chapter 4
735 Words
Alexander had read about them for years. Studied them. Memorized the branches of their empire.
Yet none of it prepared him for this.
He sat stiffly in the carved chair, fingers curled against the polished armrest, staring straight at the Blackwood family as if they were ghosts clawing their way out of a history book.
The Blackwoods didn’t merely occupy space, they pressed down on it. Every movement is deliberate. Every glance measured. Their suits were tailored like armor, their posture sharpened by generations of power. Even in celebration, they carried themselves like rulers surveying territory that already belonged to them.
Alexander knew every one of them from the Blackwood Tree—birth years, alliances, betrayals, investments, scandals buried beneath corporate reports. He had analyzed their rise in 2024 like a scholar dissecting kings.
But this—this was 1984.
And they were young.
Orion Blackwood stood at the center of it all.
The first chairman of Blackwood Group.
He was taller than Alexander had imagined, broader in the shoulders, his presence quiet yet suffocating. His face held sharp angles carved by discipline. His eyes—cold, moved across the room. This was not a man who repeated himself. Not a man who forgave lightly. He carried knowledge the way soldiers carried weapons.
Strict was too soft a word.
Orion was law.
Alexander swallowed.
This is real!
The party hummed on but then the grand doors swung open.
Alexander’s breath caught.
Walking briskly, posture still refined despite the urgency in his step, was the Blackwood house butler—Mr. Theodore Graves.
So this was how he looked when he was young.
In Alexander’s time, Theodore had been grey-haired and stooped, eyes clouded with decades of service. But here? He moved with strength. His hair was dark.
His gaze was sharp.
Yet tonight, something was wrong.
Concern flickered across Theodore’s usually unreadable face. He went straight to Orion and leaned in, whispering.
Alexander watched carefully.
He saw it.
The twitch!
Orion’s eyebrow tightened for half a second.
Something had happened!
Orion straightened. “Excuse me, follow me,” he said calmly to his family.
No one questioned him. They simply followed.
Alexander rose too, still inside Karan’s smaller body, heart hammering. He followed carefully but maintained a distance.
They reached a corridor where several maids were gathered at a closed door, knocking urgently.
“Please, open the door!”
“Young Master—!”
The moment they saw Orion approach, panic vanished from their faces. They straightened instantly, their backs turned rigid, hands folded.
No one breathed too loudly.
Orion’s voice cut through the tension—deep, rough, commanding.
“What happened here?”
One maid stepped forward, bowing low. Her voice trembled.
“Beta Ethan… he broke the Celestial Jade Dragon, sir.”
Silence.
Alexander felt the air thin.
‘The Celestial Jade Dragon!’
Alexander muttered slowly.
He knew that artifact. An ancient heirloom of the Blackwood lineage—carved in the late Qing era and regarded as one of Orion’s most prized possessions. It had been gifted to Orion’s forefather during the slave era and passed down through each generation until it reached him. Alexander once read an interview where Orion called it “the spine of our heritage.” He guarded it with near-obsessive devotion.
And now—
Broken.
A faint smirk curved the lips of a young man standing nearby, Alpha Kael’s younger brother.
Then a woman—Beta 002—leaned slightly toward her husband, Alpha Ryker, whispering just loud enough to carry.
“It seems your father’s beloved grandson is not going to make it through the day today.”
Her tone dripped with satisfaction.
Alpha Kael’s head snapped slightly toward her. His eyes hardened.
“Watch what you say,” he murmured.
Alexander stood at the back, pulse roaring in his ears.
He knew Orion’s reputation.
Unforgiving. Ruthless. A man who believed discipline was the highest form of love. A patriarch who never let a mistake go unanswered.
And yet—
In all the records Alexander had studied, in every biography, every archived article, there was no documented incident of Orion ever harming Ethan.
Not one.
History was silent.
Which meant either nothing happened—
Or it had been erased.
Orion stepped closer to the door.
His face was calm. Too calm.
“Ethan,” he called, voice steady but edged with steel. “Open the door.”
- Writer
