow raised.

The question hits like a sucker punch. Truth is, Lilith's given me zero reason for suspicion. She and Blake are friends—end of story. If she meant nothing to me, I wouldn't give a damn who she hangs out with.

But she does mean something.

Christ, she means everything.

“I swung by her place after Serafina mentioned they'd been hanging out. I just—I needed to hear it from her. And also, when everything's red and I can't think straight, she's the only one who brings me back. She makes the world...I don't know, bearable. And there he was again. Twice in three days? What are the odds? Either I've got the worst fucking timing in California, or he's practically living there. Something in me snapped. I threw a roundhouse—pulled it just enough not to do real damage. You know how I can control it. I just wanted him to feel it, you know? To feel a fraction of what's burning in my chest every time I think about them together."

“Anything else bothering you?”

I shake my head. "Yes. Max." My jaw clenches. "You already know the deal with him. I've got this...this thing where I blame him for our family falling apart. Makes no sense—not his fault—but feelings aren't exactly logical, are they?" I run a hand through my hair. "And now? Max rolls out the red carpet for Dad, puts him up in the poolside guest house, then sits there at dinner playing cheerleader. From him, of all people? That's just—" I make a twisting motion with my hand near my chest. "That's just twisting the knife."

Caspian nods. “Okay, I see what’s going on. Let’s go through all this piece by piece. Now, your brothers…”

“Yes.”

“Rome, I see how you stand apart at family gatherings—watching from the edges, jaw tight. You think you’re the odd man out. But they're not pushing you away; you're the one who keeps backing up,” Caspian says. “I’ve known your brothers for years. When Cameron talks about you, there's the same pride in his voice as when he mentions his other brothers. The difference isn't in how they see you—it's in that fire you carry.

Look at them: Kalen selling out stadiums, Connor dominating awards seasons, Ansel signing some of the biggest music stars in the world, Max producing billion-dollar blockbusters, Asher planning events for royalty and billionaires alike, Silas working with crown jewels and rare precious stones around the world. And they each, to a man, talk about you just as reverently as they talk about every other brother. So they've all got that Kensington drive, just filtered through different lenses. Your flame just burns more visibly. Those resorts you've built across four continents? That's your intensity finding its purpose. But when it's not channeled, Rome—that's when it consumes you instead."

I shake my head. "No, you're missing the point. Everyone's turned on me. I'm stuck on this goddamn island because I refuse to play nice with my father, and they're either waiting for me to cave under the pressure of their little fan club, or they're perfectly happy keeping me isolated out here."

Caspian exhales slowly. "Rome, forgiveness doesn't mean telling someone what they did was okay. You never have to say that to your father. Forgiveness is something you do for yourself. It's about letting go of the poison eating you from inside and making room for something better. It's unlocking those chains you've wrapped around your own heart so you can finally breathe."

I don't interrupt him. This isn't the first time I've heard this speech, but somehow, today, the words are finding cracks to seep through.

"As for Max—your feelings toward him aren't logical, and you know it. You need to extend that same grace to him. Whether he needs your forgiveness or not isn't the point—you need to give it."

"Yeah," I say. "I've got to let go of this thing with Max." I can't bring myself to use the word 'forgive,' because Max doesn’t need forgiveness, but the meaning's clear enough. I know what needs to happen.

Caspian leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Your old man bailed when things got messy. When emotions ran high. And what are you doing with Lilith? Same damn playbook." His eyes narrow. "This Blake thing? That's your exit strategy, man. Just like when Serafina cheated—yeah, she screwed up, but you were already halfway out the door, weren't you? You just needed the excuse." He pauses, watching me. "The difference is, you actually care about Lilith. I see how you look at her. Never saw that with my sister, much as I wanted to. But now you're torching something real because it scares the hell out of you. Tell me I'm wrong."

I shake my head. “You’re not wrong,” I say. “I just didn’t think of it that way.”

Caspian adjusts his stance. "One more round. Use that anger—make every hit count."

The knot in my chest has loosened since I arrived. After hours of pummeling both Caspian and the practice dummy, that crimson fog has mostly burned away. Between jabs and hooks, I'd unloaded about Dad, the resort, my brothers, Lilith—and Caspian had nodded, asked the right questions, known exactly when to push.

We circle each other on the mat. This time my body moves with precision, not rage. Left hook. Roundhouse. Grapple. Each connection feels clean, deliberate.

"There it is!" Caspian blocks my combination, grinning through his mouthguard. "Now you're fighting smart, not just hard."

The final training round leaves me drained. My muscles quiver with fatigue, anger replaced by a hollow ache in my chest.

In my car, Sam Smith's "Fire on Fire" floods the speakers—our song. My forehead drops to the steering wheel while my fingers hover over my phone.

I need to call Lilith, but shame—unfamiliar, suffocating shame—stops me. The memory replays: my caveman rage, Blake crumpling from my kick, and worst of all, Lilith's small body somehow shoving me backward out of her shop, her eyes wide with rage as she locked the door.

The kind of strength she mustered to shove me out of her store like that only comes from pure adrenaline—like mothers lifting cars off trapped children. That’s how angry she was, and to make a sweet, pure woman like Lilith that angry…goddamn, it makes me ashamed that I’m the one who brought her to it.

She deserves better. Her smile ignites a wildfire in me that burns through every defense I've built. And now I've snuffed it out. I murdered that light when I went after Blake, and it's another sin branded onto my conscience—one I'll carry like an open wound that refuses to heal.