Chapter 157: _ Typical Bellamy Reunion
The door creaks, hinges whining against the quiet night, and it’s not Grayson’s lazy drawl that greets them—it’s Daphne’s voice.
She steps out, framed by the dim hallway lights like some unwilling angel descending into a pit of wolves. Her caramel hair catches the yellow glow, her arms crossed over her chest. Even the way she leans against the door screams Bellamy restraint. That computed grace their father loves so much... the kind that hides disgust beneath diplomacy.
"Has anyone seen Lira?" she asks, eyes sweeping the group with bored disdain, like they are already wasting her time.
Morgan’s lips twitch. Of course. The name alone is a spark.
Lira. His patience for that name is already stretched thin tonight. He takes that as his cue to leave.
He doesn’t even respond or glance her way. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, and without a word, he turns on his heel and stalks toward the door she just vacated.
Behind him, Daphne mutters something about "men and their recklessness," but he’s already halfway through the hall, boots clicking against the marble tiles like distant thunder.
The corridor smells of the sharp citrus detergent the academy cleaners overuse. He takes the stairs two at a time, irritation cooling into a grim amusement. Every step closer to the suite feels like peeling off a mask, preparing to wear another.
Because with his brothers, he’s the composed predator.
With Lira, the manipulator. And with Grayson, the fool he intends to destroy, he wears the most dangerous mask of all: the brotherly one.
The suite door is slightly ajar. From inside comes music, probably from Grayson’s endless playlist of guitar-heavy tracks that sound like whiskey and rebellion. Morgan pushes the door open with two fingers.
"Finally," Grayson calls out before Morgan can say anything. "I was beginning to think you went off to bang someone again."
Morgan lets the door close behind him with a soft click
. The sound feels like a coffin sealing. "Ah, you know me," he replies easily, throwing his jacket onto the nearest couch. "I can’t resist breaking hearts before dinner."Grayson laughs out loud and unrestrained, the kind of laugh that makes people think he’s never worried about anything in his life. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, leaning back on his elbows, shirt unbuttoned halfway, and hair still damp from a shower. The soft overhead light casts a golden hue over his skin, making him look irritatingly perfect in that golden-boy way.
Morgan hides his contempt behind a lazy grin.
"Who was it this time?" Grayson asks, eyes gleaming. "Don’t tell me it was that redhead from combat class again. You promised you were done with her."
"Oh, please. If I were done, she’d be in a grave, not pining outside the training hall." Morgan jokes, but deep down, the thought seems tantalizing to him.
Grayson barks out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. "You’re terrible."
"And you’re slow," Morgan shoots back, smirking. "Get dressed, brother. The whole circus is leaving."
Grayson rolls off the bed, moving lazily, tugging a shirt over his head as he talks. "You should’ve seen Isolde earlier," he says, voice muffled through the fabric. "She looked like she’d bitten a lemon. I swear she’s been moody since the Awakening ceremony."
Darien’s moody sister... she’s the only one in the entire shitty family of theirs who has a tad bit of his heart. What’s there not to love about Isolde? It’s a pity she is an offspring of Tobias.
She also needs to be dealt with.
"Moody?" Morgan scoffs, leaning against the desk, crossing his arms. "Try ’haunted.’ Maybe she realized she’s not as perfect as Daddy’s favorites."
Grayson grins at him in the mirror as he fixes his collar. "Which one of us is that supposed to be?"
Morgan meets his gaze in the reflection, smiling thinly. Neither of us, sweetheart. But I’ll fix that soon enough.
"Come on. We’ll miss the grand send-off." He says aloud, straightening. "
Grayson tosses his bag over his shoulder, grabbing his car keys from the nightstand. "Hey, at least this time we didn’t end the week with drinks. Progress, right?"
Morgan chuckles. "That’s because we are too busy with all the drama going on."
"Ha! You’re lying."
Morgan smirks. "Maybe."
With that, they head out and as they walk, Morgan studies Grayson’s easy swagger, the confident tilt of his chin, the grin that comes too easily, the way his eyes dart toward every pretty face that passes.
He’s not blind to how the girls look at them: the Bellamy twins, Duskwind Academy’s outgoing duo. But while they see charm and mystery, Morgan sees something else: weakness.
Grayson is soft where he should be sharp. Loyal where he should be ruthless.
If Morgan told him to jump into fire, he’d ask how high.
And that’s the tragedy of it, because Rayne’s boy will never see the dagger coming.
He wonders if Grayson ever feels the weight of the bond between them... the fake one, the brotherhood he pretends to share. He doubts it. Grayson’s too busy living under the illusion of safety.
Poor clueless Grayson.
They reach the bottom of the stairwell just as Isolde’s door opens.
"Finally!" she huffs, stepping out with a bag slung over one shoulder, her dark hair pulled into a low ponytail. "You two always have to make an entrance, huh?"
Grayson gives a low whistle. "If it isn’t our dark princess. Took you long enough."
"Shut up," she fires back, rolling her eyes. "I was on a call."
"Let me guess, with your therapist?" Morgan taunts.
Her glare could burn holes through steel. "You’re hilarious."
Grayson laughs, nudging Morgan lightly. "Come on, man. Don’t tease her. She’s been... weird since the ceremony."
"I’m not weird," Isolde snaps, tightening her grip on her bag. "And I’m not sad, if that’s what you’re trying to imply."
"Oh, we’d never imply. We just observe. You’ve been sighing so loudly even the walls are depressed." " Morgan says, feigning innocence.
Grayson chuckles. "He’s not wrong."
"Both of you can choke," she mutters, brushing past them.
Morgan grins, watching her go. "Such love in this family. Warms my heart."
Grayson chuckles beside him. "You mean freezes it."
"Semantics."
They follow her outside, stepping into the crisp evening air. The wind carries the smell of pine and faint woodsmoke from the academy bonfires that are being put out for the night. Cars line the drive, headlights flashing intermittently as engines start up. The chatter of departing students buzzes around them like the low buzz of a hive.
Darien and Amias are already waiting by their respective cars. Darien’s leaning against his, arms folded, with that his signature frown etched on his face. Amias, ever the quieter one, is scrolling through his phone, pretending not to care.
Typical Bellamy reunion; stiff, quiet, and slightly murderous.
Morgan breathes it in like perfume. Dysfunction has always been the family scent. He and Grayson approach with casually.
"Finally decided to join us?" Darien says, glancing up.
"Couldn’t resist the family bonding time," Morgan replies dryly.
Isolde scoffs, sliding into her car. "More like couldn’t resist hearing your own voice."
Morgan smirks. "You wound me."
Darien looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. "Can we just leave?"
Amias gives a noncommittal grunt. "Seconded."
"Fine, fine," Grayson says, jingling his keys. "Let’s roll, boys."
They head for their black, custom-built car. Grayson slides into the driver’s seat, but Morgan doesn’t move yet. He takes a moment, watching his siblings scatter like mismatched pieces of a broken crown. Daphne seems like the only one missing. Since she isn’t driving with Isolde, Morgan guesses she would be with Lira.
According to Lira, Daphne and Nash might just be a thing. Frankly, Morgan thinks they are a good match. You know, two annoyingly grating and haughty individuals.
Darien’s car hums to life first, Amias following suit. Isolde’s taillights flash as she pulls away, and the soft echo of her tires fades down the path.
Morgan finally slides into the passenger seat. Grayson starts the engine, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "So, think Heidi’s heading home too?"