Chapter 30
910 Words
The office air was thick with tension. The Camden deal had become a storm cloud above everyone’s heads, but for Rhea and Damian, it was more than business—it had become personal.
Rhea stood across from him, arms folded, her voice low but sharp. “You’re not listening, Damian. If we go through with this version of the proposal, we’re compromising everything we’ve built the last eight months.”
Damian narrowed his eyes, his tone clipped. “What you built, Rhea, was a branding frame. I’m talking about the financial core.”
Her jaw clenched, but she kept her voice steady. “And what I built gave your company a beating heart. Don’t throw it out just because it’s inconvenient.”
There was silence between them. Heated. Personal. She turned to leave, but Damian’s voice stopped her cold.
“You think you know everything, don’t you?”
She turned slowly, something fragile flickering behind her eyes. “I know what I’ve worked for. And I know what I’m worth.”
He looked at her then—not like a boss, not like a man in charge. Like a man confused by something he couldn't define. Something deeper. Something real.
Damian had spent the morning in his office with blinds half-drawn, staring at the report that sat unopened for hours. His assistant, Ethan, had handed it to him with a knowing glance.
“Her file, sir. As you asked.”
He’d nodded, slipped the envelope into his drawer, then tried to forget it. But now, after that argument, he needed answers.
He opened the report slowly, scanning the contents, letting each section settle into his mind. He read every line with quiet intensity.
---
Confidential Background Report: Rhea Elaine Blackwell
Date of Birth: August 19, 1999
Age: 26
Nationality: American
Current Address: Midtown, Manhattan, New York
Marital Status: Single
Known Aliases: None
Social Security Number: Verified
Driver’s License: NY State Valid
Email: r.blackwell.designs@gmail.com
Phone: (212) -*
---
Occupation
Current: Senior Brand Strategist at Cole Global (8 months)
Previous: Associate Designer at BluEast Media (2.5 years)
Freelance: “R. Blackwell Creative Studio”
Reputation: Clean. Brilliant. Focused.
---
Education
Parsons School of Design – BFA in Communication Design, Class of 2020
Graduated with Distinction
Scholarship: Parsons Creative Leadership
Certifications: Adobe Suite Mastery, Digital Branding (Coursera)
---
Family
Mother: Meredith Blackwell, 58 – Retired Librarian (Vermont)
Father: Edward Blackwell – Deceased (Cancer, 2011), Literature Teacher
Siblings:
Noah Blackwell, 22 – Env. Science Student, UVM
Elise Blackwell, 19 – Barista, Aspiring Photographer
Extended:
Aunt: Caroline Abrams (PT, Boston)
Uncle: Thomas Blackwell (Retired Firefighter)
Cousins: Jamie Abrams (MIT), Laura Blackwell (Chicago)
---
Behavioral Notes:
No flagged activity.
Perfect credit.
Composed. Private. Focused.
---
Damian leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. Nothing suspicious. Nothing odd.
And maybe that was what unsettled him most.
She was too perfect. Too quiet. The kind of woman who didn’t make waves until she did. He thought about the way her voice trembled with restraint earlier, the way her eyes seemed to hold so many secrets he wasn’t allowed to touch.
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.
It was Rhea.
She stepped inside, calmer now. “I didn’t come to argue,” she said. “I came to explain.”
He gestured for her to sit, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The room was filled with unspoken words.
“I know I push too hard sometimes,” she said quietly. “But I’ve had to. People don’t always take me seriously.”
Damian studied her. “You think I don’t?”
“I don’t know what you think,” she replied, eyes holding his. “And I don’t think you know either.”
He hesitated. Then spoke without thinking. “My father was the kind of man who could fill a room with silence. He didn’t need to yell. He just had to look at you. You’d feel small.”
Rhea blinked.
“I grew up learning how to be quiet to survive. My mother left when I was thirteen. I didn’t follow her. I thought staying would prove something. That I could be strong, that I could handle him.”
She listened, her expression shifting.
“I’ve never told anyone that,” Damian said.
Rhea’s voice softened. “Why me?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because you’re the first person who looks at me and sees something I’m not sure I see myself.”
She swallowed hard, clearly shaken. She wanted to tell him everything in that moment—about who she was, why she came, what she’s been hiding—but the words wouldn’t come.
So she asked instead, “Do you trust me?”
He paused. “I’m trying to.”
She nodded. “Then let me help with Camden.”
He nodded once, and she stood.
But as she turned to leave, he called after her.
“Rhea.”
She looked back.
“I read your file.”
Her breath caught—but she masked it. “And?”
“You have a beautiful family.”
She smiled faintly. “They mean everything to me.”
He watched her go, heart heavier than it had been all week. And when the door closed behind her, he looked down at her file again, wondering why something about it still didn’t sit right.
Not wrong. Not fake. Just... too clean.
And Rhea Blackwell? She was anything but simple.
- Writer
