Chapter 3: Desmond
1823 Words
The clock had just passed four in the evening, casting a golden glow over the bustling airport.
Travelers hurried to their destinations, some dragging luggage behind them, while others stood in small clusters, whispering in hushed excitement.
On a nearby electronic billboard, the latest news and achievements of the Imperium Empire, a powerful subsidiary of Titan Conglomerate, flashed across the screen. The empire was one of the most formidable forces in the city’s economic landscape, its influence stretching far beyond just business. People couldn’t stop talking about it, speculating about its next move, its growing power.
A sleek private jet had touched down on the tarmac earlier that afternoon, bringing with it an air of anticipation. The long rows of security stationed at the airport had caused the traffic jams outside, their presence meant to keep this arrival as discreet as possible. Yet, there was no way to truly hide it.
Men in impeccably tailored black suits lined the path leading from the jet, their presence commanding attention.
Onlookers stole glances, murmuring among themselves, trying to piece together what was happening. Was it a foreign dignitary? A celebrity? Someone important enough to warrant such an extravagant welcome?
But this was no ordinary VIP.
This was Desmond Blackwood, returning home after six long years.
"Welcome back, sir," the young secretary greeted him with enthusiasm, though a slight tremor in his voice betrayed his nervousness. He was aware of Desmond’s reputation—powerful, ruthless, and unpredictable. One wrong move, and he could find himself dismissed before even settling into the job.
Desmond didn’t respond immediately. He strode down the steps of the private jet with measured precision, his tall frame exuding quiet authority.
"How does it feel to be back home?" the secretary asked cautiously, his hands clasped behind his back.
Desmond paused mid-stride, his dark eyes flickering as he stared blankly into the distance.
The guards around him exchanged subtle glances, unsure of what was going through his mind.
Then, he let out a quiet snicker, though there was no humor in it.
"So, the patriarch is finally dead," he murmured, his tone tinged with bitterness, but his eyes remained void of emotion. "I suppose that means my banishment has been revoked."
No one dared respond.
After a moment, Desmond exhaled sharply, shaking off whatever thoughts had momentarily distracted him. With the same commanding presence, he stepped forward and slid into the waiting black luxury vehicle, the door shutting behind him with a decisive click.
The convoy of cars pulled out from the airport, heading straight for the heart of the city.
This country.
Years ago, he had been practically exiled, barred from setting foot on its soil after the accident that had nearly claimed his life.
He had awoken in a foreign land, disoriented, stripped of everything familiar. The family patriarch had made sure he couldn’t return—not until he had proven himself worthy.
So, he had done exactly that.
From afar, he had built an empire of his own, expanding the family’s global influence, securing power, wealth, and control in ways they never thought possible. Now, they had no choice but to acknowledge him.
The death of the patriarch—the formidable founder of Titan Conglomerate—had yet to be publicized.
The family had bought time to keep it under wraps at the moment, what they were worried about was the stocks. It was almost laughable.
The family patriarch was an arrogant man, he would be turning in his grave right now, Desmond thought to himself.
But that wasn’t what truly brought him back.
As the convoy of sleek black vehicles cut through the city streets, Desmond sat in the backseat of his car, the tinted windows shielding him from the world outside. The quiet hum of the engine did little to silence the thoughts racing through his mind.
“Wind down the windows,” he instructed, his voice smooth but firm.
The chauffeur hesitated for only a second before complying. The cool evening air rushed in, carrying the scent of pavement after the rain, blooming flowers, and distant street food stalls.
Desmond leaned slightly against the doorframe, his green eyes—so striking they often unsettled people—sweeping over the scenery outside.
Despite his flawless, chiseled features, there was no warmth in his gaze. He exuded an aura of impenetrability, an air of command that left no room for sentimentality.
And yet—
Something caught his eye.
The faded petals of fallen flowers, scattered across a narrow street.
He stared.
A strange sensation curled in his chest—familiarity. Nostalgia.
A memory hovered just out of reach. A street like this. A bike. A fleeting moment in time. It flickered at the edge of his consciousness, vivid enough to feel real, yet distant enough to question.
This wasn’t the first time.
Every so often, he would be hit with these bouts of déjà vu, memories that surfaced without warning. But were they really memories? Or just figments of his imagination?
And now, from the moment he had set foot in this country again, that nagging feeling had intensified.
He was forgetting something.
Something important.
Something just out of his grasp.
His jaw clenched, fingers drumming against his knee as the convoy turned a corner, leaving the flower-strewn street behind.
"The arrangement for your engagement with the Reed family's daughter has been finalized."
