Page 13 of Widow's Walk

Does it even fit?

She gives me nothing, and it’s infuriating.She’sinfuriating.

“I don’t need to remind you of how important your conduct is tonight, do I?” I say with a little too much bite.

She lets out a low chuckle. “You mean my performance.” She turns to me, smiling. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

My nostrils flare from her mocking tone. “I’m serious, Sinclair.”

She gives me a theatrical frown, her eyebrows lowering. “You’re always serious,” she says, dropping her voice into a deep rasp.

“If you—”

“Here’s something you should learn about me, and learn about me sooner to save yourself the trouble.” I fall silent out of ire. “Telling me what to do is like issuing a challenge. A challenge I am more than willing to oblige. My entire life, I have been told tobehave. I do not need to betoldwhat exactly is expected of me. I know. Smile and only speak when spoken to, and men are superior and women are to be submissive and remain an object—”

“Are you finished?” I say dryly. I see that I've hit yet another button, as her face grows rigid and she goes silent. “Good. So, we’re both on the same page.”

I face forward, ignoring her attempt to burn holes into the side of my head with her gaze. I can almost hear her inner thoughts of violence and vengeance. For once in my life, I regret opening my mouth. I may have poked the fucking bear.

She’s deathly silent the rest of the ride. And when the car rolls to a stop, she’s out before the engine cuts. I step out after her, jaw ticking, a growl low in my throat. I yank at the lapels on my jacket and button it.

When she tries to storm ahead of me, I lunge forward and wrap my fingers around her lace-covered wrist, yanking her to a halt. She spins with the force, colliding with my chest. Her breath hitches, eyes burning as she fumes up at me.

I remain cool, when really, my heat matches hers. “I have let you rampage through the estate ever since you stepped foot in it like a hellhound off its leash, without a word,” I grit out. “One night, Sinclair. One fucking night. Act like a goddamn lady.” My jaw throbs by the time I finish.

She throws her head back and releases a dry, boisterous laugh that doesn’t seem human. “A lady?” she echoes, incredulous.

“I’m warning you, Clair,” I snap. The name slices through her smugness like a blade, and she falters ever so slightly. “You do not want to test me. I’ve let you run rampant to placate you, but tonight, I will have no tolerance for your games.”

“And you wouldn’t want them to think you don’t have your bitch on a leash,” she sneers.

“Is that what you need,joon kharâsh?”Soul-scraper.

She stares at me, eyes narrowed. Then she bares those glittering teeth in a grin that says she’s about to set fire to something. The kind of grin so wicked it can peel flesh from bone. But it moves me in a different way.

“Shall we?” she says sweetly. But I know not to trust calm waters.

I guide her hand to the crook of my arm and lead us through the doors towards the ballroom. The air inside is dense, brimming with testosterone and veiled threats. My spine locks up like instinct, ready for impact as we enter. But Sinclair? Ever composed beside me like sin wrapped in obedience. But I know under all that polish is a fuse waiting to be lit.

We begin to circulate, playing our parts with rehearsed smiles and shallow conversation. I keep one eye on her the whole time, waiting for her to snap. To say something to get a rise out of me or do something to poke at me for sport. But she stays in character, smiling sweetly while she shakes hands and makes small talk like it’s foreplay. I don’t know if I’m proud or bracing myself for detonation.

Eventually, my parents make their approach. My mother beams. “Oh, Blackwell,” she sighs, taking Sinclair’s hands in both of hers. “You failed to mention how stunning Sinclair has become.” I watch Sinclair in slight amusement. She tries to mask the flicker of unease, and when my mother leans in to plant a kiss on each cheek, I have to hide my smirk behind a cough. Especially when Sinclair’s eyes widen in disbelief. “It is so nice to finally meet my soon-to-be daughter-in-law,” my mother says, still clasping Sinclair’s hands like she plans to keep her. She gives her an outward once over and adds, “You’re radiant, darling. I don’t think anyone else could pull off purple hair the way you do.”

Sinclair recovers with the speed of someone used to being cornered. She plasters on a polite smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Golzar. It’s nice to see you too,” she says, only an octave over a robotic tone. Then she subtly pries her hands out of my mother’s.

“Oh, please. Call me, Jaqueline.” My mother doesn’t skip a beat. She sidles up to my father, gazing up at him adoringly. “Don’t they look wonderful together, Dario?”

My father offers a noncommittal nod. “They do.” He couldn’t care less how we look together. It’s all about legacy, leverage, and gain. It isn’t for the aesthetics.

It takes Sinclair less than a heartbeat to spot an exit. “Restroom,” she says with a tight smile, already halfway across the room. Gone. Seeping through the cracks like smoke.

My mother steps into the space Sinclair left behind, chattering away as I offer the occasional nod, pretending to listen. But my focus is on the room.

My eyes sweep the area, finding all the usual suspects. Family, friends, frauds. I spot my uncle lingering in the back with a drink in hand, his family with him. I’ll have to shake his hand and offer the proper pleasantries soon. But it’s the trio acrossthe room that tightens my focus. The beady stare from the Ortiz men. Sinclair’s father, Anthony, and her two brothers, Lincoln and Royce.

They wear their suits like armor and their smug expressions like second skin. But there’s no edge to them I haven’t encountered before. They pose no threat. Not the kind that I fear, anyway.

I excuse myself from my parents and the vultures orbiting them. I cross the ballroom with measured strides. I shake hands with all three, my grip firm but restrained. Predictably, they all squeeze harder than necessary. Like boys trying to prove something. They fail to understand that brute strength does not equate to power.

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