Chapter Three: Glass Hearts and Blackmail
997 Words
Mornings in Willowgreen were usually quiet—a silence Adaya found comforting. But not today.
Today, the stillness was broken.
Her phone had rung four times before seven a.m., vibrating across the nightstand like it had a score to settle. She ignored the first three. The fourth pulled her from under her white cashmere blanket.
The number was unfamiliar, but the intention? Clear.
Not Shantel—she knew better.
Not Emerald—she never woke before nine.
Her parents respected her mornings like sacred ground.
That left one person.
One arrogant, dangerously composed man who wore black like a signature and had a voice that could undress secrets.
She answered.
“If this is your idea of flirting, Mr. Blackwood, you need a therapist.”
A low chuckle greeted her. “Good morning to you too, Alaster.”
Adaya pressed her thumb and middle finger to her temples. She hated how quickly his voice slipped beneath her skin.
“How did you get my number?”
“I’m in logistics. Finding what I want is part of the job.”
“You should find a hobby.”
“Currently entertaining one.”
She rolled her eyes and walked barefoot across the cool marble tiles, letting the city morning pour through the glass walls of her penthouse. Steam curled from her untouched coffee. Adelaide’s skyline still yawned beneath dawn’s first light.
Before she could hang up, his voice lowered—intentionally.
“Check your email. I sent something over. Business—not pleasure. This time.”
He disconnected. No goodbye.
Just like him.
She hesitated. Part of her didn’t want to know. But curiosity, especially when packaged in a tall, cold-blooded suit, was harder to resist than she liked.
She opened her inbox.
And froze.
It was a direct proposal from Blackwood Trans-Logistics. Clean. Lucrative. Legally pristine. Higher percentages for Alaster Logistics, reduced distribution bottlenecks, direct link ports, priority warehousing, and a redirection clause that guaranteed exclusivity for four international hubs.
The kind of deal companies fought tooth and nail for.
Her company wasn’t even actively courting new partnerships. Salvatore was creating opportunity—and slipping in through the gaps.
Adaya tapped her phone again. “Shantel. Boardroom. Ten. Full legal presence. I want this dissected.”
---
By 9:58 a.m., she stood at the head of the glass boardroom at Alaster HQ. A temple of polished ambition, with sunlight bleeding in through floor-to-ceiling windows, dancing across polished wood and chrome accents.
She was dressed in ivory silk slacks, a high-collared blouse, and pointed heels the color of bone. Regal. Composed. Untouchable.
As her team flipped through the deal’s details, Adaya didn’t miss the way it was making her senior advisors nervous.
It was too good.
Too efficient.
Too Salvatore.
She was halfway through a clause on international taxation when the boardroom door opened—not with hesitation, but command.
And I walked in trouble.
Tall. Tailored. With a stare that stole sound.
Salvatore Blackwood didn’t enter rooms. He changed them.
He wore a black-on-black ensemble again—his signature—and a steel-gray tie like smoke around his throat. His eyes, storm-dark, locked on hers the moment he stepped inside.
He didn’t glance at the advisors. He didn’t ask for permission to sit.
He simply moved to the chair beside hers and claimed it.
She leaned toward him slightly, her voice low. “Crashing board meetings now?”
“You didn’t say I couldn’t come.”
“I didn’t say you could, either.”
He gave her that infuriating half-smile. “You like rules. I like rewriting them.”
The meeting resumed, but Adaya barely registered the words. Her entire body was alert, her thoughts twisting like ribbon—equal parts intrigue and irritation.
And then, he slid something across the table.
A white envelope. Sealed.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Your version of a bribe?” she whispered.
“No,” he murmured. “A truth you haven’t seen yet.”
She didn’t touch it.
Not yet.
---
An hour later, in the solitude of her glass-walled office, she opened it.
Inside were photos. Crisp. High-resolution. Intentional.
Brandon.
Meeting a woman outside a hotel in Kentworth Heights. Exchanging a flash drive. Another shot: the woman slipping a folded paper into his jacket. Then he smiled—same cocky smirk, same dangerous energy she once mistook for charm.
More photos.
Elara. Brandon. Together. Cozy. Planning.
But the last one?
It hit like ice down her spine.
Brandon. Standing across from her apartment building. Two nights ago. Looking up.
Watching.
There was a note attached—just five words.
> Clean your past.
Before it dirties your future.
— S
She sat slowly. Her heartbeat wasn’t loud—but it was steady. Too steady.
Brandon had been trying to reach her lately. Calls. Emails. Apologies cloaked in desperation. She ignored them all.
Now she knew why he’d suddenly reappeared.
She thought she’d closed that chapter. Apparently, it was waiting to bleed into this one.
Her phone buzzed again. Unknown Number.
She didn’t pick up. Not immediately.
She needed a moment to think.
She walked across the room, shoes clicking like gunshots, until she reached the balcony. Adelaide glowed below—an organized, charming city, but beneath that charm, shadows writhed.
And Salvatore? He moved within them.
She finally texted back.
> That’s a lot of trouble to go through for someone you barely know.
His reply came instantly.
> I know enough. And I don’t like unhandled threats hovering near people I’m interested in.
She stared at the words.
People.
She replied:
> People? Plural?
Another beat. Then:
> No. Just you.
Adaya stared into the skyline, wine-red clouds sinking behind the skyscrapers. A slow breath escaped her lips.
She wasn’t used to being chased.
She wasn’t used to being protected either—not like this.
But Salvatore wasn’t asking for permission.
And for the first time in years, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to stop him.
- Writer
