LOVE BEYOND REALMS

A MEETING OF WILLS

Chapter 12

The morning light was soft against the campus courtyard, filtering through the branches of the jacaranda trees that bloomed in lilac clouds overhead. Students were scattered in knots of conversation, their voices weaving a tapestry of chatter that should have been ordinary. But today, as Alexa crossed the grounds, every murmur seemed to curl around her name.

“Alexa Anderson…”

“…the Blackwoods’ bride…”

“…can you imagine?”

The rumors had grown claws overnight. By the time she reached the lecture hall, her story was no longer whispers but wildfire, leaping from tongue to tongue, fanned by fascination and cruelty in equal measure.

Alexa tightened her grip on her bag strap, her face schooled into calm. If she betrayed even the smallest c***k, they would seize on it. Her classmates’ eyes followed her as she took her seat—some curious, some pitying, others gleaming with mockery.

From behind her, a sharp voice cut through the low hum. “How does it feel, Alexa? Trading your freedom to marry a corpse?”

Laughter erupted across the row. Someone muttered “Mrs. Vegetable Blackwood” loud enough for half the hall to hear. The professor hadn’t even arrived yet, and already the vultures were circling.

Alexa set her notebook on the desk with deliberate care, refusing to turn. Her heart hammered, her ears burned, but she forced her breath steady.

Another voice joined in, this one dripping with envy. “Some people will do anything for power, huh? Even if it means lying beside a man who can’t lie back.”

More laughter. A ripple of snickers rolled forward, as though her humiliation were entertainment.

Alexa rose slowly. The movement silenced the room more effectively than a shout. Dozens of eyes fixed on her as she turned, her gaze sweeping the rows until the giggles died in their throats.

Her voice was calm, clear. “If the only thing you can do with your lives is gossip about mine, then perhaps you should be the ones I pity.”

The words struck like glass—soft in tone but sharp in meaning. No one laughed this time. A few shifted uncomfortably; others looked away, ashamed to be caught staring.

Alexa picked up her bag, swung it over her shoulder, and left the hall before the professor even arrived. Her footsteps echoed down the corridor, each one steadier than the last. She would not stay and be their spectacle.

---

The campus gates were crowded with students moving in and out, but Alexa slowed when she noticed a black car parked just beyond. Sleek, polished, intimidating in its stillness. It wasn’t the kind of car that belonged here—not among the battered sedans and scratched hatchbacks of ordinary college life.

As she approached, the driver’s door opened. A man in a crisp suit stepped out. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a face carved from stone. His eyes, hidden behind dark glasses, scanned the courtyard until they landed on her.

“Miss Anderson,” he said, his voice clipped, professional. “I’ve been instructed to escort you.”

The murmurs rose instantly among the nearby students. Heads turned, phones lifted discreetly—or not so discreetly—as whispers hissed like wind through dry leaves.

Alexa stood rooted, the weight of their stares pressing on her. She had expected the Blackwoods’ shadow to reach her eventually, but not here, not in front of her peers.

The man gestured toward the car. “Please.”

Every instinct screamed to refuse, to turn and walk away. But another voice inside her, steadier, colder, reminded her: If you run now, they win. If you go, you might find answers.

She lifted her chin and nodded. Without a word, she slid into the backseat of the car.

The door shut behind her, sealing her away from the gawking students. The interior smelled faintly of leather and steel polish. The windows darkened the world outside into muted shadows.

The drive was silent. Alexa sat with her hands folded tightly in her lap, her pulse a steady drum in her ears. She stared straight ahead, refusing to ask where they were going, refusing to give the man beside her the satisfaction of seeing her nerves.

The city blurred past—streets she knew, then ones she didn’t. The car turned off the main roads, winding toward the northern hills where the estates of the wealthiest families sprawled behind wrought-iron gates and walls that seemed to touch the sky.

When at last the vehicle slowed, Alexa’s breath caught.

The Blackwood estate loomed before her.

It was not a house but a fortress of glass and stone, sprawling across manicured grounds that seemed to stretch endlessly. Sleek towers rose against the skyline, their reflective surfaces catching the sun in blinding flashes. The gate, tall and ornate, bore the Blackwood crest: a stylized raven with wings spread wide.

As the car rolled through, Alexa pressed her palms against her knees to stop their trembling. She would not let them see fear. Not here.

