I'm the Billionaires' Secret

Shadows Behind the Smile

POV: Damien Blackwood

-

I’ve built my empire by never letting anyone see my weaknesses, until now. Tonight, that truth weighs on me like a loaded gun at the base of my spine. The Grand Aurora Hotel bustles with power players, politicians, and heiresses, all feigning politeness in a dance of false smiles and hidden agendas. Normally, I navigate their bullshit with ease, but there’s one unfamiliar variable in the room.

Her.

Lana Sterling.

Even her name sets my teeth on edge, part frustration, part attraction. I’ve faced my share of persistent reporters, but none have looked at me like they actually saw beyond the polish, beyond the tailored suit and philanthropic speeches. And certainly none have stirred the heat that spread through my veins at the gala tonight.

Now, I stand at a balcony overlooking the ballroom. One hand grips the intricately carved railing, while the other slips into my pocket. A vantage point like this is useful, I can watch the chessboard from a discreet distance, see the alliances forming below, the hush of clandestine deals, the forced laughter that never quite touches the eyes. From up here, everyone else is a pawn.

But that line of thought only underscores the fact that I might be the pawn, too, if I’m not careful. Lana could unmask my secrets if I give her half a chance.

I run a hand through my hair, remembering the flash of her gaze, the direct challenge in her voice, and the unhidden desire in her eyes when she spotted the outline of my half-hard c**k through my pants. I had deliberately gone without underwear tonight, something I do on occasion. It’s a subtle power move, one that keeps me aware of my own body and the control I wield. But when she looked there, I felt a jolt of raw, lustful triumph, coupled with genuine danger. She sees too much.

Shaking off the memory, I turn to descend the curved staircase that leads back down to the gala floor. My jaw ticks in time with the click of my polished shoes against the marble. The crowd parts around me, offering nods and forced smiles as though I own the place. In a way, I do, my donations keep this charity afloat, and my influence keeps the city’s elite comfortably in my orbit. It’s all part of the game.

But tonight, my usual sense of absolute control feels… frayed. The woman in the black dress is burrowing under my skin, a rattlesnake in my carefully trimmed garden.

As I step off the final stair, I spot my security chief, Carter, flanking a set of double doors at the periphery of the ballroom. Carter’s six foot four, broad, and built like the ex-Marine he is. His gaze flicks to me, then away, a silent acknowledgment of my presence. I take a moment to scrutinize the room, looking for Lana, looking for any sign of trouble.

Instead, my gaze lands on a small group of shady associates I’ve had dealings with in the past. They’re huddled near the bar, speaking in low tones, eyes occasionally darting toward the dance floor. I’ll need to keep them in check. If they step out of line or pose a threat to my interests, I won’t hesitate to shut them down.

My phone buzzes, an incoming text. Fishing it out, I glance at the screen:

Possible leak about the Eastern Europe shipments. Unconfirmed.

My teeth grind. I type a quick response, Keep digging. And slip the phone back into my pocket. The East European shipments are crucial to one of my black-market deals, a major pipeline for high-stakes cargo with… questionable legality. It’s a deal that ensures certain politicians get their slice, and I keep my stranglehold on the city’s black-market corridors. If someone’s uncovered any hard evidence about it, I need to know.

I exhale, scanning the crowd again. My body buzzes with tension, fueled by the knowledge that I have enemies circling like sharks. And in the midst of it all, Lana f*****g Sterling is prowling around, curious and relentless.

She’s not just a journalist. She’s hungry. The words echo in my mind, an earlier assessment I made. She’s the type to keep digging, to press until she finds the truth or destroys herself in the process. And if she feeds on the wrong secret, my secret, I could lose everything.

Suddenly, Carter steps forward, his massive form blocking the passing waitstaff. “Boss.”

I nod, my voice low. “Something I should know?”

He inclines his head, lowering his voice. “The journalist, Lana Sterling. She’s been asking questions all night, cornering some of the men with ties to you. Should we intervene?”

I clench my jaw at the reminder of her presence. Images flash through my mind: Lana’s toned legs, the curve of her ass, the perky swell of her breasts beneath that tight black dress. And that moment her eyes flicked down, locked onto my c**k, an unmistakable wave of desire rippling over her. The memory sends heat coursing through me, reminding me how much I want to rip off that dress and make her squirm under my hands.

But s*x and secrets are a dangerous mix. I know that all too well.

Forcing my attention back to Carter, I say, “Not yet.”

He nods, eyes flicking to the side as though scanning the crowd for threats. “Understood.”

