Obsessed By Blackwood

Chapter 6– His Rules

New York changed him.

Or maybe it only revealed what had always been there.

The city met Damien Blackwood like an equal—sharp edges, relentless pace, glass and steel reflecting ambition back at itself. He moved through it with effortless authority, as though every street, every building, had been designed with him in mind.

And I walked half a step behind.

Not because he asked me to.

Because instinct told me to.

The hotel suite occupied the entire top floor. When the doors opened, I was hit with the quiet luxury of it—soft lighting, muted colors, windows stretching from floor to ceiling, the city glittering below like a private possession.

"This is temporary," I said, more to myself than to him.

Damien removed his jacket, draping it carefully over a chair. "Everything is."

He loosened his cuffs, rolling his sleeves with deliberate precision. I noticed how different he seemed here—less restrained than in Los Angeles, less observant and more decisive, as if New York stripped away the need for pretense.

"You'll be staying here," he said.

"With you?" I asked before thinking.

He looked at me slowly. "Is that a problem?"

The question wasn't innocent. It wasn't a trap either. It was an assessment.

"I wasn't told," I said carefully.

"You were informed," Damien replied. "You're with me."

The way he said it made my pulse stutter.

"I assumed there would be separate rooms," I added.

"There are," he said. "This is a suite."

Relief and disappointment arrived at the same time.

He crossed the room, stopping near the window. "Come here."

I obeyed, my feet moving before my thoughts caught up.

He gestured toward the city. "Look."

I did. New York sprawled beneath us, alive and unapologetic, lights pulsing like a heartbeat.

"This is where control matters," Damien said. "One misstep here becomes a spectacle."

I folded my arms loosely. "Are you warning me?"

"I'm preparing you," he corrected.

He turned to face me, expression serious now, stripped of its usual cool detachment.

"From this point forward," Damien said, "there are rules."

The word landed heavily.

I tilted my head. "Rules for what?"

"For access," he replied. "For protection. For continuation."

I met his gaze. "Continuation of what?"

"Us," he said simply.

The honesty of it stole my breath.

"We're not—" I started.

"Don't insult either of us by pretending you don't feel the shift," Damien said quietly. "You're not naïve. And I don't waste proximity."

I swallowed. "Then tell me the rules."

He studied me for a long moment, as if deciding how much truth I could handle.

"Rule one," he said. "You do not speak to the press. Ever. Not without my approval."

"That's reasonable," I said.

"It's non-negotiable," he replied. "You will smile, you will walk, you will exist—but you will not speak."

I nodded.

"Rule two," Damien continued. "Your schedule belongs to me. Deviations require explanation."

"That sounds... excessive," I said.

"Visibility is currency," he replied. "And you're expensive."

I bristled. "I'm not an object."

"No," he agreed. "You're a liability if unmanaged."

The bluntness stung more than I expected.

"Rule three," he said, stepping closer. "No private meetings without disclosure. Directors, producers, investors—anyone."

"What about friends?" I asked.

"You don't have any here," he said calmly.

The words hit harder than they should have.

"And rule four?" I asked, my voice quieter now.

Damien hesitated.

That alone made my chest tighten.

"Rule four," he said slowly, "is personal."

I waited.

"You don't give yourself away casually," he continued. "Not emotionally. Not physically."

Heat crept up my neck. "That's not your decision."

"No," he said softly. "But it is my boundary."

I searched his face. "Why?"

"Because attachment complicates leverage," he replied.

"And you don't want competition," I said before I could stop myself.

Something dangerous flickered in his eyes.

"I don't tolerate dilution," Damien said.

Silence pressed in around us, thick and intimate.

"And if I don't agree?" I asked.

He didn't hesitate.

"Then this ends," Damien said. "Cleanly."

The certainty in his voice made my stomach drop.

"You'd really walk away?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "I don't chase."

I turned back to the window, needing distance. The city felt closer now, like it was listening.

"These rules," I said slowly, "they don't sound like professional boundaries."

"They aren't," Damien replied.

I faced him again. "Then what are they?"

He stepped into my space, close enough that I could smell his cologne—dark, restrained, unmistakably him.

"They're terms," he said. "Of proximity."

My heart hammered. "You're asking for control."

"I'm offering structure," he corrected.

"And what do I get?" I asked.

Damien lifted a hand, not touching me, but close enough that the air between us seemed charged.

"Access," he said. "Protection. Influence. Longevity."

"And you?" I asked.

"I get certainty," he replied. "And focus."

The words should have frightened me.

Instead, they grounded something restless inside my chest.

"I need time," I said.

"You have tonight," Damien replied. "Tomorrow, we begin."

"Begin what?" I asked.

He smiled faintly. "Visibility."

The evening unfolded like a rehearsal. Stylists arrived. Dresses were laid out like offerings. I stood while hands adjusted fabric, while Damien watched from the armchair, silent and intent.

He didn't comment.

He didn't need to.

When I finally emerged in a sleek black dress that felt like confidence stitched into silk, his gaze sharpened.

"You'll do," he said.

"That's it?" I asked.

"That's everything," he replied.

The dinner was a blur of faces and introductions. Names blurred together—powerful people with practiced smiles, eyes lingering on me with interest and calculation.

Damien's hand rested lightly at the small of my back the entire time.

A claim disguised as guidance.

When someone laughed too loudly, Damien leaned in and murmured, "Ignore him."

When someone asked too many questions, Damien answered for me.

By the time we returned to the suite, my head ached from restraint.

I slipped off my heels, letting them fall to the floor. "That was exhausting."

"You did well," Damien said, loosening his tie.

He paused, studying me. "You followed every rule."

"So far," I replied.

He approached slowly. "Do you intend to break them?"

I hesitated. "I don't like being managed."

"I know," he said. "That's why I'm precise."

I looked up at him, suddenly tired of careful words. "And what happens if I fail?"

His expression hardened, just enough to be unmistakable.

"Break them," Damien said quietly, "and I withdraw everything."

My breath caught.

"Everything?" I echoed.

"Support. Access. Protection," he said. "And my interest."

The last part landed hardest.

I searched his face for hesitation.

There was none.

"This is conditional," I whispered.

"Yes," he said. "All power is."

Silence stretched between us, electric and fragile.

Finally, I nodded. "Then I won't break them."

Damien studied me for a long moment, then reached out—just once—brushing his thumb beneath my chin, lifting my gaze to his.

"Good," he said. "Because I don't offer second chances."

He stepped back, restoring distance as abruptly as he'd crossed it.

"Get some rest," Damien added. "Tomorrow, the world starts paying attention."

I watched him disappear into the other room, the door closing softly behind him.

Alone again, I pressed a hand to my chest, my heart racing.

Because I knew the truth now.

These weren't just rules.

They were a line.

And if I crossed it, I wouldn't just lose the life Damien Blackwood was building around me.

I'd lose him.