Bound by Blackwood

Chapter 4

Elena

I decided to take the train to Empire Gate, much to Sophia’s disappointment. She had wanted to book me a cab into the city, but that would cost an arm and a leg, and she had already done more than enough for me.

The train ride to Empire Gate takes about four hours. Four hours to sit with my thoughts, to rehearse what I might say if… when I manage to get an audience with Adrian Blackwood. A man like him doesn’t just open his doors to anyone. To meet him, one usually needs an appointment, a connection, or sheer luck. I had none of those.

Still, I refused to let that stop me.

The train jolted into motion, carrying me steadily away from the quiet safety of my small town and into the unforgiving heart of the city. Outside the window, green fields blurred into the distance, dotted with farms and rust-colored rooftops that looked almost peaceful in the morning sun. I envied that peace. My own thoughts were anything but calm.

I tried to picture the moment I would stand before Blackwood. What would I say first? Every line I rehearsed in my head sounded either childish or hollow, and I found myself muttering under my breath, then quickly stopping when I caught the curious glance of the man in the seat across from me.

I leaned back and closed my eyes, letting the rhythmic clatter of the train on the tracks steady me. I could almost hear Sophia’s voice in my head, firm, encouraging, and stubborn as always. You’ll figure it out, Carter. You always do.

By the third hour, the countryside gave way to steel bridges and stretches of concrete, the first signs of Empire Gate creeping closer. My heart began to hammer harder with each passing mile. There was no turning back now.

When the train finally slowed into the grand terminal, I rose with the other passengers, clutching the strap of my bag so tightly my knuckles whitened. The air here felt different: sharper, faster, alive with the hum of countless voices and hurried footsteps.

Empire Gate was a world of glass towers and rushing taxis, a place where everyone seemed to know exactly where they were going, except me.

I stepped out into the bustle, swallowed by the crowd, and tilted my head upward. Even from here, miles away, I could already see the skyline dominated by one particular tower, sleek and gleaming like a blade: Trident Global Headquarters.

And somewhere at the top of that tower, waiting like a king in his castle, was Adrian Blackwood.

Thank goodness for the brown envelope. Sophia had pressed it into my hand that morning with a look that was equal parts worry and command. Take it. Don’t argue with me. You’ll need it. I had hated accepting the money and hated how heavy it felt in my bag, but now, as the black sedan pulled away from the train station and sped into the city, I admitted to myself that without it, I wouldn’t have made it this far.

The car ride from the terminal to Trident Global Headquarters was only twenty minutes, but every passing block felt like a step closer to a cliff I couldn’t see the bottom of. Empire Gate swallowed me whole. Buildings climbed higher, glass shimmering like armor against the sky. The streets were a symphony of horns and hurried footsteps, the energy of the city sharp enough to cut through bone.

And then I saw it.

Trident Global.

The tower wasn’t just tall, it was commanding, the kind of skyscraper that forced you to tilt your head all the way back just to take it in. Sleek black glass and steel caught the sunlight, throwing it back in cold flashes. It wasn’t just a building. It was a statement: Power lives here. Wealth lives here. You do not belong here.

I swallowed, pressing a palm to my knees as the car slowed at the gates.

Two uniformed guards stood under the wrought-iron archway, rifles slung casually but ready, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. Cameras followed every angle of the street. The gate itself opened with a slow, mechanical authority that reminded me of a vault door.

This wasn’t just corporate security. It felt military.

The sedan rolled through, but before it could continue up the polished drive, one of the guards raised a hand. The driver leaned out to explain, but the guard’s gaze shifted to me in the back seat.

“Visitor?” he asked, his voice flat.

I pushed the door open and stepped out, clutching my bag. “I’m here to see Mr. Blackwood.”

The silence that followed stretched like a rubber band about to snap.

The guard’s brows ticked upward, barely. He looked at me the way a priest might look at someone claiming they had an appointment with God Himself. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” I admitted. “But it’s urgent. Please. I just need a chance to speak with him.”

The second guard, broader and older, let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Nobody sees Mr. Blackwood without an appointment.”

“I… I understand,” I said quickly, trying to hold my ground. “But this is important. If you could just let him know I’m here… ”

The first guard cut me off with a small shake of his head. “Ma’am, even board members wait months for an audience. CEOs from Fortune 500 companies beg for half an hour of his time. Do you think he takes unscheduled visitors off the street?”

My cheeks burned, but I lifted my chin. “I don’t care how impossible it sounds. I need to see him. Please.”

