Blackwood Empire

His Rules

The drive to Damien’s penthouse was silent, not peaceful, but just silent. There was a difference.

I sat in the back seat, staring through the window as the city blurred past us. Damien sat beside me, his phone pressed to his ear.

“Check every camera between Blackwood Tower and the club,” he said. “I want the footage from the last six hours.”

A pause.

“No. Don’t involve the police yet.” He ended the call.

I looked at him. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t know who I can trust.”

I got what he was trying to say: you can't trust someone who had been lying from the start, but I didn't trust him either. The only reason I was going with him was because of Chloe.

“You trust me?”

His eyes moved toward me.

“No.”

The answer should have annoyed me. Instead, I smiled.

“Good.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“I’d be worried if you did.”

For a second, the corner of his mouth moved. Then his expression became serious again.

“From now on, you don’t go anywhere alone.”

I laughed. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m not your prisoner.”

“I know.”

“Then stop giving me orders.”

“I’m giving you instructions.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“No.”

His gaze held mine.

“It’s the difference between asking you to stay alive and letting you walk into a trap.”

I looked away.

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re reckless.”

“You’re controlling.”

“You’re stubborn.”

“You forgot irritating.”

“I didn’t.”

I turned toward him.

He was already watching me. Our eyes met; the air inside the car suddenly felt warmer, and his gaze dropped to my mouth.

My heart skipped.

Then he looked away.

“We’re here.”

Of course. We would be; the penthouse was nothing like I expected.

I’d imagined something cold and excessive.

Instead, it was surprisingly understated.

Dark wood.

Muted furniture.

Floor-to-ceiling windows.

The entire city stretched beneath us.

Damien walked inside and loosened his tie.

“You’re staying here tonight.”

I stopped.

“Absolutely not.”

“Seraphina.”

“No.”

“You were followed.”

“Maybe.”

“Someone has access to your phone.”

“Maybe.”

“Chloe is missing.”

I went quiet.

He looked at me.

“Still want to argue?”

I hated that he had a point.

“Where am I sleeping?”

“Guest room.”

“Good.”

He nodded.

Then he walked toward the hallway.

“When are they going to find Chloe? I want to know if she is safe,” I started, trembling,

“Seraphina? My people are looking all over for her; if any consolation, they are better than the police and can find her before dawn, so calm down.”

I sighed.

“Let me show you the guest room.”

I followed him. “Wait.”

He stopped.

“What?”

“Why are you doing this?”

His expression shifted. “Doing what?”

“Protecting me.”

He stared at me for several seconds.

Then he said quietly,

“Because I don’t want you dead.”

It was such a simple answer. Somehow, it made my chest tighten.

Before I could respond, his phone rang.

He answered.

“Talk.”

I watched his expression change.

“What?”

He walked toward the window.

“You’re certain?”

A pause.

“Send it.”

He ended the call.

“What happened?”

He looked at me.

“We found Chloe.”

My stomach dropped.

“Where?”

“An abandoned warehouse.”

“Is she—”

“Alive.”

I exhaled.

Relief flooded through me.

“But?”

His jaw tightened.

“She was unconscious.”

“Is she awake?”

“Not yet.”

I moved toward him.

“Then we should go.”

“No.”

“Damien—”

“You’re staying here.”

“I can help.”

“You’ve done enough.”

My anger flared.

“You don’t get to decide that.”

He turned toward me.

“And you don’t get to decide whether you’re expendable.”

The words stopped me.

His voice had changed.

There was something raw underneath it.

Fear.

He stepped closer.

“You keep walking into situations you don’t understand.” His tone changed, and his voice echoed through the walls.

“I understand enough.”

“No.”

He was standing directly in front of me now.

“You don’t.”

His hand lifted.

For one second, I thought he was going to touch my face.

Instead, his fingers brushed a loose strand of hair away from my cheek.

The gesture was so gentle it almost hurt.

I froze.

So did he.

His eyes searched for mine.

Neither of us moved.

“Damien…”

His thumb rested against my cheek.

“Tell me to stop.”

I should have. I didn’t. His gaze dropped to my lips.

He leaned closer. My breath caught.

The distance between us disappeared—

His phone rang again.

Damien closed his eyes.

I stepped back.

He answered with visible irritation.

“What?”

I turned away, trying to slow my heartbeat.

This was getting dangerous. Not because someone was trying to kill me. Because I was beginning to want the one man I had come here to destroy.

I tried to calm myself and distract myself from him, then I heard Chloe's name again.

“What now?” I asked.

“She is getting back into her senses. They are taking her to the ER, and I asked them to drop her at her house and stay guarded.”

I nodded. “I think I am gonna go freshen up.”

He sighed and nodded.

I tried to sleep, but all I could think about was him and how close he was to me and what the hell I was doing here. An hour later, I was strolling around the house and found Damien in his study.

I walked into the kitchen and found a glass of water.

“Can’t sleep?”

I nearly dropped it.

Damien stood in the doorway.

His tie was gone. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone. Why the hell was I noticing all this?

He looked less like the terrifying billionaire everyone feared and more like someone who hadn’t slept in days.

“Apparently not.”

He walked toward the counter.

“You’re thinking.”

“I do that occasionally.”

“About what?”

“You.”

He stopped.

I hadn’t meant to say it, but somehow my stupid mouth betrayed me, his eyes darkened.

“That’s dangerous.”

“I know.”

He stepped closer. “Then don’t.”

“Maybe I can’t.”

Silence.

His hand settled on the counter beside mine.

“You don’t know me.”

“Neither do you.”

“I know enough.”

“Do you?”

He looked at me. “More than you think.”

My heartbeat quickened.

“Then tell me something.”

“What?”

“Why do you look at me like that?”

He didn’t answer.

I took a step closer. “Like you want to kiss me.”

His jaw tightened. “Seraphina.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No.” The honesty shocked me.

He reached for me. His hand settled at my waist.

Warm.

Firm.

My breath caught in my throat; he leaned down.

Our foreheads almost touched.

“Tell me to stop.”

I whispered, “I don’t want you to.”

His eyes closed.

For one suspended second, neither of us moved.

Then he pulled away.

I stared at him.

“Why?”

“Because if I kiss you now—”

His voice was low.

“I’m not sure I’ll remember that you’re supposed to be my enemy.”

He walked away.

I stood there, stunned. And somehow, that frightened me more than anything else. Because I wasn’t sure I remembered either.