Always make you mine

Episode Seven

Evelyn stood behind the counter at the small gallery, absently wiping dust from a delicate sculpture display. The afternoon was painfully slow, the kind of quiet that gave her far too much time to think and worry. Only a handful of visitors had wandered in all day, and most of them left without buying anything. She moved the soft cloth over the smooth surface of the sculpture again and again, her motions mechanical, her mind anywhere but on the task.

During her short break, she slipped into the small back room, pulled out her phone, and dialed her father. The phone rang twice before he picked up.

“Dad, how did the investor meetings go today?”

Richard’s voice came through sounding utterly drained, each word heavy with exhaustion. “Not great, sweetheart. One wanted far too much control over the company — basically asked for majority stake in exchange for a small investment. The others walked away without making any real offer. We’re now down to twenty-four days. The bank is getting noticeably impatient. They called again this morning to remind me of the deadline.”

Evelyn’s grip tightened on the phone until her knuckles turned white. A cold wave of anxiety washed over her. “I’m so sorry, Dad. Is there anything at all I can do to help? Maybe I can look for more side work or talk to someone at the gallery about advancing my pay—”

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” Richard interrupted gently, though his voice lacked its usual strength. “We’ll manage somehow. Don’t worry too much about us, okay? Your mother and I are still exploring every option. Focus on your own future — your job applications and your art. That’s what matters right now.”

The call ended quickly, leaving Evelyn with an even heavier feeling in her chest. Twenty-four days. The countdown felt relentless, like sand slipping through an hourglass she couldn’t turn over. Every day brought them closer to losing everything her father had spent his life building.

She returned to the front of the gallery, trying to push the conversation out of her mind, but it lingered like a dark cloud. A few minutes later, the door chimed brightly as Zara walked in wearing a determined smile and carrying two reusable coffee cups from their favorite spot across the street.

“Coffee break,” Zara announced cheerfully, holding one cup out to her. “No arguments allowed. You’ve been drowning in stress all week, and I’m not watching you fade away behind this counter anymore.”

Evelyn managed a weak smile as she accepted the latte. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I did. Come on, let’s go sit for twenty minutes. Fresh air and caffeine — doctor’s orders.”

Evelyn let her friend drag her across the street to their favorite cozy café. The place was warm and inviting, with soft lighting and the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans filling the air. They ordered their usual lattes and settled at a small table by the large window overlooking the quiet Brooklyn street. For a short while, the conversation felt refreshingly normal. Zara chatted animatedly about her day at work — a funny story involving her overly dramatic boss and a misplaced client file — doing her best to distract Evelyn from the constant shadow of worry.

“You really need to stop overthinking every single detail,” Zara said, stirring her coffee with a wooden stick. “Even if things are tight at home right now, you still deserve a few minutes to just breathe and be twenty-three. You can’t carry the weight of the entire company on your shoulders. Your dad wouldn’t want that.”

Evelyn nodded, trying her best to relax. She took a small sip of her latte, letting the warmth spread through her. For a moment, the tension in her chest eased just a little. “You’re right. It’s just hard not to think about it. Every time I close my eyes, I see those bank letters and my dad’s tired face.”

She stood up to grab a napkin from the counter near the window. Her mind was still swirling with numbers and deadlines when she turned — and collided lightly with a tall figure walking past.

“I’m so sorry—” Evelyn began automatically, stepping back quickly.

Her words died in her throat for the second time that week.

Damien Blackwood stood directly in front of her once again.

He was dressed in his signature impeccable black suit, his commanding presence dominating even the casual café environment. His dark hair was perfectly styled, and his sharp gray eyes landed on her face with instant recognition — the girl from the gala, the restaurant, and now here for the fourth time.

Evelyn’s heart skipped several beats. This was becoming impossible to dismiss as mere coincidence. The universe seemed determined to keep throwing her into the path of the one man who could destroy her family’s future with a single signature.

Damien’s gaze held on her for a brief, intense moment. Cold. Calculating. Distant. He noted the tension in her posture, the way her fingers nervously clutched the napkin, and the faint flush of surprise on her cheeks. He registered her name once more in his mind: Evelyn Hayes.

But he said nothing.

No greeting. No acknowledgment of their previous encounters. His expression remained icy and unreadable, as though she were just another stranger momentarily in his path. After that short, piercing look, he simply continued walking toward the exit without a single word, his broad shoulders cutting through the café like he owned the very air around him.

Evelyn stood frozen in place, her pulse thundering in her ears. The brief encounter left her shaken, a strange mix of frustration and unease swirling inside her.

Zara leaned forward from their table, eyes wide with disbelief. “Was that him again? The Ice King himself?”

“Yes,” Evelyn whispered, returning to her seat on shaky legs. She sank down heavily, her latte suddenly tasting bitter. “He looked right at me… but acted like I was completely invisible. Again.”

Zara shook her head slowly, still staring at the door where Damien had disappeared. “That man is something else. Ice cold doesn’t even begin to describe him. I’ve heard stories, but seeing it in person is different. He didn’t even say ‘excuse me’?”

Evelyn stared down into her latte, the brief encounter replaying relentlessly in her mind. Four times now she had crossed paths with Damien Blackwood. Each time he noticed her. Each time those sharp gray eyes had locked onto hers for a heartbeat. And each time he walked away without a word, as if she were beneath his attention.

It shouldn’t bother her this much.

But it did.

The rest of their coffee break passed in quieter conversation. Zara tried to steer things back to lighter topics, but Evelyn’s thoughts kept drifting. By the time they returned to the gallery, the weight on her chest felt even heavier than before.

Meanwhile, across the city in the towering Blackwood Tower, Damien Blackwood stepped out of the elevator and entered his private office on the top floor. The space was sleek and minimalist — floor-to-ceiling windows offering a commanding view of Manhattan, a large mahogany desk, and not a single unnecessary item in sight.

His assistant, Martin Kane, was already waiting with yet another fresh folder in hand.

“Sir, the updated report on Hayes Construction,” Martin said, placing it neatly on the desk with efficient movements.

Damien sat down in his leather chair and opened the file. His cold gray eyes scanned the latest financial details with clinical precision. The company was deteriorating at an accelerating rate. Creditors were growing more aggressive with their demands. Several suppliers had issued final warnings. The land assets, however, remained highly valuable for his upcoming waterfront development project — prime real estate that would fit perfectly into Blackwood Group’s expansion plans.

He flipped to the background page and saw Evelyn Hayes’ photo once more. The same young woman with soft features and dark hair who had now appeared in his path four times in such a short span.

Damien closed the folder with a soft snap, his expression betraying nothing.

“Martin,” he said, his voice low and icy, “draft a formal offer of acquisition for Richard Hayes. Lowball it significantly. Make the immediate cash injection tempting enough that a desperate man might seriously consider it, but leave us plenty of room for negotiation. Focus primarily on securing the land parcels. Include a clause for quick closing and minimal transition complications.”

Martin Kane nodded once without question. “Yes, sir. I’ll have the draft ready by end of day.”

Damien leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting momentarily to the glittering Manhattan skyline beyond the glass. His expression remained cold and distant as ever.

He stood up smoothly and walked toward the conference room where a team of executives was already waiting for the next strategy meeting. As the heavy door closed behind him with a quiet click, the discussion on multi-million dollar mergers and aggressive market expansion began.