Blackwood Empire

The first rule of lying was never to look like you were lying. I had learned that three years ago. Tonight, standing beneath the towering glass façade of Blackwood Tower, I reminded myself of it again. Don’t fidget. Don’t look nervous. Don’t stare at the security cameras. And, above all, don’t look at the man whose empire I had come here to destroy. I adjusted the strap of my black handbag and walked through the revolving doors. The lobby was exactly what I had expected. Cold. Expensive. Immaculate. Everything about Blackwood Tower screamed money: the polished marble beneath my heels, the enormous chandelier hanging above the reception desk, the silent elevators that probably cost more than my apartment. Even the air smelled expensive. I handed my identification to the receptionist. “Seraphina Rhodes,” I said. My new name. My new life. My new lie. The receptionist scanned the card and smiled. “Welcome to Blackwood Holdings, Ms. Rhodes.” “Thank you.” My voice didn’t shake. Good. I had spent six months building Seraphina Rhodes. Twenty-seven years old. Master’s degree in corporate finance. Three years of experience in private investment. No criminal record. No connection to the Rhodes family that had spent the last two years quietly investigating Blackwood Holdings. Every document was fabricated. Every reference was real enough to survive a basic background check. Every detail had been rehearsed. I wasn’t here to work. I was here to find proof. Proof that Damien Blackwood had been using one of his private subsidiaries to move billions through offshore accounts. Proof that the disappearance of several investors wasn’t a coincidence. Proof that the man everyone called a brilliant business entrepreneur was something much darker. And then I would destroy him. At least, that was the plan. “Ms. Rhodes?” I looked up. A man in a charcoal suit stood beside the elevator. “Mr. Blackwood’s office is expecting you.” My stomach tightened. “May I ask you, why was he expecting me? Am I supposed to be in the financial sector?” He tilted his head. “You may have applied for it, but we reviewed your portfolio; it’s quite impressive, so Mr. Blackwood wants to meet you.” Of course, he was. I followed him into the elevator. The doors closed. Thirty-seven floors. I had exactly ninety seconds to breathe. I stared at my reflection in the mirrored wall. Black dress. Black heels. Hair pulled into a neat bun. Minimal makeup. Nothing about me that could attract attention. Except my eyes. My mother had always said they gave me away. Too expressive. Too honest. I had spent years learning to control them. Tonight, they would have to be perfect. The elevator stopped, the doors opened, and I stepped into Damien Blackwood’s world. His assistant led me through a corridor lined with glass offices. People lowered their voices when we passed. Nobody laughed. Nobody lingered. Nobody looked particularly happy to be working here. Interesting. We stopped in front of enormous double doors. “Mr. Blackwood is waiting.” The assistant opened one door. I stepped inside. And forgot, for half a second, how to breathe. Damien Blackwood stood with his back to me, looking out over the city. He was taller than I expected. Broad shoulders beneath a perfectly tailored black suit. One hand rested casually in his trouser pocket while the other held a glass of something amber. He didn’t turn around. “Leave us.” The assistant disappeared. The door clicked shut. Silence. I waited. He continued looking through the windows. “You’re late.” I glanced at my watch. “I’m three minutes early.” “Exactly.” I frowned. He finally turned. And every carefully rehearsed thought in my head disappeared. Damien Blackwood wasn’t handsome in the harmless way men on magazine covers were handsome. He was striking. Sharp jaw. Dark hair. Cold grey eyes. A face that looked as though it had been designed specifically to intimidate people. I’d seen photographs of him. Hundreds. None of them had prepared me for reality. His gaze travelled over me slowly. Not appreciatively. Analytically. Like he was trying to find a flaw. “Seraphina Rhodes,” he said. I smiled. “That’s me.” He didn’t smile back. “I know.” Something about the way he said it made the back of my neck prickle. He walked toward me. Slowly. I refused to step back. He stopped a few feet away. “You have an impressive resume.” “Thank you.” “Too impressive.” There it was. My first problem. I kept my expression neutral. “I’m not sure if that’s possible.” “Everything is possible.” His eyes didn’t leave mine. “Especially when someone has gone to considerable effort to make themselves appear perfect.” My heartbeat stumbled. He was testing me. I smiled. “There’s nothing wrong with being an overachiever.” “I’m saying I don’t trust perfect people.” “Good thing I’m not perfect.” For the first time, something flickered in his expression. Not a smile. Almost. “You’re confident.” “I wouldn’t have applied otherwise.” He took a sip of his drink. “Why Blackwood Holdings?” Because I wanted to tear your empire apart from the inside. “Because you’re the best.” His eyebrow lifted. “That’s what everyone says.” “Then everyone can't be wrong.” He studied me for another long moment. Then he walked past me and placed his glass on the desk. “You’ll be working directly with my private investment division.” I hadn’t expected that. I’d applied for a junior financial analyst position. Not his private division. That was where the information I needed was. Exactly where I needed to be. I forced myself not to look too pleased. “That’s a lot of responsibility.” “I don’t give responsibility to people I don’t trust.” I looked at him. “You don’t trust me.” “No.” The answer came instantly. My pulse quickened. “Then why hire me?” He leaned against the edge of his desk. “Because I want to know why you came here.” My stomach dropped. For one terrifying second, I thought he’d discovered everything. But his expression remained unreadable. I forced a small laugh. “For the job.” “That’s the official answer.” “And the unofficial one?” His eyes narrowed slightly. Silence stretched between us. I should have been nervous. Instead, something else curled beneath my skin. Annoyance. This man was insufferable. “You know,” I said, “most employers ask about someone’s qualifications before accusing them of espionage.” His gaze sharpened. “Most employers aren’t me.” There it was. The arrogance I’d heard about. The power. The absolute certainty that the world belonged to him. I hated him already. Which was convenient. Hatred made things easier. I reached for the folder on his desk. “Where do I sign?” He watched my hand and waved his fingers. I opened the folder. My hands were steady and Good. I signed the contract. Seraphina Rhodes was officially employed by Blackwood Holdings. The moment I put the pen down, Damien reached across the desk and took it from me. His fingers brushed mine. Barely. A fraction of a second. It shouldn’t have meant anything. It did. I pulled my hand back. His eyes dropped briefly to the movement. Then returned to my face. Neither of us said anything. He was the first to look away. “Find Gabriel; he will let you know all about your work.” I nodded. “Thank you.” I turned toward the door. “Ms. Rhodes.” I stopped and looked back. Damien was watching me again. “If you ever lie to me…” His voice was quiet. Almost gentle. “…make sure I never find out.” I held his gaze. “Wouldn’t it be embarrassing if I did?” Something changed in his eyes. For the first time, I saw it. Interest. Not trust. Not attraction. Something much more dangerous. Curiosity. I opened the door, and walked out. The door closed behind me. Only then did I let myself breathe. I had survived my first meeting with Damien Blackwood. More importantly, I had gotten inside. I smiled as I walked toward the elevator. Everything was going exactly according to plan. Or at least, that’s what I believed. Because I didn’t see the way Damien Blackwood remained standing behind his desk, staring at the closed door. And I certainly didn’t hear him make the phone call that would change everything. “Find everything you can on Seraphina Rhodes.” A pause. “No.” His eyes remained fixed on the door. “Don’t let her know I’m looking.” Another pause. Then his jaw tightened. "Something about her doesn’t add up.” Him ending the call, the scenario looked so good in my imagination, and I was pretty sure he had done the same, but how did he know? How did he know I was coming?