The older guard sighed, as though I were a child asking to be let into a forbidden playground. “You don’t get it. He doesn’t do walk-ins. He doesn’t do favors. People wait years to meet Adrian Blackwood. Years. If you don’t have an appointment, you’re not even setting foot inside that lobby.”

Still, I didn’t move. My feet rooted themselves to the pavement as if leaving would mean abandoning my father all over again. “Then I’ll wait,” I said, my voice trembling but determined. “I’ll wait until he has an opening. I don’t care if it takes all day. Or all week.”

The younger guard’s jaw clenched. “That’s not how it works.”

My heart hammered, but I pressed on. “Then tell me how it works. Tell me what I have to do, and I’ll do it. But I’m not leaving without trying.”

They exchanged a glance, the kind of silent conversation that said, "This girl is going to be trouble."

“Step aside, ma’am,” the older one ordered. “This isn’t a charity office. This is the headquarters of one of the most powerful corporations in the country. Mr. Blackwood isn’t a man you just see. He doesn’t even see senators without three weeks’ notice.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it, my throat tight.

I wanted to blurt it out, to tell them about my father, about the house, about the prison bars that were swallowing him whole. But the words caught like glass shards in my mouth. No. Blackwood had to hear it from me directly. No one else.

So instead I said, firmly, “I need to speak with him. And I’m not leaving until I do.”

The guards stiffened, clearly unused to defiance. One of them muttered into his radio, no doubt alerting someone higher up the chain that an unmovable girl was blocking the entrance. People passing through the gates slowed, staring at me curiously as they were waved in, their visitor passes flashing green against the scanners.

I must have looked pathetic, standing there in my plain clothes, clutching my bag like a lifeline, insisting on the impossible. But I couldn’t let their stares shake me.

“I understand if he can’t see me right this moment,” I added, my voice sharper now, stronger. “But I’m not leaving. Not until I’ve had the chance to ask him myself. If you want me gone, you’ll have to drag me out.”

The younger guard rubbed his forehead in frustration. The older one muttered something about “calling upstairs.”

Inside my chest, my heart raced. I knew I was pushing too hard, knew that a single word from Blackwood’s staff could have me thrown out on the curb… or worse. But standing there, with the towering building glinting down at me like an untouchable king, I felt something spark inside me. A stubbornness I didn’t even know I had.

Because this wasn’t just a building. It wasn’t just a man at the top floor. It was my father’s only chance. And I wasn’t leaving without a fight.

I watched as the guards’ patience thinned like stretched wire. Around us the city’s pulse continued: luxury cars gliding in, briefcases swinging, people flicking their visitor passes with bored indifference, but here, under the iron arch, time had congealed. The older guard stepped forward, his bulk a deliberate barrier.

“Ma’am,” he said, softer now, though his hands had already moved toward my arms. “Please. We can’t have a scene. If you refuse to go, we’ll have to escort you out.”

Escort. The word landed colder than any slap. It meant being removed, rolled away like unwanted luggage. It meant a story later: Woman causes a fuss at Trident Global. My stomach dropped, sick at the thought of Sophia’s face if I came home branded and laughed at.

I squared my shoulders. “Go on then,” I said. “Do it. Take me out if you must.”

His fingers tightened on my sleeve. I wouldn’t be the one to flinch. People pressed back, faces turning; a couple of glassed-in offices reflected the small, ugly tableau. For a beat everything was noise, the scrape of leather, the murmur of radios, and then the younger guard stepped in and took my elbow, moving to lead me away.

Panic flared, hot and bright, so fast that my knees nearly buckled. I wrenched free. “No!” I hissed. “Wait… Please. I need to see him. It’s important. I promise. Hear me out!”

The guard’s grip changed from firm to rough; he tried to lift my bag to get me moving. I wrapped both hands around the strap, my fingers white, and clung on like a lifeline. The driver from my car hovered at the curb, face pallid, watching a woman he’s never met turn into a spectacle.

Someone in the passing crowd whooped a bitter laugh. Someone else filmed on a phone. One of the suited men passing through the gate glanced backward, eyes cold as a judge’s. My humiliation made a private thing public, and I wanted to throw up.

A voice cut the air, sharp, small, and precise. “What’s going on here?”

Heads turned. The woman in the gray suit from the lobby appeared as if conjured, only this time she was not alone. Behind her hovered an older man with a clipped haircut and a face that looked as if it had been carved from marble; he carried an aura of authority that made even the guards stand straighter. A slim tablet was held at the woman’s chest like a talisman.

“You cannot remove her,” she said without preamble. The guard, mid-pull, froze.

“Ma’am, with all due respect…” the older guard began.

