Bound to Mr. BLACKWOOD

Chapter 3 — The Weight

I didn't sleep.

That probably wasn't surprising, given that a billionaire had proposed a contractual marriage to me the previous morning, my father was hiding something behind a wall of "it's complicated," and there was a mysterious envelope sitting in my childhood photo album that I was absolutely, definitely, completely not thinking about.

I stared at my ceiling until 3am, then gave up, made tea, and sat at the kitchen table in the dark like a person who had their life fully together.

By the time morning came I had made exactly one decision.

I was going to look him in the eye and say no.

---

He was already in when I arrived. I knew because the executive floor light was on, visible from the lobby if you knew where to look, and after three years I always knew where to look.

I told Mrs. Johnson I had prior documentation to attend to on the executive floor. She looked at me over her glasses with the energy of a woman who didn't believe me but couldn't prove otherwise, and waved me through.

The elevator ride up was the longest thirty seconds of my life.

His assistant, a composed woman named Claire who looked like she'd seen everything twice and been impressed by none of it, glanced up when I stepped out.

"Miss Hartwell."

"I need five minutes with him."

"He's on a call."

"I'll wait."

She looked at me for a moment, then picked up her phone, said three words into it too quietly for me to catch, and set it down.

"Go in."

Blackwood was standing at the window when I pushed the door open, phone in hand, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow in a way that felt oddly human for a man I'd spent years thinking of as more corporate structure than actual person. He held up one finger without turning around, said something quiet into the phone, and ended the call.

Then he turned.

"Miss Hartwell." He looked like he'd been expecting me. "Sit down."

"I'd rather stand."

Something shifted at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. "You've defied me four times in the last twenty-four hours. Do you still like working here?"

I met his eyes and sat down slowly, without a word, without apology, like it was entirely my own idea.

Something in his expression settled, almost like approval.

"I came to tell you my answer is no," I said. "I don't know what you think you know about my family, and I don't know what any of it has to do with me marrying you, but whatever it is, there are other ways to handle it."

"There aren't."

"You don't know that."

"I do." He set his phone on the desk and looked at me with those dark, level eyes. "I wouldn't be here if there were."

Something about the way he said it stopped me. Not the words exactly, but the weight underneath them, like this wasn't something he'd arrived at easily. Like he was standing inside a decision he hadn't entirely chosen either.

I hated that it made me pause.

"Why me specifically?" I asked. "Out of every woman in this city, in this building, why does it have to be me?"

He was quiet for a moment. I watched him, the stillness of him, the way he seemed to weigh each word before releasing it, like language was a resource he didn't waste.

"It has to be you," he said finally. "That's all I can give you right now."

"That's not an answer."

"No," he agreed. "It isn't. But it is mine."

I stared at him and he stared back, completely unbothered by my frustration in a way that was both infuriating and, annoyingly, a little impressive.

"Three years?" I said.

"Three years."

"And you won't interfere in my personal life outside of agreed terms?"

"Correct."

"I keep my job?"

"Obviously. I don't need a liability."

"And my family." I held his gaze. "Whatever situation you say you're handling, it gets handled completely. Not partially. Completely."

Something moved behind his eyes. "Agreed."

Every rational part of me was screaming no, lining up the reasons in neat, logical order, pointing at the door and telling me to use it. But I thought of my father's face the night before, the heaviness that had settled into it like something long overdue, and I heard myself say, "I want it in writing. Every single clause. Nothing verbal."

"My attorney will have the draft to you by Friday."

"I want my own attorney to review it."

He looked at me for a half second longer than necessary, something shifting in his expression that wasn't quite surprise but was adjacent to it. "Of course."

Of course, he said. Like it was completely standard. Like we were negotiating a business merger and not my entire life.

Maybe that was exactly what we were doing.

"Is that everything?" he asked.

"No." I picked up my bag. "I want it on record that I think this is insane."

This time the corner of his mouth actually moved. Just barely. "Noted."

I walked to the door, got my hand on the handle, and stopped.

"Mr. Blackwood."

"Yes."

"How do you know about my family's finances?"

The silence stretched a half second too long.

"The draft will explain what it can," he said.

What it can, not what it will.

I filed that distinction away in the back of my mind where I was keeping everything else I didn't have answers for yet, and walked out.

…………

Lucas was waiting in the lobby when the elevator doors opened twenty minutes later. He had two coffees and the expression of a man who had opinions he was about to share whether anyone asked or not.

He held one out. Blackwood took it.

"So," Lucas said, falling into step beside him. "She came to you."

"She came to say no."

"But she didn't."

Blackwood said nothing, which was its own answer.

They walked in silence through the building's private corridor until Lucas said, "John. I need to ask you something and I need you to actually answer me."

"When have I not answered you?"

"Regularly." He took a long sip of his coffee. "Does she know? About any of it? The real reason her father is involved in this?"

Blackwood stopped. Turned to look at his best friend with the particular stillness of a man who kept everything internal by default.

"No," he said.

"And when she finds out?"

The silence stretched longer this time.

"She'll find out when she finds out," he said, and kept walking.

Lucas stood there for a moment, coffee in hand, watching him go.

Then he was already pulling out his phone before he'd made the conscious decision to do it.