Obsessed By Blackwood

Chapter 2– Blackwood Entertainment

Aria POV

The folder sat on my lap like it weighed a hundred pounds.

I didn't open it.

Not right away.

Damien Blackwood watched me with the same calm intensity he'd shown since I walked into his office, as if my hesitation was expected—calculated into the moment. He didn't rush me. Didn't reassure me. Silence, I was starting to realize, was one of his weapons.

"You don't need to decide now," he said finally, leaning back in his chair. "But you will."

It wasn't phrased as encouragement. It was a statement of fact.

I lifted my chin. "Why me?"

The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "I already told you."

"That you don't invest unless you see potential," I said. "That's vague."

His eyes darkened slightly, as if he appreciated the challenge. "Most people who want this life perform," he said. "They chase the idea of being seen. You didn't."

I frowned. "I was auditioning."

"Yes," he agreed. "But you weren't begging the camera to love you. You listened. You reacted. You waited."

I wasn't sure whether to be flattered or unsettled.

"Patience," Damien continued, "is rare in this industry. Especially at your age."

There it was again. The reminder of how young I was compared to him. Compared to this room, this building, this entire world.

"And the conditions?" I asked.

His gaze didn't waver. "Are non-negotiable."

My fingers tightened around the folder.

"I'd like to read it," I said.

"Of course," he replied smoothly.

I opened the folder, my eyes skimming over pages dense with legal language. My name appeared again and again, followed by clauses I only half understood. Development agreement. Exclusivity. Confidentiality. Morality clause. The words blurred together, my heartbeat thudding loudly in my ears.

"This is... a lot," I murmured.

"It's standard," Damien said, repeating my earlier words back to me. "With a few additions."

I looked up. "Additions?"

"Yes."

He stood, rounding the desk slowly. I tracked his movement despite myself, aware of the way his presence shifted the air. He stopped beside me, close enough that I could smell his cologne—something clean and understated, like money and intention.

"You'll live in housing we provide," he said.

I blinked. "Live?"

"Temporary," he clarified. "While you train. It's more efficient."

Efficient. The word made my skin prickle.

"And my apartment?" I asked.

"You won't need it."

That was... sudden.

"I still have a lease," I said weakly.

Damien glanced down at me, his expression unreadable. "Blackwood will handle it."

Handle it. Just like that.

I swallowed. "What about my job?"

"Which one?"

I hesitated. "The café. And—"

"You'll resign," he said calmly. "Both."

I stared at him. "I need the money."

A pause.

"Not anymore," Damien replied.

The confidence with which he said it was terrifying.

I looked back down at the contract, my pulse racing. This wasn't just an opportunity. It was a complete dismantling of my current life. My routines. My safety nets.

My independence.

"And the additional clauses?" I asked quietly.

He didn't answer immediately.

Instead, Damien leaned against the desk beside me, folding his arms. "Blackwood Entertainment values discretion," he said. "Your public image will be curated. Your associations approved. Your schedule controlled."

Controlled.

The word echoed in my mind.

"I won't tell you who to be," he continued. "But I will tell you what you can't afford to be."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "This sounds... restrictive."

"It is," he agreed.

The honesty caught me off guard.

"You will be watched," Damien added, his voice steady. "Guided. Protected."

Protected. Another word that sounded different coming from him. He said it like protection had teeth.

"And if I say no?" I asked, forcing myself to meet his gaze.

For the first time, something flickered there—interest, sharpened.

"Then you'll walk out of this building," he said. "And we'll never have this conversation again."

No threats. No pleading.

Just finality.

The silence stretched between us, thick and charged. I imagined myself leaving, returning to my tiny apartment, my shifts, my endless auditions. Imagined explaining to myself why I'd turned this down.

I couldn't.

"When would this start?" I asked.

Damien's gaze softened—not warm, but satisfied. "Immediately."

⸻

The car ride away from Blackwood Entertainment felt surreal.

The driver didn't speak. He didn't need to. My phone buzzed constantly—emails I didn't read, notifications I didn't process. My mind was still in that office, replaying Damien's voice, his words looping over and over.

You don't need it anymore.

By the time we pulled up outside my apartment building, dusk had settled over the city. The place looked smaller than I remembered, like it already belonged to a different version of me.

"How long do I have?" I asked, gripping my bag.

The driver met my eyes in the rearview mirror. "An hour."

An hour to pack my life.

Inside, my apartment felt cramped and familiar, the air heavy with the scent of cheap candles and reheated dinners. I moved through it in a daze, opening drawers, staring at clothes I'd worn to auditions that went nowhere.

I packed essentials. Toiletries. A few outfits. My worn copy of a script I loved but had never booked.

I hesitated over a framed photo of my parents, then tucked it carefully into my bag.

When my phone buzzed again, I jumped.

Unknown number.

I answered.

"Yes?"

"Did you find everything you need?" Damien asked.

I froze. "How did you—"

"I assumed you'd be packing," he said. "Victor mentioned your lease was uncomplicated."

Of course he'd already looked into it.

"Yes," I said slowly. "I'm almost ready."

"Good," he replied. "The driver will return shortly."

There was a pause.

"This is a lot," I added, the words spilling out before I could stop them.

"I know," Damien said.

Something in his tone made my chest tighten.

"Aria," he continued, using my name deliberately, "if you weren't capable of handling it, I wouldn't have made the offer."

I didn't know why that mattered so much but it did.

⸻

The apartment Blackwood provided was nothing like mine.

It was high-rise, all glass and clean lines, overlooking the city like a throne. The furniture was modern, expensive, untouched. It didn't feel lived in. It felt staged.

"This is temporary," the woman who showed me in said briskly. "Training begins tomorrow morning. You'll receive your schedule shortly."

She handed me a tablet.

"And your phone," she added, holding out a sleek device.

I stared at it. "My phone works fine."

"This one is secure," she said. "Company-issued."

A knot formed in my stomach.

"What about my number?" I asked.

"It will be transferred," she replied. "Your contacts will be filtered."

Filtered.

I accepted the phone.

Once she left, the silence pressed in. I wandered through the apartment, trailing my fingers over surfaces that felt too perfect to be real. My bag sat by the door, a reminder that I didn't quite belong here.

My new phone buzzed.

A message.

Damien Blackwood:

Rest tonight. Tomorrow will be demanding.

I stared at the screen.

I hadn't given him my number.

Before I could respond, another message appeared.

Damien Blackwood:

And Aria, welcome to Blackwood.

My reflection stared back at me from the dark glass of the window, city lights stretching endlessly below.

For the first time since that phone call in the coffee shop, a tremor of something like fear settled deep in my chest.

Not because I'd said yes.

But because I was starting to understand that Blackwood Entertainment wasn't just a company.

It was a world.

And Damien Blackwood was at its center, watching, waiting.

And somehow, without realizing when it happened, I had stepped directly into his orbit.