She cut him off with a look that made the guard’s radio crackle in apology. “I said you cannot remove her. Right now we escalate this to…” she tapped the screen—“Executive Liaison.” Her tone held curiosity under the surface: a small, sharp interest that felt more dangerous than anger.

The man with her stepped forward then, and with the tilt of his head the entire scene tightened. He was someone who didn’t raise his voice because he didn’t have to. Even the guard who’d been about to drag me out seemed to shrink a little.

The woman’s eyes landed on me, not with pity, not with contempt, but with the kind of look that catalogues people into useful or useless. “Tell me,” she said to me, quietly. “Who are you, and why do you think Adrian Blackwood should see you?”

My mouth was dry. This was the moment I’d been hoarding for months, the thing I’d rehearsed in the shaking quiet of night: raise the stakes, make it clear, no theatrics. I could see the tablet in her hands; I could see her fingers hovering, ready to categorize me into a list and flick me away.

“He’s the only person who can help my father,” I said. Not loud. Not pleading. Plain. “He’s the only person who can reverse what’s been done. I will wait. I will tell him everything myself.”

The woman’s face did not change immediately. She consulted the tablet, tapping in a name, scrolling, and pausing. A tiny muscle moved in her jaw: interest, annoyance, and amusement braided together.

“You know what you’re asking?” she said finally.

“You do realize that, if he authorizes nothing, you will have wasted this day and your money.” Her voice was almost neutral, but the words carried weight, like a verdict.

“I do,” I answered. “But I had to try.”

She looked at the guards. “Stand down,” she ordered. “Leave her be. For now.”

“Ma’am…” the older guard began reflexively.

“For now,” she repeated. “We’re not giving her an audience. We’re not admitting her further than the lobby. She waits. You keep an eye on her, but no manhandling. If she causes trouble, you remove her. Understood?”

Reluctant compliance flickered across the guards’ faces; they were soldiers who’d rather follow orders than wrestle with moral gray. As they stepped back, one of them kept his hand on his radio, his eyes never leaving me.

The woman knelt slightly so she was at my eye level. Her expression softened the tiniest fraction. “Why Adrian Blackwood?” she asked again, quieter.

My throat closed. I had not wanted to say it in front of everyone. Not because it was shameful, but because it made me vulnerable in a way I’d kept locked up. I swallowed, and the world narrowed to the woman’s face and the tablet’s cold light.

“My father,” I said. “He took a loan… a large loan, from Blackwood Capital. He lost it. He lost our house. He might be jailed for the debts. I…” My voice broke here, the words sudden and live. “I need Mr. Blackwood to undo it. To look at the file. I will do anything, please. My father can’t go to jail. He’s all I have. Please. If he hears me… if he hears my story, maybe he’ll help.”

The woman’s eyes flicked up to the marble man behind her. He was already dialing, or perhaps pressing a name on a device I couldn’t see. For a moment I thought she would close the tablet and walk away, leaving me to the mercy of the guards and the crowd.

Instead she straightened. “Wait in the lobby,” she said to me finally, then to the guards, “and someone will be in touch.” She slid the tablet into a leather sleeve and, with the implacable efficiency of someone who moves people like chess pieces, pivoted away.

As she left, the murmur in the crowd resumed, like a tide easing. The guards relaxed their shoulders imperceptibly, but their eyes remained watchful. The woman did not look back.

I stood where I had been planted, chest heaving, hands still clamped on the bag’s strap. For a heartbeat the world felt empty, no jeers, no cameras, just the hollow echo of my own breath. Then I realized: I had bought a reprieve, not an audience. The gates closed not with the clang of failure but with the thin, cold promise that someone somewhere had noticed.

Somewhere inside that tower, decisions were being made—quick, efficient, and cold. Adrian Blackwood remained at the center of them, untouchable. I had been given a sliver of air. It was not victory. It was a chance.

And a chance, no matter how small, was what I had come for.

I followed the woman into the lobby and consciously sat on the chair she had offered me before she disappeared with the man.

The lobby was vast and cathedral-like, its glass walls catching the late afternoon sun and turning it to molten gold. Men and women in tailored suits glided past, their heels clicking against the polished marble floor. None of them spared me a second glance.

Time crawled.

One hour bled into two, then three. I tried to distract myself by tracing the geometric patterns in the marble, by counting the number of people who entered and exited the elevator banks, and by silently rehearsing speeches I had already shredded a hundred times in my head.

By the fourth hour, my legs ached, and my throat was dry from sitting too long in silence. A digital clock above the security desk read 5:47 p.m. Almost closing time. My heart sank. If I failed today, there was no guarantee I would ever get another chance.

