Chapter 8 - The Dark Horse
1488 Words
A single knock sounds at the door at half past nine in the evening, sharp and deliberate, cutting cleanly through the tense quiet of the flat.
Mum is asleep in my room. Exhaustion finally claimed her sometime after dinner, her panic burning itself out until only fear remained. I’d left the door ajar, listening for movement, for signs she might wake and start spiralling again.
The knock comes again.
I freeze.
Reporters have been circling the building since mid-afternoon. I’ve learned to recognise the sounds now, the shuffling feet, the murmured phone calls, the sudden hush when a door opens somewhere nearby. My name has weight outside these walls.
Clara told me I could stay in the flat until the media died down and found a new story, so I wouldn’t leave to an ambush outside.
I don’t answer.
Another knock. Softer this time.
“Rowan,” a man’s voice says. “It’s Ezra.”
I blink.
Ezra.
Lucien’s cousin.
The name floats back to me from overheard conversations and half-remembered articles. The Blackwood who never attends events. The one the press calls elusive when they bother to mention him at all. A footnote in a family of headlines.
I approach the door slowly, peering through the spyhole.
He stands alone in the corridor, hands loose at his sides, dressed in black from head to toe, coat, jumper, boots. His dark hair falls forward slightly, unstyled, and there’s something about the way he holds himself that feels… contained. Like he’s learned how to take up as little space as possible.
I open the door a fraction.
“Yes?”
His gaze lifts to mine, steady and unreadable.
“Thank you,” he says. “For answering.”
I hesitate, then open the door fully.
“Come in.”
He steps inside, glancing around briefly, not assessing, not judging. Just orienting himself.
When I close the door behind him, the flat feels suddenly smaller.
“Your mother?” he asks.
“Asleep.”
He nods. “Good.”
I fold my arms, suddenly conscious of how I look, tired, bare-faced, wrapped in a cardigan that smells faintly of washing powder and stress.
“What do you want, Ezra?”
Straight to the point. I don’t have the energy for politeness.
He meets my gaze. “To speak with you privately.”
“You’re already doing that.”
A pause. Then, “‘May I sit?”
I gesture towards the sofa. He chooses the armchair instead, the same one Eleanor Blackwood claimed days ago. I resist the urge to bristle.
I sit opposite him, mirroring his posture without meaning to.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
Up close, he doesn’t look like Lucien. Where Lucien is sharp-edged and immaculate, Ezra is softer around the eyes, his features worn in a way that suggests sleepless nights rather than indulgence. There’s a faint scar near his eyebrow, pale and thin.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say eventually.
“I know.”
“They’re watching the building.”
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“Because we’re running out of time.”
The words land without cruelty. Without drama.
Just truth.
I laugh quietly. “You sound like him.”
Ezra’s jaw tightens imperceptibly.
“I’m nothing like him,” he says.
“No,” I agree. “You’re not.”
Silence again.
Finally, he exhales slowly, leaning forward, forearms resting on his thighs.
“I’m going to be very clear,” he says. “And then you can tell me to leave.”
I nod once.
“My grandfather’s trust is structured the same way for both of us,” he continues. “Marriage clause. Public legitimacy.”
I stiffen. “I don’t care about Blackwood money anymore.”
“I don’t expect you to,” he replies. “This isn’t about money.”
I stare at him. “Then what is it about?”
Ezra holds my gaze steadily. “You’ve been branded as the problem. The Blackwood’s are extremely successful, they could bury you alive.”
I noticed his formal address of his family, only using their last name, but chose to ignore it.
I shake my head. “I’m not playing their games again.”
“This isn’t their move,” he says. “It’s mine.”
I laugh, sharper this time. “And what exactly is your move?”
He doesn’t hesitate.
“I marry you.”
The room tilts.
I stare at him, certain I’ve misheard.
“You… what?”
“I step in,” he says evenly. “The wedding proceeds. Different groom. Same outcome.”
My heart begins to hammer.
“That’s insane.”
“Possibly.”
“You barely know me.”
“I know enough.”
The phrase sends a shiver down my spine, too close to Lucien’s words.
“I won’t do this again,” I say. “I won’t be humiliated twice.”
“You won’t be,” Ezra replies. “Not like that.”
I stand abruptly, pacing to the window. Outside, a car idles across the street. My reflection stares back at me, eyes bright, skin drawn tight over bone.
“You’ve expect me to believe this is selflessness?”
“No,” he says. “I expect you to believe it’s practical.”
I turn back to him. “Why you?”
“Because I have no intention on doing a disappearing act,” he says quietly. “And because I don’t want what Lucien wants.”
“What do you want, then?”
He considers the question carefully.
“Control over my own life,” he says. “And an end to my grandfather’s leverage.”
I stop pacing.
“You hate them,” I realise.
A corner of his mouth lifts. “I avoid them.”
I stared at him. “So this is all just a revenge thing? You wanna get back at your family by marrying the girl your cousin left? The girl they already hate?”
He shrugged. “It’s a bonus. But really, I’d get my inheritance. I could kinda use the money for some big things. I don’t have family to fall back on like Lucien.”
He then shrugged. “Also, you need the money so I will set some aside for putting you in this dumb mess. You and your mum can live a comfortable life somewhere and leave the Blackwood’s behind you.”
I sink back onto the sofa, suddenly exhausted.
“And the family?” I ask. “Eleanor?”
His eyes darken. “They will object.”
“Strongly.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re fine with that?”
“I’ve been disappointing them for years,” he says. “This would simply be… efficient.”
I stare at the floor, my thoughts racing.
“Lucien won’t allow it,” I say.
Ezra’s gaze sharpens. “Lucien doesn’t get a say anymore.”
The words hang between us, heavy with implication.
I think of the letter in my drawer. Of the suspended funds. Of Mum in my room, dreaming of stability.
“This wouldn’t be real,” I say weakly.
“No,” Ezra agrees. “But it would be convincing.”
“And after?”
“We set terms,” he says. “Clear ones. No intimacy. No performance beyond what’s required.”
“Eighteen months?” I ask quietly.
“Minimum,” he says. “We can negotiate.”
I laugh softly, the sound cracked. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.”
“I can,” Ezra replies. “You’re not what everyone else thinks.”
I look at him then. Really look.
He isn’t smiling. He isn’t trying to sell me anything.
He’s offering something dangerous and terrible and necessary. For me and my Mum, anyway.
“Why not someone from… your world?”
“Because you won’t mistake this for love,” he says simply. “And neither will I.”
The honesty in his voice unsettles me more than any manipulation could have.
“And if I say no?”
He stands.
“Then I leave,” he says. “And you face this alone.”
He pauses at the door, hand on the handle.
“But if you say yes,” he adds. “The world stops tearing you apart.”
I close my eyes.
When I open them, he’s still there. Not pushing.
“Stay,” I say hoarsely.
Ezra turns back.
“We need to talk details,” I continue. “I won’t be owned.”
“Neither will I,” he says.
For the first time since Lucien’s text, something shifts in my chest.
Not hope.
But leverage.
Outside, the cameras wait.
Inside, a new story begins, one no one will see coming.
And I have no idea whether it will save me… or destroy us both.
- Writer
