THE BLACKWOOD PROPOSAL

CHAPTER ELEVEN - Blackwood Manor

Her breathing became so ragged she feared she was on the verge of a panic attack.

When the tears finally subsided, she drew in a slow breath and wiped her face.

There was no more time.

She pulled a medium-sized travel bag from the wardrobe and unzipped it.

A few changes of clothes.

Her laptop.

Chargers.

The essentials.

Then she crossed to the wall safe.

The steel door swung open with a familiar click.

She carefully lifted out her father’s old flip phone.

The newspaper clippings.

The faded photograph.

Each item disappeared into the bag one after another.

Her eyes drifted to the broken wooden box lying on the bed.

She picked up the tiny strip of faded pink ribbon.

For a long moment, she simply stared at it.

Then she pressed it gently to her lips.

“I’ll find it,” she whispered.

She tucked the ribbon into the smallest compartment of her bag.

After another brief pause, she walked to the far corner of the bedroom with the bag.

She knelt beside the wall.

Anyone unfamiliar with the room would have thought she was simply resting her hand against the floor.

Instead—

She struck one particular floorboard with the heel of her palm.

A dull click echoed beneath the wood.

The board lifted slightly.

She slipped her fingers underneath and raised it.

Hidden inside was a thick brown file wrapped carefully in waterproof plastic.

She removed it slowly.

For a long second…

She simply stared at it. Then she placed it inside her bag.

The floorboard dropped back into place as though it had never been disturbed.

Serena slung the bag over her shoulder and her eyes swept slowly around the apartment one last time.

The tiny kitchen where she and Nina had burnt pancakes.

The couch where they’d watched terrible movies until dawn.

She swallowed hard. “Bye… for now.”

⸻

Damien looked up the moment the apartment door opened.

James straightened from where he had been standing beside the car.

Neither man spoke.

Serena approached with the travel bag hanging from one shoulder.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said quietly.

Damien waited.

“You can call the cleaning company.”

He gave a small nod.

“I will.”

James stepped forward.

“I’ll take your bag, ma’am.”

She surrendered it without protest.

As James loaded it into the trunk, Damien opened the rear passenger door.

She slid inside without a word.

He followed.

The Rolls-Royce pulled away from the curb.

For several minutes…

Only silence occupied the space between them.

Damien glanced sideways.

“…Is your friend alright?”

Serena kept looking out the window.

“I don’t know.”

He studied her profile.

“Did you both argue?”

Silence.

He noticed the slight tremor in her hands.

Without another word, he reached across the seat.

His hand settled gently over hers.

She stiffened in surprise, but didn't pull away.

His grip was neither possessive nor demanding.

It was simply…steady. Warm.

Subconsciously, she heaved a sigh of relief.

⸻

Nearly forty minutes later…

The wrought-iron gates of Blackwood Manor swung open.

The Rolls-Royce rolled smoothly through the entrance.

Fountains sparkled beneath the evening lights.

Perfect gardens stretched in every direction.

The mansion stood ahead like something from another century.

James reached for the door handle.

“I’ll get it.” Damien’s calm voice stopped him. “I’ve got it.”

James immediately withdrew his hand.

Damien climbed out and rounded the car.

Then he looked up.

His expression hardened almost imperceptibly.

Up on the terrace…

Victoria Blackwood sat elegantly beside a small table, a crystal wine glass balanced between graceful fingers.

Ashley stood beside her.

Watching.

Waiting.

Damien’s jaw tightened.

They weren’t supposed to be here.

He forced every trace of irritation from his face before opening Serena’s door.

She accepted his hand as she stepped out.

The instant she straightened, her eyes followed his upward.

She saw them.

Her fingers tightened ever so slightly around his hand.

She looked at him.

You told me she wouldn’t be here.

He gave the smallest shake of his head.

I didn’t know.

Neither of them had spoken.

Neither of them needed to.

Above them, Victoria rose gracefully to her feet.

Ashley folded her arms and followed, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes.

Slowly, deliberately, Victoria descended the marble steps.

Each click of her heels echoed through the evening air.

She stopped a few feet in front of Serena.

Her eyes swept over her from head to toe.

Then her lips curved into a flawless smile.

“Welcome home Mrs Blackwood…”

A deliberate pause.

“Or would you rather I call you… Miss Shakira Baptiste?”