Page 74 of The Malibu Destiny

“Hey, Jack,” I say. “Where’s Lilith?”

Jack heaves a heavy sigh. “She’s not here.”

My heart drops like an elevator with cut cables. The hairs on my forearms stand at attention. Lilith once told me about how the subconscious mind processes millions of data points that never reach our conscious awareness—something like 11 million bits of information per second versus a measly 40 bits that we actually notice. It's why sometimes everything looks fine on the surface, but your gut churns with warning. "That's your third eye," she'd said, touching the center of my forehead with her fingertip, her voice soft and certain. "Trust it when it speaks." Right now, mine isn't just speaking—it's screaming.

“Where is she?”

He shrugs and I want to rip his throat out. "She's..." His voice cracks. "She's gone, Roman. And I can't tell you where she is." He's trembling like a goddamn leaf, but still has the audacity to gesture me into the townhouse. “Cocktail?”

"Fuck no," I snarl, shoving past him. "Jack, what the FUCK is happening?"

He flinches, backing against the wall. "I begged her to face you, but she refused." His eyes dart away from mine. "Said she felt she’d end up destroying you and your father. That she'd rather disappear than watch you both crash and burn. So she ran—vanished without a trace."

Oh, hell no. This is NOT happening. I swear on my mother's grave, if I have to kick down every goddamn door on this planet with my bare fucking feet, I WILL find her. My hands are already shaking, jaw clenched so tight my teeth might crack. But first—Jack. Jack has answers, and I don't care what it takes to get them.

“Okay. Let’s have that cocktail.”

I enter the apartment, and Jack's already mixing tequila with lime in a salt-rimmed glass. Sweet drinks, ugh, hate sugar, but take it anyhow to be social. Taking the margarita, I settle into the chair opposite his at the dining room table and study his face. Jack's an open book with dog-eared pages—I can practically see the secrets bubbling behind those eyes. Five minutes of my questioning, and he'll spill everything.

“Now,” I say. “Let’s start over. Why is Lilith gone?”

“Oh, I can’t lie to you. But I won’t tell you where she is, but I can tell you why she left. How would that be?”

I drag in a ragged breath, my fists clenching so hard my knuckles crack as I fight the crimson fury blazing behind my eyes. Everything was finally falling into place—reconciling with my father after twenty-two fucking years, getting his project off the ground, crushing those investor meetings for him. Demolishing my opponent in that MMA cage until my hands were slick with blood and victory.

And Lilith—Christ—she's been the only light guiding me through this darkness. Now it's all crumbling to ash in my hands, and I swear to God I'll burn the world down before I let that happen. She isn't just my North Star—she's the oxygen in my lungs, the blood in my veins. That.Will.Never.Fucking.Change.

“Why did she leave?”

Jack leaned in, lowering his voice. "It's that Shady Barbie again.” He shakes his head. “Don't give me that look—Lilith might absolutely murder me for spilling the tea, but honey, someone's gotta put Miss Thing in check. She's been skating by her whole life on those baby blues and daddy's platinum AmEx. I mean, please. You ask little ol' me? She's been getting away with nonsense since the cradle, which is why she continues to be a hot mess. Somebody has to hold her fabulous ass accountable."

My stomach knotted. "Sera. What happened?”

"Paid our girl a little visit. Threatened to blast you all over Instagram, maybe even get some hit piece in Forbes about how the great Roman Kensington is dating—" he made air quotes, "—a 'witch.'" Jack rolled his eyes. "She knows damn well Lil don't cast spells or whatever. Lil reads cards and sells crystals. There's a difference." He sighs. “And she threatened to tell the investors about your father’s drunkenness. Guess they don’t know about that right now, huh?”

My jaw tightens. I know the distinction between Lilith's spiritual practice and actual witchcraft, but to Sera and her crowd, it was all the same ammunition. And I wouldn’t try to explain to my investors the difference, either. They wouldn’t understand, the closed-minded pricks.

And Dad’s alcoholism? Those investors would bolt faster than paparazzi chasing a scandal. They have no clue—how could they? We’ve buried that secret deeper than the Mariana Trench. Every glossy magazine profile on the Kensington brothers strategically omitted the chapter where our father vanished into a bottle. One word about that in the article, and that magazine would face a complete Kensington media blackout. Not even worth it when Connor’s collecting Oscars like souvenirs and Kalen has stadiums of screaming fans worldwide. We’ve guarded that boundary like a fortress. So, yeah, those investors are blissfully ignorant about Dad’s demons, and that’s exactly how the project survives. If Sera starts talking... Dad’s dream dies before it takes its first breath.

I wouldn't touch Sera—never raised a hand to a woman in my life—but picturing her Maserati taking a wrong turn at Mulholland gives me a moment of dark satisfaction.

I clench my jaw, feeling the muscle twitch beneath my skin. "Let me guess. Sera threatened to poison my investors against me if Lilith didn't back off." My voice drops lower, harsher. "She was going to paint my father as a unrepentant drunk while convincing them Lilith's some kind of black magic practitioner." I slam my palm against the desk, sending papers fluttering. "I can just see her whispering in their ears about evil spells and hexes, making those superstitious old bastards think their stock portfolios would suddenly combust."

“Oh my God, you hit that on the head! Yes, that’s exactly how it went.”

I slam my fist against the wall. Damn it. Lilith is gone because she wants to save my father’s project. No matter. I’ll find her if I have to burn this whole coast down. Jack will crack—I'll make sure of it. But I already know where she is. Carmel. The way her eyes lit up when we drove through those cypress trees, how she gasped at the waves crashing against those jagged cliffs. She practically vibrated with energy there, said the place "called to her soul." She disappeared to Big Sur for that retreat a few months ago too. Those fairy-tale cottages, the misty mornings—it screams Lilith. She's there. I can feel it in my bones. And if she's not? I'll tear apart every town on the goddamn map until I find her.

But Sera—that manipulative bitch is my first problem. My investors are old-school, superstitious as hell. One whisper from Sera about Lilith's crystals or meditation circles, and those cowards will run. She'll twist everything, paint Lilith as some kind of dark sorceress corrupting their precious investment. And if that doesn’t do it, Dad’s alcoholism will.

I need to shut Sera down. Permanently.

Caspian will help me. Blood or not, he knows his sister is poison. He's seen what Lilith does to me—how she's the only fucking thing that makes sense in my world. Once I tell him what Sera pulled, he'll help me find her weakness. Everyone has one. And I'll exploit it until she backs the hell away from my investors, my father's project, and my life.

“Thanks, Jack,” I say. “Listen, I have to go. I have to talk to Caspian.”

“Caspian. Sera’s brother, no?”

“Right.”