The words pulled Desmond from his thoughts. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, flicked toward his assistant with disinterest.
A marriage of convenience.
A contract more than anything else.
He knew how elite marriages worked. Partnerships. Business transactions. Power plays.
This arrangement had been orchestrated long before his return, signed and sealed by his grandfather even before the old man’s death.
Desmond let out a bitter smirk, his fingers tapping idly against his knee.
"Seems the old man had me in mind and did me a favor," he muttered, sarcasm lacing his words.
The Reed family's influence was undeniable. As his grandfather had likely predicted, having them as allies would smooth his path to taking control of Titan Conglomerate—even if his position was only temporary.
His illegitimate heritage had always been a stain in the Blackwood family’s eyes, making it harder for him to secure his place. This marriage would eliminate that obstacle, giving him an edge.
---
"The family is currently gathered at the Blackwood mansion," his assistant continued.
Desmond remained silent, staring out the window.
His grandfather's death still didn't sit right with him.
The patriarch of their empire—gone, just like that. And barely had his body turned cold before the family rushed to cremate him.
"Convenient."
Something was being covered up.
His claim to Titan Conglomerate would be met with resistance, he knew that much. His relatives would
But Desmond had never been the type to back down.
He could already see the greed lurking beneath their grief, as they waited for the reading of the will.
And yet, despite knowing all this, he felt no urgency to return to the mansion.
"Drive to the hotel, instead," he ordered.
His assistant hesitated. "Sir, your family is expecting you—"
"And they can keep expecting," Desmond cut in coolly.
He wasn't in the mood for their fakeness, their hollow condolences, their masked ambitions.
They had been circling the old man’s fortune like scavengers, and he wouldn’t put it past them to have played a hand in his sudden demise.
Maybe, in his own way, the old man really had done him a favor sending him away.
But knowing the personality of the man, he highly doubted it. Whatever was done was done because that was how his grandfather wanted it
"Keep everything on the low for now—including my arrival. At least until the will reading."
If there was one thing he had learned about the Blackwood family—
It was that patience always paid off.
The family was eagerly awaiting the will reading.
It was all that mattered to them—who would inherit the chairman shares?
Whoever controlled those large shares controlled Titan Conglomerate.
Desmond was the logical choice to take over as CEO, given his success with the company’s international branches. But Titan was a different battlefield.
“Paradise Hotel.”
His order was soft, almost an afterthought, but his assistant, James, hesitated.
"Sir... the chairman—your father-in-law-to-be—has been informed of your return. He’s waiting there for you."
Desmond didn’t react only the tick in his jaw gave of the subtle irritation.
His gaze remained fixed outside, watching as leaves drifted across the pavement, painting the streets in hues of gold and rust.
James adjusted his glasses, eyeing him cautiously.
Did Desmond remember him? He wondered warily.
He doubted that, even back then he wasn't anyone significant.
Desmond Blackwood had become a machine.
The surgery had done more than mend his failing heart—it had hardened it.
Desmond wound the window back up abruptly, shutting out the view. His eyes fluttered closed, but his restlessness was palpable.
For a moment, he wasn’t in the car.
He was in a hospital.
The one he had spent years confined to.
The place he should have hated.
But at this moment, it was the place he wanted to head right to.
"Let’s go to the Carlton Medical Institute first," Desmond said decisively, his voice carrying a finality that left no room for argument.
For the earliest part of his life, he had been in and out of that hospital—even before he had adopted the Blackwood name. It was there that he had spent countless hours.
Even years later, he had continued to make anonymous donations, funding treatments and helping children who found themselves in similar situations. He was currently trying to become a major shareholder there.
Now, as he faced the chaos awaiting him—his rambunctious family and his fiancée’s equally meddlesome relatives—the hospital seemed like a much better option.
"The old doctor, Dr. William Jenkins—is he still there?" Desmond asked, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, a rare show of sentimentality.
James glanced at him, slightly taken aback by the question. "No, sir," he replied. "He retired recently."
Desmond’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes flickered with something—disappointment, perhaps.
“Mr. Blackwood,” James interjected cautiously. “There’s a… situation right now.”
Desmond arched an eyebrow, prompting him to continue.
“Your half-brother seems to have summoned the press for a briefing.”
Desmond stiffened, his jaw tightening briefly before he exhaled softly. They were baiting him—trying to lure him back to the family mansion, forcing his hand.
“Fine then,” he muttered. Dragging his eyes from the passing scenery.
“Drive to the mansion.”
James nodded, signaling the driver.
“But,” Desmond added, his tone firm, schedule a stop at the hospital tomorrow.”
- Writer