I rose from the chair and made my way to the reception desk. The receptionist looked up from her screen, clearly irritated to see me still there.

“Yes?” she asked, her tone clipped.

I steadied my voice. “Please, I need to see Mr. Blackwood. Just a few minutes. I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

Her expression didn’t soften. If anything, it grew colder. “Miss, Mr. Blackwood does not accept unsolicited visitors. He is not someone you can simply wait around to meet. People book months ahead of time: CEOs, government officials, and foreign investors. Even they don’t get in without an appointment.”

I swallowed hard. Her words weren’t new, but hearing them said out loud, hearing my insignificance underlined so bluntly, cut deeper than I expected.

“Then let me wait until he’s free,” I said, my voice firmer than I felt. “Even if it means I have to sit here all night.”

The receptionist sighed, exasperated. “You don’t understand. That is not how this works. Mr. Blackwood’s time is… untouchable. He will not see you.”

Her rudeness stung, but I didn’t back down. I couldn’t. I leaned forward, lowering my voice so only she could hear. “It’s important. Please. My father… ”

I stopped myself. The words hovered dangerously at the edge of my lips. No. I couldn’t explain everything to her, to anyone. Not until I faced him myself.

The receptionist gave me a sharp look, as if sensing I was about to overshare, and shook her head briskly. “Enough. You’ve wasted your day. It’s time for you to leave.”

The receptionist’s voice cut like glass.

She picked up the phone without waiting for my reply. Her fingers tapped quickly against the buttons, her polished nails clicking in a rhythm that made my stomach twist. Within moments, two uniformed security men were striding toward me, their faces blank, their movements efficient.

“Miss,” one of them said, his voice calm but firm, “you need to come with us.”

I clutched my bag to my chest. “Please… I just need a few minutes with him. Just five minutes. I’ll wait as long as I have to.”

The receptionist didn’t even look at me anymore. She was already back to typing, as though I had vanished from her world. The guards exchanged a glance. One of them sighed, then reached for my arm.

“No, wait!” I twisted out of his grip. “I’m not here to cause trouble. Please. I’ll sit quietly, I will, I promise.”

But my words drowned in their silence. The taller guard shook his head, and together they moved in closer. Their hands were strong, their grip unyielding, and though I resisted, my protests meant nothing. In seconds, they had me on my feet and were escorting me across the gleaming lobby. Heads turned. Men in sharp suits and women with designer bags paused just long enough to glance at me before slipping into the night, whispering behind manicured hands.

The humiliation burned more than the grip on my arm.

The guards didn’t stop until we reached the glass doors. They pushed them open, and the rush of evening air hit me. Outside, the plaza was already thinning out. People streamed toward waiting cars, laughing, chatting, and completely oblivious to the storm inside my chest.

“Miss, you can’t stay here,” the shorter guard said, his tone softer now that we were beyond the lobby. “Mr. Blackwood doesn’t see walk-ins. That’s just how it is.”

I shook my head fiercely. “I’m not leaving. I came here for him, and I’ll wait for him.”

The guards exchanged another look, then let me go. “Suit yourself,” one muttered. “But you won’t get past us again. Don’t cause a scene.”

And just like that, I was out. Out of the building. Out of options.

I stood on the wide steps of Trident Global Headquarters, staring up at the tower that stabbed into the evening sky. Its mirrored windows caught the last traces of the sun, glowing like molten fire before fading into cold steel as the city lights flickered on. The building felt alive, a beast of glass and power, and I was nothing more than a shadow on its doorstep.

Workers began streaming out steadily now, their badges flashing at the turnstiles as they left for the night. Each time the glass doors opened, I craned my neck, hoping and praying to catch a glimpse of him. But each face was a stranger, another reminder of how invisible I was in his world.

Six o’clock came and went. I was still there.

The plaza emptied little by little, the footsteps echoing less as the sky deepened into twilight. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to chase away the chill that settled in as the city cooled. Doubt gnawed at me.

What if he wasn’t even here today?

The thought made my chest tighten. I had traveled all this way, clung to hope with every mile of the train ride, and for what? To sit outside a fortress that might not even hold its king?

Still, I couldn’t leave.

Seven o’clock came. The streetlights hummed to life, and the glass tower shone brighter than the stars above it. My legs ached from standing, so I sank onto the low stone wall by the gates. My bag rested in my lap, my fingers tracing the worn edges of the brown envelope Sophia had pressed into my hands that morning. Without her, I wouldn’t even be here. I owed it to her, to my father, and to myself not to give up now.

One of the earlier guards, the older one with graying hair, passed by the gate and spotted me. He frowned and walked closer. “You’re still here?”

