chapter three: Ruthless Billionaire
1077 Words
The Blackwood Estate did not feel like a home.
It felt like a fortress.
Elara realized this the moment the iron gates slid open, revealing a long, winding driveway flanked by towering hedges and stone walls that disappeared into the distance. Cameras were mounted discreetly along the perimeter, their dark lenses following the car’s movement like unblinking eyes.
She sat rigid in the back seat, her suitcase beside her, her hands clenched in her lap.
This is where I disappear, she thought.
The car rolled to a stop before a massive glass-and-stone structure that looked more like a modern palace than a residence. Clean lines. Sharp angles. Cold beauty. Everything about the place screamed wealth, control, and absolute authority.
A man in a tailored suit opened her door.
Welcome, Mrs. Blackwood, he said politely.
The title hit her like a slap.
I’m not she began, then stopped.
Correcting him wouldn’t change anything.
She stepped out, her legs shaky, and stared up at the estate. The front doors opened before she reached them, revealing a tall woman with silver-streaked hair pulled into a tight bun.
I’m Margaret, the woman said crisply. Head of household staff. Follow me.
No warmth. No curiosity. Just expectation.
Inside, the house was eerily quiet. Sunlight streamed through expansive windows, reflecting off marble floors and minimalist furniture. Everything was immaculate. Untouched.
Margaret led her through hallways that felt endless.
Your room is on the east wing, she said. Mr. Blackwood prefers minimal disruption.
Elara swallowed. Does he live here often?
Margaret paused, then looked at her with something resembling pity. Mr. Blackwood lives wherever he chooses.
That didn’t answer the question.
They reached a set of double doors. Margaret pushed them open.
This will be yours, she said.
Elara stepped inside and froze.
The room was enormous. A king-sized bed dressed in neutral tones. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking manicured gardens. A sitting area. A walk-in closet larger than her entire bedroom back home.
It was beautiful.
And it felt wrong.
Dinner is at eight, Margaret continued. You are expected to attend.
Expected, Elara repeated quietly.
Margaret met her gaze. Yes.
The woman turned and left, the doors closing softly behind her.
Elara stood alone in the center of the room, her suitcase still untouched.
She exhaled slowly.
This was real.
She moved to the window and pressed her palm against the glass. Outside, the gardens stretched endlessly, perfectly trimmed, impossibly symmetrical.
No gaps. No hiding places.
Her chest tightened.
She unpacked slowly, folding her clothes into drawers that smelled faintly of cedar and something expensive she couldn’t name. Her journal she hid beneath a stack of sweaters. Her mother’s necklace she clasped around her neck, the cool metal grounding her.
When the clock on the wall struck eight, she hadn’t moved.
A knock sounded at the door.
Yes? she called.
A young woman stood there this time, her smile tight. Dinner, Mrs. Blackwood.
Elara followed her downstairs to a dining room that could seat twenty people but held only two place settings. Adrian sat at the head of the table, dressed in dark slacks and a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms.
He didn’t look up when she entered.
Sit, he said.
She took the seat farthest from him.
The meal was served in silence courses she barely touched. Her appetite had vanished.
Adrian finally lifted his gaze to her. You didn’t eat.
I’m not hungry, she replied.
You need strength, he said flatly. This isn’t a life for the weak.
She bristled. I didn’t choose this life.
No, he agreed. But you will adapt to it.
She stared at him. Do you enjoy this?
He set his fork down. Define enjoy.
Controlling people, she said. Breaking them.
I don’t break people, Adrian said calmly. People break themselves. I simply provide the pressure.
Her stomach churned.
Why did you really do this? she asked suddenly.
His eyes narrowed slightly. We’ve already discussed
No, she interrupted. You didn’t have to marry me. You could have taken the money back a hundred other ways.
Silence stretched.
Finally, he said, Because I needed a wife.
She laughed humorlessly. For what? Appearances?
For stability, he replied. For protection.
Protection from who? she pressed.
His jaw tightened. You’re not asking the right questions.
She leaned back in her chair. Then enlighten me.
You don’t need to know everything, Adrian said. You need to follow the rules.
And what are those? she asked.
He stood, towering over the table. Rule one: You do not leave the estate without permission.
Her heart sank.
Rule two: You do not speak to the press.
Rule three, he continued, walking closer, you do not attempt to undermine me.
She met his gaze defiantly. And if I do?
His eyes darkened. Then you will learn why people fear my name.
A chill ran through her.
I’m not your enemy, she said quietly.
No, he replied. You’re my responsibility.
The word settled over her like chains.
That night, Elara lay awake in the massive bed, staring at the ceiling. The house was silent, but she felt watched. Trapped.
Somewhere down the hall, a door opened and closed.
She turned onto her side, clutching her necklace.
I won’t stay here forever, she promised herself.
Days passed in a blur of isolation.
She was shown the library, the gym, the gardens but always with someone nearby. Watching. Reporting.
Adrian was often gone, leaving early and returning late. When he was home, his presence filled every room he entered. The staff straightened. The air shifted.
One afternoon, Elara wandered into the library and found him there, speaking sharply into his phone.
I don’t care what it costs, he snapped. Handle it.
He ended the call and turned to her.
You shouldn’t be here, he said.
It’s a library, she replied. For reading.
This wing is private.
So is my life, she shot back.
Something flickered in his eyes annoyance, perhaps grudging respect.
You’re testing boundaries, he said.
I’m reminding you I exist, she replied.
He studied her for a long moment. You’re not afraid of me.
I am, she admitted. I just refuse to let that control me.
A pause.
Fear keeps people alive, Adrian said quietly.
So does hope, she replied.
He turned away. Hope is dangerous.
She watched him leave, her heart pounding.
That night, she began to count.
Security shifts. Camera placements. Door locks.
Every cage had a weakness.
She would find his.
- Writer