The car stopped at the front steps. The suited man opened the door for her. Alexa stepped out, her shoes clicking against the marble. The air here was colder, sharper, as though even the wind bowed to the Blackwoods.

Inside, the estate was a cathedral of wealth. Crystal chandeliers cast fractured light over polished floors. Dark wood and silver accents gleamed at every turn. The silence was oppressive, the kind that swallowed sound.

“Wait here,” the man instructed, leading her to a vast foyer lined with portraits. She obeyed, but not quietly.

“No,” Alexa said, her voice firm. The man turned, surprise flickering across his face.

“I want to see Kendrick Blackwood,” she demanded. Her words echoed through the marble hall. “If you brought me here to speak of marriage, then I will speak to him directly.”

The man hesitated, his jaw tightening. It was clear he had not expected defiance. “Mr. Blackwood is a very busy man. He does not—”

“Then tell him his son’s supposed bride is here,” Alexa cut in, her voice sharp as steel. “And she will not wait quietly in the shadows while her life is sold off.”

Silence stretched between them. At last, the man inclined his head stiffly. “Very well.”

He disappeared down one of the long corridors, leaving Alexa alone beneath the cold gaze of the portraits. She could feel their eyes on her—the Blackwoods of generations past, their power immortalized in paint. She squared her shoulders, refusing to let them see weakness.

Minutes later, the man returned. “Follow me.”

Alexa’s breath tightened, but her steps were steady as she was led deeper into the mansion. They stopped before massive double doors, which swung open to reveal a study that seemed more like a throne room.

Behind a vast desk sat Kendrick Blackwood.

He was older than her father, his hair gray but his bearing unbowed. His suit was cut with precision, his posture a study in command. His eyes—cold, sharp, assessing—lifted as she entered. They seemed to weigh her, measure her, strip her bare in an instant.

“Miss Anderson,” he said, his voice deep, resonant. “So you are the daughter my associate intends to bind to my family.”

The words were not a greeting. They were a verdict.

Alexa stepped forward until she stood before his desk. Her heart thundered, but she met his gaze without flinching.

“I came to tell you,” she said evenly, “that I will not marry your son.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Kendrick leaned back slightly, his fingers steepled before him. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face.

“Not many people speak to me that way,” he said at last, his tone almost curious. “Certainly not young women with nothing to their name but their father’s ambition.”

“I am not my father,” Alexa replied quickly, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. “And I will not be traded like a business deal.”

Kendrick studied her in silence. His gaze was heavy, unblinking, as though he were dissecting her very soul.

“You think you have a choice,” he said finally, his voice low, deliberate. “Do you know how many lives my family has shaped? How many men twice your father’s stature have bent to my will?”

“I’m not them,” Alexa shot back. Her hands trembled at her sides, but her voice did not waver. “You may have power, you may control industries, but you will not control me.”

A faint smile ghosted across Kendrick’s lips, though it held no warmth. “Defiant.”

“Determined,” Alexa corrected.

For a long moment, the room held nothing but the sound of their breathing. Then Kendrick rose. He was taller than she expected, his presence filling the space with authority. He circled the desk slowly, coming to stand before her.

“You believe you can resist the weight of the Blackwood name?” he asked, his eyes burning into hers.

“I know I can,” Alexa answered. “Because I have nothing left for you to take.”

The words hung between them, sharp as broken glass.

Kendrick studied her another moment, then gave a low, rumbling chuckle. Not of amusement, but of acknowledgment. “We will see,” he said at last.

He gestured toward the door. “You may go. For now.”

Alexa did not bow, did not thank him. She turned on her heel and walked out, her back straight, her head high.

---

When the car returned her to the university, the stares were waiting again. Students whispered, phones lifted to capture her exit from the sleek black vehicle. Their curiosity burned hotter than ever, but Alexa ignored them all.

Inside, her chest still heaved with the aftermath of what she had done. She had stood before Kendrick Blackwood—the man feared by titans, the shadow that loomed over industries—and she had said no.

For the first time since her father’s decree, she felt something like power in her own hands. Fragile, yes, but hers.

She would not surrender. Not to her father. Not to Emily or Mirabel. Not even to Kendrick Blackwood.

And as she walked back through the courtyard, her classmates’ whispers no longer pierced her like arrows.

Because Alexa Anderson had chosen her stance.

And she would fight for it, no matter how impossible the battle ahead.