A Legacy Entangled

That’s A Romantic Comedy

Celeste opened the apartment door in a robe, hair piled high and her expression stormy.

“You disappeared,” she said. “You didn’t call. I was five minutes away from alerting every emergency contact you have.”

“I’m sorry,” Isadora said, stepping inside and pulling off her heels. “I wasn’t exactly… in control of my night.”

Celeste startled. “Explain.”

Isadora recounted everything—the elevator, the panic attack, Evangeline, the homemade breakfast, the suit, the blindfolded drive and the safehouse.

Celeste’s eyes grew wider with each detail.

“Wait,” she interrupted. “He cooked for you?”

“Technically, yes.”

“He dressed you?”

“He arranged a suit my size.”

“Oh my god, Isadora—he practically nursed you. That’s not business, that’s a romantic comedy.”

Isadora rolled her eyes. “Please. He’s buttering me up to make me lose focus. They’re Blackhearts. They don’t do kindness unless they want something.”

Celeste’s face twisted. “You don’t actually believe that.”

“I know it,” Isadora said flatly.

Celeste leaned forward, her voice softer. “Maybe you’re right. But maybe—just maybe—you need to stop looking at everything through corporate strategy and childhood betrayal. Maybe he’s got a nice heart.”

Isadora saw her opening and took it.

“Oh, please. You think he has a nice heart?”

“He’s got a Blackheart,” Isadora said smugly.

Celeste gave her a flat look. “Isadora.”

Celeste narrowed her eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her.

“I hate you,” she said affectionately.

“No, you don’t.”

They collapsed onto the couch. Outside, the city moved on. But inside, things were shifting. Quietly. Reluctantly.

And definitely not according to plan.

The penthouse was dark when he stepped inside, the skyline beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows glowing with fading orange light. The door clicked shut behind him, muffling the world outside.

He loosened his tie as he walked toward the master bedroom, already anticipating the confrontation.

Vivienne was sitting on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, legs long and bare beneath one of his old dress shirts—her usual costume for starting a fight. She didn’t look at him right away, but the tension in the room was immediate and alive.

“You bailed,” she said flatly.

Sebastian sighed, walked to the wardrobe without answering. He opened the sleek mirrored door, reached for the small velvet pouch, and slid the blindfold inside it before tucking it away in the corner behind his winter scarves. Out of sight.

“I had work,” he said simply.

“That’s not an answer.”

He unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it off as he reached for a fresh one. He’d barely touched the hanger when she moved. Vivienne was beside him in two sharp steps. She grabbed his wrist, her grip more emotional than strong.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Her voice was low, tight.

He met her eyes. “Changing.”

“No,” she said. “You don’t get to walk in here like nothing happened. You disappear for a full day, don’t answer your damn phone, and now you want to play dress-up for dinner?”

“I’m tired,” he said, voice steady but hollow.

Her gaze narrowed, then softened in that dangerous, calculated way she had. She stepped in close, her body brushing his, one hand trailing down his bare chest with practiced ease.

“Then let me take care of that,” she whispered, lips brushing his jaw. “I’ll make it all go away.”

Her fingers found him, bold and uninvited. He inhaled sharply—not from pleasure, but from the sudden shift in temperature, in tone, in control. Vivienne kissed him, slow and aggressive, her hands unrelenting. It was always like this. Fire without warmth. Desire without anchor. He let it happen. He didn't resist, not that he could with the way she was touching him, her skilled fingers and soft lips doing wicked things. Vivienne pushed him back against the wardrobe, the cool wood hard against his skin. She kissed him deeply, tongue delving into his mouth, claiming him, owning him. Her hand continued its relentless stroking, squeezing, coaxing his c**k to full hardness. "You're mine," she breathed against his lips, voice dark with lust.

She walked him backwards until his legs hit the bed. With a shove, she sent him sprawling onto the mattress. Vivienne crawled over him, straddling his hips, dress shirt riding up her thighs. He could see the wetness already dampening the thin fabric between her legs. She grasped his hands, pinning them above his head. Her breasts pressed against his chest as she leaned down, kissing him again, biting at his lower lip. "No touching. Not until I allow it."

Vivienne sat back up, releasing his wrists to reach for the buttons of the shirt. She undid them slowly, torturously, revealing creamy skin and rosy n*****s. The shirt fell open, and she shrugged it off, tossing it aside.

His gaze roamed over her nakedness, taking in the curves he knew so well. She was perfect, all soft angles and enticing dips. His c**k throbbed between them, desperate for her touch.

Vivienne reached down, her hand wrapping around his shaft. She stroked him firmly, base to tip, thumb swirling over the leaking head. "So hard for me already. You want me that badly, baby?"

"Yes," he gasped, hips bucking into her fist. "Fuck."

She smirked, releasing him to trail her fingers up his chest, over his throat, grasping his chin. "Beg for it then."

"Just f**k me."

Her eyes flashed with triumph and dark hunger. She gripped his wrists again, pinning them to the bed as she reached between them. The head of his c**k brushed her slick folds and they both groaned.

"Don't move," she commanded. "Not an inch."

She positioned herself, rubbing him along her slit. His hips twitched, aching to thrust up into her wet heat, but he obeyed. Vivienne teased them both mercilessly before finally sinking down onto him in one smooth glide. They both cried out at the sensation. He was fully sheathed inside her tightness, buried to the hilt. She was so wet, so warm, her walls clenching around him like a vice.

Vivienne began to move, lifting up until just the tip remained inside before slamming back down. She rode him hard and fast, finding her pleasure, chasing her release. The rhythmic sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room along with their harsh pants and moans. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, fighting the urge to touch her, to grab her hips and guide her movements. He gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead from the effort.

"Such a good boy," Vivienne panted above him, breasts bouncing with each roll of her hips. "Taking your punishment so well. Such a willing little f**k toy."

Her words were degrading but he couldn't deny they turned him on. Vivienne used him for her pleasure, treating him like a living s*x doll, and he loved every second of it.

She shifted angles, and he saw stars, pleasure sparking down his spine. "There," he grunted. "f**k, right there."

Vivienne angled her hips just so and rode him deep and fast. Her thighs shook and her breath came in short gasps. "Coming," she choked out. "Oh god, I'm coming."

Her p***y spasmed around him, gripping him like a fist as she climaxed. He felt the wetness flood out to coat his c**k and balls. It was too much, too good.

With a ragged shout, he thrust up into her once, twice, three times before following her over the edge. He grabbed her waist to pull out his c**k from inside of her and released, sending jets of c*m spurting onto her ass globes.

They collapsed together, panting and sweaty. Vivienne slumped against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. She lifted her head, gaze hooded and satisfied. "Good boy," she whispered against his lips before kissing him slow and deep, even though he didn’t release inside her.