I nodded. My voice came out hoarse. “I need to see him.”

He sighed, scratching his jaw. “Miss, you don’t understand. People spend months begging for an appointment with Mr. Blackwood. Prime ministers. Bankers. Men with fortunes. He doesn’t see people like…” His voice trailed off before he finished the sentence, but the meaning was clear. People like you.

I bit down hard on my lip, swallowing the sting. “I’ll wait,” I whispered, more to myself.

The guard studied me for a long moment. Something flickered in his eyes, pity, maybe, or curiosity, but then he shook his head and walked away.

By eight o’clock, the plaza was nearly deserted. Only a handful of staff trickled out now, their hurried footsteps echoing against the marble. The grand tower loomed above, hundreds of windows still glowing with white light. Somewhere up there, Adrian Blackwood was working, unaware, or uncaring, that a girl sat outside his gates, refusing to leave.

The night grew colder. I shivered, pulling my jacket tighter, but still I stayed. Every time the doors opened, I lifted my head. Every time, disappointment weighed heavier in my chest.

Yet beneath it all, a stubborn flame burned. I couldn’t leave. Not until I saw him with my own eyes.

From the shadows near the gate, I caught the low murmur of voices. The older guard leaned against the rail, his words carrying on the night air.

“It’s a shame, really. She’s been here since morning. Poor girl doesn’t realize she’s wasting her time.”

The younger guard gave a sharp laugh. “Don’t waste pity on her. Mr. Blackwood isn’t some small-town official you can beg for five minutes with. He’s not a man you walk up to. She should’ve known better.”

Their words stung more than I wanted to admit. Something twisted inside me: shame, sorrow, and frustration, until my throat felt tight. I stared down at my hands, nails digging into my palms.

They were right. By every measure, they were right.

And yet… the thought of leaving now, after all this, felt unbearable.

I lifted my head, eyes fixed once more on the glowing tower.

******

Adrian

I pressed the heel of my hand against my temple, fighting off the dull throb that had been building since morning. The conference call with the Dubai investors had stretched on longer than I’d anticipated—hours of cautious pleasantries, negotiations layered with politics, and promises I didn’t trust.

They’d come around. They always did. But right now, all I wanted was silence.

I leaned back in my chair, fingers brushing the smooth edge of the crystal water glass at my desk. The water was lukewarm, but I downed it anyway, hoping it might cut through the ache behind my eyes.

A knock came at the door. Sharp. Controlled.

“Come in,” I said.

My assistant, Evelyn, slipped inside. Impeccable as always, not a strand of her dark hair out of place. She held a neat stack of documents against her chest.

“Sir, I brought the reports you requested. The acquisition files, the Dubai partnership draft, and the quarterly review.” She moved forward, placing them carefully on my desk. “Do you want to go through them now?”

I glanced at the stack, already feeling the weight of it pressing against me. My patience had thinned to nothing.

“No.” I shook my head. “Not tonight. Send everything to my home office. I’ll review it later.”

Her brows lifted slightly, but she nodded. She was used to my hours. “Of course.”

I rubbed my temple again, then straightened. “Is there anything else that requires my attention before I leave? Anything that can’t wait until morning?”

She hesitated. A small flicker, so brief most people would have missed it. But I didn’t.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Nothing urgent,” she said quickly. “Just…” Evelyn drew in a quiet breath, as though measuring whether this detail was worth my time. “There’s been… a commotion downstairs. A young woman came this morning, insisting she had to see you. She doesn’t have an appointment. Security tried to send her away, but she refused to leave. She’s been here all day.”

I stilled. A young woman. No appointment. Refused to leave.

My jaw tightened. “And she’s still here?”

“Yes. Out by the gates now. She caused enough disruption in the lobby that they had to escort her out.” Evelyn’s voice stayed professional, but I caught the faintest note of disapproval. “She insists it’s important, but she won’t explain why.”

I leaned back in my chair, my headache pulsing harder now. This was the problem with people; they thought persistence could win them a seat at my table.

I considered dismissing it outright, but something about the image Evelyn’s words painted, someone stubborn enough to waste hours sitting outside my building, lodged itself in my mind.

“Have security keep her contained. If she’s still there when I leave…” I paused, fingers tapping once against the glass on my desk. “I’ll deal with her myself.”

Evelyn inclined her head. “Understood.”

When she left, I sat in the quiet of my office, staring at the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city glittering far below. Whoever she was, she’d already wasted an entire day for me. That kind of desperation could mean stupidity.

Or it could mean something else.

Either way, I’d know soon enough.