Chasing Her Beyond Broken Promises

CHAPTER 001 AMELIA’S POV The instant my feet crossed the threshold of the Blackwood Gala, the blinding lights nearly seared my eyes. Crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling in constellation-like clusters, sharper and colder than the stars above. Angular flashes of light skimmed the marble floor, sparking off gowns laden with jewels and tuxedos pressed to within an inch of immaculate perfection. The air weighed on me, perfume and pricey cologne choking it until it felt as thick as syrup on my tongue. Laughter trilled at my side, crisp and practiced, as though the assembly had drilled their smiles before passing through this palace of opulence. At every glance, the room was ablaze with smiles—sharp and bright and utterly insincere. I pressed my notebook closer to my side. I slid my press badge into my purse—I knew better than to brandish it as a protective shield here. If they caught a whiff of weakness, these people would eat me alive. I told myself it was just another assignment. Note down the gowns, the décor, and the guest list. Piece together a complimentary column for tomorrow, pocket my pay cheque, and head home. Simple. Safe. Yet the truth dug its claws into me even as I slapped a composed smile onto my face: I didn’t belong here. The clack of my budget shoes on the marble floor drew the scrutiny I didn’t need. My black dress was simple and neat, but it wasn’t couture. It lacked the hushed murmur of money the rest of the women’s gowns emitted. Bury your head, Amelia. Blend in. Then I caught sight of him. Adrian Blackwood. Perched beside the grand staircase, champagne glass cradled, he chatted with a group of men twice his age—their faces bending toward him as moths toward a flame. All eyes in the room turned his way—stirred by admiration, envy, or dread. He radiated magnetism. Untouchable. Heir to the Blackwood empire—merely the sound of his name could silence a room. Where others read perfection, I spotted something else. I noticed that his smile did not reach his eyes. A subtle tightness knotted his jaw, as though the effortless smirk hid his teeth grinding beneath. The grip his fingers exerted on the delicate glass stem was far too tight, as though he longed for the crystal to shatter. A laugh erupted with startling volume beside me. Two women held their champagne flutes tight and leaned in together. “See him,” the voice hushed. “The Blackwood boy, posing like he’s already king.” His companion smirked. He won’t last. By summer, they’ll have shredded him to pieces.” Their laughs pricked me with needles. I ducked my head, my cheeks flushing. Be careful not to be caught staring. Be careful you’re not caught staring. Yet my curiosity had tightened its hold, drawing me closer against my resistance. I slid along the ballroom perimeter, threading my way past trays of hors d’oeuvres and bubbling bursts of laughter, until I reached the side hall. A line of sconces along the wall cast a soft glow. The room hushed here, the music muted, the din of the crowd drifting off. A quiet exhale slipped from me. And then I heard them. Low voices. I heard the accounts. The figures just don’t match. He’s draining the company dry. The old man has slipped his grip. Time to claim what’s ours.” I froze. The thudding of my heartbeat was so fierce I could feel it ready to burst through my ribs. I leaned into the cool surface of the wall, my knuckles white around the notebook. Additionally, a new voice entered the conversation, smooth and cold. Cold. Familiar. Adrian. “Should you crave a war, you’ll have it,” he murmured, his voice carving through the hallway as if a razor. Yet for a moment, don’t fool yourself into thinking you can prevail. A pause. One of the men snorted in disbelief. “War? Don’t fool yourself. You’re only one man. We are the tide. The empire will fall into the hands of those prepared to get their hands dirty.” “You’re playing with lives,” Adrian barked. This isn’t a contest of statistics. The man let out a quiet chuckle that ebbed into the hush. “And you, Blackwood?” What price will you pay when the house of cards collapses? My skin tingled. These were no idle threats. This wasn’t the sort of conversation you’d overhear in a boardroom. That was blood. Betrayal. I ached to whirl about and dash back to the ballroom’s safety, yet my legs refused to listen. The notebook slid from my clammy grip. The pen I’d been clinging to slid from my fingers, tapping the marble with a faint, sharp clink that reverberated like a clap of thunder in the hush. The conversation lapsed. Footsteps shifted. And Adrian turned. His gaze pinned me. Cold. Piercing. For an instant, I felt sure he could flatten me with that stare alone. I choked on my breath. Yet, behind that sharpness, I caught a glimpse of something else—brutal and evanescent. Desperation. Advancing with deliberate slowness, he left the other men cloaked in shadow. The polished soles of his shoes clacked against the floor, each step growing louder and more weighted until he was standing directly before me. Whispering, he said, “You have no right to be here.” The hallway almost closed in on us, and the air grew thinner. He crowded the hallway until the air grew so tight I could scarcely draw a breath. “I—” “I wasn’t—” You have no idea what you’ve found yourself in. His voice lacked anger. It wasn’t mocking. It was something altogether different. A warning. A plea. I made myself meet his gaze. “Tell me.” His jaw tightened. His hand trembled, as if he longed to reach for me—to smooth my hair back or to touch me in some way—but then he restrained himself. His command was terrifying. “Miss Carter,” he said at last, “walk away.” His voice broke, ever so slightly, as if a pane of glass was beginning to bend. Do it while you still can. I met his eyes, my pulse hammering, every nerve begging me to back away—to yield—yet I remained firmly in place. Footsteps resounded again along the hall. The two men were drawing nearer. Adrian’s face set, the shutters of his mask slamming down over the image I’d just glimpsed. The mask was back. He slid past me, his shoulder just brushing mine, a current racing through my body. A blaze of heat flashed across my skin where we brushed. A hitch caught in my breath, yet he kept moving. He marched back into the glow, his tone terse as he spoke to the men once more. I clung to the wall, shuddering. My hands trembled so violently the notebook slipped almost from my grasp. I couldn’t stop wondering why he’d looked at me like that. Why did his tone ring with desperation, not with menace? On the other side of the walls, the gala’s music rolled in a distant reverberation, violins ascending, laughter reverberating, yet in this hallway, the shadows murmured while power shifted. Walk away. The words reverberated in my head. Yet how could I? I slithered down the wall, pressing my face into my hands, my flesh still aching where his shoulder had brushed mine. No. I couldn’t leave. Not now. A voice from within me murmured that whatever Adrian Blackwood concealed, it belonged not only to him. Somehow it was mine as well. And the harder I tried to puzzle it out, the more frightened I grew. What the hell had I just stepped into?!