Hard to Handle

A Passionate Collaboration

The Mandarin Oriental opening was a triumph. Critics raved about the "unexpected warmth" and "emotional resonance" of the design. Lucian spent the entire gala with his hand resting possessively at the small of Amara's back, his pride evident every time someone complimented her work.

"You've ruined me," he confessed later, pressing her against the wall of their hotel suite. "No other designer will ever compare."

Amara laughed breathlessly as his lips trailed down her neck. "That was the plan all along."

Lucian pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. "Marry me."

It wasn't a question.

And when she said yes, he kissed her like a man who'd finally found his perfect design.

The spiral staircase was going to be the centerpiece of the Miami hotel—Amara was sure of it.

She had spent three sleepless nights perfecting the design, ensuring every step felt like a discovery. But the moment she presented it to Lucian, his expression darkened.

"No." He tossed the sketch onto the table with a dismissive flick of his wrist. "It's impractical. A waste of space."

Amara's grip tightened around her pencil. "Since when does 'Blackwood luxury' mean boring?"

The air between them crackled. Lucian's jaw tensed as he stood, his imposing frame casting a shadow over her drafting table. "We don’t do whimsical. We do timeless."

"Timeless doesn’t mean soulless." She stood too, refusing to back down. "This staircase isn’t just functional—it’s an experience. It’s the kind of detail guests remember."

Lucian snatched the sketch, crumpling it in his fist. "We’re not building a damn theme park."

Amara yanked it back, their fingers brushing—a spark of electricity shooting through her at the contact. She didn’t let go. Neither did he.

For a heartbeat, they stood frozen, the tension between them shifting from professional to something far more dangerous. His gray eyes darkened, dropping to her lips.

Then his assistant, Jeremy, cleared his throat from the doorway. "Sir, the board is waiting."

Lucian released her like she’d burned him. "We’ll discuss this later."

Amara exhaled shakily. Later sounded like a promise—and a threat.

Amara didn’t realize Lucian had followed her until she heard his sharp inhale.

She was sitting on the design studio floor, an old photograph in her hands—her father standing proudly in front of his last project before everything fell apart.

Lucian crouched beside her, his usual arrogance softened by curiosity. "Who is that?"

"My father." Her voice was barely a whisper. "He was an architect. A brilliant one."

Lucian studied the photo—the hopeful smile, the faded blueprints. "What happened?"

Amara swallowed hard. "He trusted the wrong people. Clients stole his designs, leaving him with nothing. He died before he could rebuild his name."

Lucian’s gaze flickered with understanding. "You’re afraid of ending up like him."

She stiffened. "And you’re afraid of being anything but Lucian Blackwood."

For once, he didn’t argue.

Sophia Laurent’s perfume announced her before she spoke—a cloud of expensive roses that made Amara’s nose itch.

"You must be the cleaner." Sophia smirked, circling Amara’s meticulously crafted hotel model. "How… quaint."

Amara forced a polite smile. "I’m the lead designer on this project."

Sophia’s perfectly manicured finger tapped the delicate balcony railing. "For now."

Then—snap. The railing broke off in her hand.

Amara’s breath caught. That piece had taken her hours.

Before she could react, Lucian’s voice cut through the room like a blade. "Fix it."

Sophia blinked. "Lucian, darling—"

"Fix it," he repeated, stepping between them, "or I’ll blacklist you from every firm in Manhattan."

Sophia’s smile faltered. For the first time, Amara saw fear in her eyes.

The board’s rejection hit like a gut punch.

"Too feminine," they’d called Amara’s designs. "Not the Blackwood standard."

And Lucian—Lucian—hadn’t let her defend herself.

"You’re protecting your reputation, not me," she accused, storming into his office.

He barely looked up from his desk. "This isn’t personal. It’s business."

Amara laughed bitterly. "Funny. My father said the same thing before he lost everything."

She threw her contract at him. "I quit."

Amara expected Lucian to chase her.

She didn’t expect him to arrive at her tiny apartment with a single envelope—and the keys to Blackwood Global.

"The board approved your designs," he said quietly. "And my resignation."

Amara’s hands shook as she opened the envelope. Inside was a deed—the company, transferred to her name.

Lucian’s smirk was softer now. "It’s yours. I’ll be the billionaire who loves you."

And when he kissed her, it felt like coming home.