His enemy's daughter

Chapter 6

Ominisent

The penthouse office of Blackwood Enterprise was as ruthless as its owner. Polished obsidian floors gleamed beneath the harsh glow of white overhead lights. Every line in the room was sharp, calculated, void of unnecessary comfort. It wasn’t built to welcome—it was built to dominate.

Lucian Blackwood stood at the massive glass window, towering over the city like a king surveying his battlefield. His jaw was set, suit pressed to perfection, a silver watch glinting against his wrist. Everything about him screamed control.

Aliyah, his secretary leaned against the edge of the long conference table behind him, arms crossed. Her fitted blazer hugged her frame like armor, her expression unreadable. But her eyes—sharp and curious—were locked on him.

“So,” she finally said, breaking the silence, “your grandfather gave you an ultimatum?”

Lucian didn’t look back. “If I don’t marry before the quarter ends, Saint gets the company.”

Aliyah blinked. “Saint Blackwood? Your cousin? The same i***t who tried to sell off the tech division in Tokyo?”

He gave a humorless smirk. “That’s the one.”

Aliyah scoffed, pushing off the table. Her heels clicked against the polished floor as she stepped closer. “Let me guess—your grandfather suddenly cares about image. Wants a ‘stable’ married man at the helm of his precious empire.”

Lucian finally turned, his grey eyes cold as stone. “He wants someone ‘trustworthy.’”

Aliyah narrowed her eyes. “And you think marrying some poor heiress will fix that?”

“I don’t think, Aliyah,” Lucian said smoothly. “I know.”

She folded her arms again. “Who?”

His reply was immediate. “Serena Callahan.”

Aliyah blinked once. Then again.

“Wait—Edmund Callahan’s daughter?” she asked, stunned. “That Serena? Isn’t she engaged to... what’s his name—Caleb Ballerie?”

Lucian’s lips lifted slightly. “She is.”

Aliyah stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “Lucian, that’s insane. She’s practically wedding-day ready. Why would she ever agree to marry you?”

“Because she’ll have no choice,” he said simply.

Aliyah’s mouth parted in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“She’s not just Edmund’s daughter—she’s his only child. And if the right pressure is applied... she’ll fold.”

Aliyah tilted her head, studying him. “And what do you get out of it?”

“Public redemption. A merger of legacies. Her father's quiet influence in boardrooms that still hate my name,” he said. “And Saint? Out of the picture.”

Aliyah gave a low whistle. “You really are cold.”

Lucian smiled, unbothered. “That’s why I always win.”

As he turned back toward the window, the clouds outside thickened—like a storm waiting for its cue.

And far across the city, Serena Callahan was about to lose more than her fairytale.

Meanwhile, in the callahan house hold. The chandeliers shimmered above a sea of silk gowns and crisp tuxedos as the Callahan pharma Annual Gala unfolded inside the grand ballroom of the Empire Crest Hotel. Designed to honor Edmund Callahan’s decades of business legacy, the evening exuded wealth and old money sophistication. Polished floors reflected champagne flutes and hollow smiles, while classical music fluttered softly through the air like a spell meant to disguise the rot beneath the opulence.

Serena Callahan stood near the bar in a sleek emerald dress, her hair swept elegantly to one side. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes—tonight, something felt off. Whispers seemed to chase her steps, eyes darting too quickly when she glanced around. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and tried to ignore the tightening coil in her stomach.

Caleb hadn’t spoken to her since they arrived. Vanessa, dazzling in a crimson gown, was glued to his side like a carefully selected accessory. Serena noticed the way they exchanged glances—familiar, smug, and secretive. But she played the dutiful fiancée, maintaining her grace, though every polite laugh burned on her tongue.

Then the lights dimmed further, and a murmur swept the room. The event's MC stepped aside as the screen on stage flickered to life. The crowd quieted, expecting a tribute video for Edmund.

Instead, the screen cut to shaky phone footage. Serena’s face, front and center. Blurry clips showed her exchanging an envelope with a man in a suit, walking into an unfamiliar office, and handing over what looked like confidential Callahan documents.

Gasps echoed.

"She’s been leaking company documents!"

"Is that... Callahan’s daughter?"

"A traitor to her own bloodline..."

Serena’s blood ran cold. “What the hell is this?” she whispered, frozen in place. A beat later, she surged forward. “This is fake! It’s edited—someone tampered with that footage!”

But no one was listening.

Vanessa clutched Caleb’s arm, her face twisted in performative disbelief. “I had no idea she’d go that far... I told you she seemed... unstable.”

Caleb said nothing. He didn’t defend Serena. He didn’t deny it. Instead, he stepped slightly away from her, adding inches that felt like a chasm.

Serena turned to the crowd, her voice straining. “Why would I leak documents to a rival firm when it’s my father’s legacy on the line? That’s not even the full footage! I—I demand someone check the source!”

A woman in a sapphire gown sneered. “She’s just trying to cover it up. Classic guilty behavior.”

The ballroom buzzed with accusations. People took videos. One of the board members stormed out. Reporters whispered into phones. Security approached her as if she were a threat.

Serena’s breath caught. “No... No, this isn’t happening—”

Vivienne stepped onto the stage, voice silken. “I’m afraid, for the good of Callahan Corp and its reputation, we’ll be looking into this immediately. Until then... Serena will take a leave of absence from all company matters.”

That did it. The damage wasn’t just done—it was irreversible.

The Next Morning,

The scent of disinfectant mingled with flowers as Vivienne swept into Edmund’s hospital suite. The old man lay propped against a mountain of pillows, IV hooked to his arm, and eyes watching the morning news—which was already reporting Serena’s alleged betrayal.

Vivienne sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder with just enough weight to feign comfort. “I’m so sorry you had to see that, Edmund. She’s been under a lot of pressure, but maybe it’s time we made some real decisions about the company’s future.”

Edmund’s face was unreadable.

“I just think... maybe the will should reflect someone who truly has the company’s interests at heart,” Vivienne continued gently. “Vanessa is smart, composed. She could carry your legacy forward.”

Edmund turned to her slowly, eyes sharp. “She is not my blood.”

Vivienne’s lips twitched.

“Serena,” he rasped, “is my daughter. She has my name. She’s the only Callahan.”

And in that moment, though frail and disillusioned, Edmund’s words became an invisible tether—a promise that Serena wasn’t finished just yet.