Blackwood

Pregnant By Ruthless CEO

By Preye Rose

I survived Damien’s class. Barely.

But surviving Blackwood University was about to get harder.

Because at 7pm, my phone buzzed.

Unknown: Tonight. 10pm. Blackwood Estate. Be there. -D

No “please”. No “if you want”. Just a command.

I stared at the text for 10 minutes. Then I deleted it. I wasn’t going. I wasn’t playing his games.

Until Madison Vance walked into our room at 9:30pm wearing a red dress that cost more than my entire life.

“You’re coming with me,” she said.

“I’m not—”

“You are.” She threw a black dress at me. “It’s mandatory. The Blackwoods throw a welcome party every semester. If you don’t show, everyone will know you’re hiding something.”

She was right. And I hated that she was right.

30 minutes later I was standing in front of Blackwood Estate.

It wasn’t a house. It was a palace. Glass walls, marble stairs, fountains, cars worth more than my country. And music. Loud. Expensive.

Everyone was there. The Sterlings. The Vances. The trustees. The professors’ kids. All dressed like they were in a music video.

And I was in a borrowed dress that probably cost 200 dollars.

“Try not to embarrass me,” Madison muttered before disappearing into the crowd.

I grabbed a glass of champagne from a tray and found a corner. Plan: Stay 30 minutes. Leave. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t get noticed.

That lasted exactly 4 minutes.

“Found you.”

Damien.

He looked different tonight. Black suit. No tie. Top button undone. Hair messier than usual. Like he’d been running his hands through it.

And he was holding a glass of whiskey. Not champagne.

“You came,” he said.

“You told me to.”

“I didn’t think you would.” He looked me up and down. Slow. Assessing. “The dress suits you.”

“It’s borrowed.”

“I know.” His eyes flicked to Madison across the room. “Everything about you is borrowed, isn’t it? Name. Clothes. Life.”

My grip tightened on my glass. “What do you want, Damien?”

“I want to dance.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” He set his drink down and held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

People were watching. Of course they were. Damien Blackwood asking a scholarship girl to dance? This would be all over campus by morning.

“No,” I said.

“Wrong answer.”

Before I could react, his hand was on my waist and he was pulling me onto the dance floor. Right in the middle of everyone.

His hand was hot through the thin fabric of my dress. His other hand held mine. We weren’t close. Not really. But close enough.

The music was slow. Too slow.

“You’re tense,” he murmured.

“I’m surrounded by people who would ruin me if they knew who I was.”

He laughed. “Join the club.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means everyone here is hiding something, Selena. The Sterlings are bankrupt. The Vances are under investigation. My father is sleeping with his secretary.” He spun me once. “What’s your secret?”

I didn’t answer.

We danced in silence for one song. Two.

Then the music changed. Faster. And Damien didn’t let go.

“You’re good at this,” he said.

“My mom taught me.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

His eyes narrowed. “Your mom. Interesting. Tell me about her.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Liar.” His thumb brushed over my knuckles. “You have an accent when you’re tired. Not American. Not completely.”

My heart stopped.

“You’re imagining things,” I said.

“Am I?” He pulled me closer. Too close. “Then why are you shaking?”

“I’m not—”

“Selena.” His voice was low. Only for me. “Stop lying to me.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll have to find out the truth myself.”

The song ended. He didn’t let go right away.

“Come with me,” he said.

“Where?”

“My office.”

“You have an office?”

“I have a lot of things.” He finally released me. “Come. Or I’ll make a scene.”

He would too. I could see it in his eyes.

So I followed him.

We didn’t go to an office. We went to the roof. Private. Quiet. The whole city below us, lights everywhere.

He leaned against the railing, looking out.

“You dance like someone who’s had to learn how to blend in,” he said without turning. “Like someone who’s been to a lot of places she wasn’t supposed to be.”

I stayed by the door. “Are we done with the psychoanalysis?”

He turned. “No.”

He walked to me. Stopped inches away.

“I looked you up again,” he said. “Selena Castro. Born in Spain. Parents dead. Moved to the US 2 years ago. Perfect records. Too perfect.”

“It’s all true.”

“It’s all fake.” He reached up and tucked hair behind my ear. Again. “I can tell.”

“Then why do you care?”

“Because you don’t belong here.” His voice dropped. “And neither do I. But we’re both trapped in this place.”

For a second, I saw it. Not the Blackwood heir. Not the devil. Just a guy who was tired.

“Damien—”

“Don’t.” He cut me off. “Don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you mean it.”

I swallowed. “And how do I say it?”

“Don’t.” His eyes were dark on mine. “Just... don’t.”

The city stretched below us, thousands of lights. But up here it was just us and the cold night air.

For a second I forgot he was Damien Blackwood. Forgot he was dangerous. Forgot I was supposed to be afraid of him.

He looked young. Tired. Like the weight of the Blackwood name was crushing him.

“What’s on the phone?” I asked quietly.

His jaw tightened. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“That’s what people say right before something bad happens.”

Damien finally looked at me. Really looked at me. “You’re smart. Too smart for your own good.”

“I’ve had to be.”

He stepped closer. Close enough that I could see the faint scar on his temple. Close enough that if I reached out, I could touch him.

“Selena,” he said my name like a warning. Like a promise. “You need to leave Blackwood.”

My heart dropped. “What?”

“You heard me. Pack your stuff. Take your scholarship money. Go tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because the Sterlings asked about you.” His voice was flat. “They want to know who the new scholarship girl is. And Sterling doesn’t ask unless he plans to hurt someone.”

Fear shot through me. Cold. Familiar. “How did they—”

“I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But I know what they do to people who don’t belong. And you, Selena Castro, do not belong here.”

There it was again. My fake name.

“And you do?” I challenged.

“I was born into this hell.” He laughed bitterly. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”

We stared at each other. The wind tugged at my dress.

“Are you telling me to run because you care,” I whispered, “or because you’re scared I’ll be a problem for you?”

Damien’s eyes flashed. “Both.”

Honest. At least he was honest.

“I’m not running,” I said. “Not again.”

“Selena—”

“I said no.” My voice was stronger now. “I came here for a reason. And I’m not leaving because some Sterling is asking questions.”

He stared at me for a long time. Then he did something I didn’t expect.

He smiled. Small. Real.

“Stubborn,” he muttered. “Of course you are.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He turned toward the door. “Fine. You want to stay? Then you follow my rules.”

“What rules?”

“Rule one: You don’t go anywhere alone at night.”

“Rule two: You don’t talk to Sterlings. Or Vances. Or anyone with that last name.”

“Rule three:” He paused at the door. “You answer when I text.”

“That’s not—”

“Those are the rules if you want to live, Selena.” His voice was hard again. Back to being the Devil of Blackwood.

He left before I could argue.

I stayed on the roof for another 10 minutes, trying to breathe.

Damien Blackwood just threatened me.

And protected me.

In the same 5 minutes.

I came to Blackwood to disappear.

But the Devil just told me I wasn’t allowed to leave.

And the worst part?

Part of me didn’t want to.