Blackwood Empire

The Rules

By Monday morning, I had decided on three things.

I would ignore the message.

I would avoid Damien Blackwood.

And I would absolutely not think about the way he’d looked at me in the archives.

By nine-thirty, I’d failed at all three.

“You’re staring.”

I blinked. Chloe was standing in my doorway, holding two coffees.

“I’m working.”

“You’re staring at your computer screen.”

“That’s generally what people do at work.”

“Not for five minutes.”

She placed one of the coffees on my desk.

I looked at it. “What’s this?”

“Peace offering.”

“For what?”

“For telling you something you probably don’t want to hear.”

I sighed. “Go ahead.”

She lowered her voice. “Damien’s in a terrible mood.”

“How is that my problem?”

“It becomes everyone’s problem.”

I almost smiled. “Good luck.”

She turned to leave.

“Wait.”

She looked back.

“Why does everyone seem terrified of him?”

Chloe hesitated. “Because Damien doesn’t bluff.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means when he tells someone their career is over, it usually is.”

She disappeared before I could ask anything else. I looked at the coffee. Black. No sugar. Exactly how I liked it.

My smile disappeared when I looked toward the glass wall separating my office from the corridor.

Damien stood at the end of it. Watching me. Our eyes met. He didn’t move. Neither did I. Then he turned and walked into his office.

My phone started buzzing a new message.

You shouldn’t trust him.

I locked my screen. Enough is enough; I wasn’t going to let some stranger dictate my choices. I had come here for answers. And I was going to get them.

By noon, I had found something.

Not much. But enough.

Veyron International had transferred money to a private account four times over eighteen months. The account wasn’t registered to Damien. It wasn’t registered to Blackwood Holdings.

It belonged to a shell company called Northstar Capital.

I searched the company.

Nothing.

No website.

No employees.

No physical office.

It barely existed.

Which meant someone had gone to considerable effort to make it invisible. I copied the transaction details and minimised the screen when I heard footsteps. Too late. Damien entered my office.

“Come with me.”

“Where?”

“Meeting.”

“With whom?”

He looked at me.

“Do you always ask this many questions?”

“When someone gives me orders without explanations.”

His jaw tightened.

“Five minutes.”

He walked out.

I followed him. The meeting wasn’t in the building.

We drove to some place that I had no idea where we were going. I sat in the back of Damien’s car while he sat opposite me, reading something on his tablet.

Neither of us spoke.

The silence became unbearable.

“So,” I said, “where are we going?”

“You’re nervous.”

“I’m not.”

“You’ve tapped your foot twelve times.”

I stopped.

He looked up.

A faint smile touched his mouth.

“You count?”

“Everything.”

That shouldn’t have sounded the way it did, but it had.

I looked out the window.

“You’re strange.”

“I’ve been called worse.” The car stopped at the place that looked like a private club; Damien stepped out first.

I followed him inside.

The club was quiet and impossibly elegant.

A man was waiting for us in a private dining room. He was older, perhaps in his sixties. Damien shook his hand. “Mr. Rhodes.”

My heart stopped. I looked at him. He looked at me.

Then back at Damien.

“Who’s she?”

“Someone I trust.”

My stomach dropped. He trusted me? That was impossible.

The older man frowned.

“I thought you didn’t trust anyone.”

“I don’t.”

Damien looked at me.

“That’s why she’s useful.”

I wanted to kick him.

The man laughed.

“Still arrogant.”

“Still alive.”

They sat.

I remained standing for a second before taking the chair beside Damien. The older man’s eyes lingered on me. “She looks familiar.”

My blood ran cold.

Damien noticed.

His hand moved beneath the table.

His fingers briefly closed around my wrist; it didn't feel like someone comforting, but something like a warning.

Stay calm. I looked at him. His thumb rested against my pulse. Neither of us moved.

The older man continued talking.

“The Rhodes family had a reputation.”

I forced a smile. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Of course.”

Damien’s hand left mine. But my skin still burned where he’d touched me.

The conversation moved toward investments.

I listened and listened and observed every move that man made, and that's when I heard it.

Northstar.

The same company I’d found this morning. My attention sharpened.

The older man noticed. “Something wrong?”

“No.”

Damien looked at me.

He knew. Somehow, he always knew. The meeting ended twenty minutes later, that man stood up and greeted Damien before he left the club.

The moment he stepped outside, I turned toward him.

“Northstar.”

His expression didn’t change.

“You heard it.”

“Who are they?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you didn’t ask.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

He stepped closer. “You have a habit of investigating things without permission.”

“So do you.”

“I own the company.”

“And I work for it.”

“Exactly.”

I glared at him. He stared back.

Then his eyes dropped to my mouth. Again. My breath caught. His gaze lifted. Neither of us spoke. He took one slow step closer.

“Tell me something, Seraphina.”

“What?”

“Why do you look at me like you hate me?”

My heart pounded.

“Because I do.”

His expression changed.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

He leaned closer. Close enough that I could feel his breath. “I think you hate me because you want something from me.”

My stomach tightened. “Maybe I want nothing from you.”

“Then why are you shaking?”

I looked down.

My hand was trembling.

Damn him.

I stepped away.

“I’m cold.”

A quiet laugh escaped him.

“Of course.”

After that encounter, we stepped out of the club. It was silent; we never spoke a word.

He opened the car door for me.

I climbed inside.

As he closed it, he leaned down.

“One more thing.”

I looked up.

“Don’t lie to me tonight.”

The door shut.

And I knew immediately.

He had noticed something.

The question was what.

After that meeting, our day was filled with paperwork and missing lunch and surviving on coffee that Chloe bought me.

Even after all that, I couldn't resist; I had to find whatever I could and leave as soon as possible.

That night, I broke into the archives again. This time, I knew exactly what I was looking for.

Northstar.

The file appeared. My hands moved quickly.

Transactions.

Names.

Dates.

Then—

A photograph.

I froze.

My father.

Standing beside Damien.

My breath caught.

They were both younger. Damien looked like he was in his early twenties.

Maybe ten years earlier. And on the back of the photograph was a date. October 17, the night my father died.

I stared at the picture. Then I heard something; the archive door flew open.

I spun around.

Damien stood there.

But this time, he wasn’t angry.

He looked terrified.

“Seraphina.”

I held up the photograph.

“What the hell happened that night?”

He went completely still.

And for the first time since I’d met him…

Damien Blackwood looked like a man who was afraid of the answer.