I’m about to move on when a slender man in an impeccably tailored navy suit approaches. His name is Rickard, a corporate lawyer I occasionally use for, shall we say, unofficial ventures.

“Damien,” Rickard greets, voice as smooth as an oil slick. “I hear you’ve had a busy night.”

My lips thin. “That so?”

He chuckles, a low, mocking sound. “Word travels. A certain raven-haired journalist seems quite interested in your business activities.”

I arch a brow, keeping my expression neutral. “Just another reporter fishing for a sensational story.”

“And you’re not worried?”

A sharp laugh escapes me. “Worried? Rickard, you must be mixing me up with a lesser man.”

He sniffs, glancing around surreptitiously. “Fair enough. But I’d be careful if I were you.” Leaning in, he adds in a hushed tone, “Rumors are swirling about your shipments, cargo from Eastern Europe, if I’m not mistaken. People are talking. If Ms. Sterling catches wind and connects the dots…”

My fist tightens. Rickard’s not telling me anything new, but hearing the words out loud reignites my anger. “She won’t find what she’s looking for,” I say, voice low and measured. “I’ll handle it.”

He nods, backing off. “Just a friendly heads-up.”

“Appreciated,” I lie. Then I turn on my heel, leaving him to slither off to whatever hole he crawled out of. I don’t trust him. I don’t trust any of them.

My empire was built on a foundation of secrets, power plays, and alliances that shift like sand underfoot. The only way to survive is to maintain strict control, to know everyone’s pressure points, their weaknesses, their price. And to ensure they never see mine.

Except now, that black-haired, sharp-eyed woman might have a line on my vulnerabilities.

“Goddamn it,” I mutter under my breath. Running a hand over my jaw, I thread my way through the crowd. The hum of conversation grows louder as I pass by clusters of socialites gossiping in glittering dresses, corporate men bragging about their latest acquisitions, and politicians with pinned-on smiles. Each one is a potential threat or an asset, rarely anything in between.

I exchange a curt nod with a gray-haired senator, half-listening to him drone about some upcoming fundraiser. My thoughts keep returning to Lana. She’s not like these people. She doesn’t blend in with forced smiles and polished small talk. She’s focused, relentless, and I suspect she has a personal stake in this, something more than just a byline.

You want to dig into my world? I think. Be prepared for the consequences.

A flicker of black fabric catches my eye, sending a sharp spike of awareness through my gut. There. She stands near the far column, flipping through her phone with a subtle tension in her posture. Even from across the room, I sense the crackle of her energy. Her figure draws my gaze, her ass, full and firm, the dress hugging every curve. My c**k twitches with renewed interest, reminding me how precarious this situation is.

I tear my gaze away, anger and desire clashing inside me. Letting her close would be a mistake. f*****g her would be suicide. But the image of hauling her against me, feeling her go tight and breathless, tasting that challenge on her lips, I can’t deny the appeal. She’s awakened a part of me I usually keep buried beneath layers of ice.

The last time I let myself get too close to someone, it ended in blood and betrayal. I recall the memory, the flash of a gun, the sting of treachery cutting deeper than any bullet. Never again.

I steel my spine, letting my face settle into a mask of calm. Control, that’s what keeps me alive, what keeps my empire from crashing. I’ve sacrificed everything to build what I have, and I’ll be damned if I let a single journalist unravel it.

Carter reappears at my elbow, murmuring, “Sir, we have a situation near the rear corridor. Something about one of your… business partners. Seems he’s agitated, claiming he’s being watched.”

I keep my expression cold and composed. “Handle it.”

“Yes, sir.” He starts to step away, then hesitates. “Are you sure about Ms. Sterling?”

My gaze drifts once more to the far side of the ballroom, where Lana is now chatting with a young couple, her face animated. “She’s a threat, but not an immediate one. Let her snoop a little longer, see what she finds. We’ll learn more from observing her than from shutting her down.”

Carter’s lips twitch with approval. “Understood.”

He moves off, disappearing into the throng. I remain, scanning the crowd with the eyes of a predator. I see you, Lana. And I won’t let you sink your teeth into the wrong secret. If the day ever comes that she corners something truly damning, I won’t hesitate to do whatever it takes to protect my empire, even if it means breaking the first person who’s made me feel anything in years.

-

The night marches on, and the gala’s energy shifts to a slower, more languid rhythm as the clock nears midnight. Some guests slip away to quieter corners, while others indulge in the bar’s top-shelf liquor, their inhibitions loosening with every sip.

I station myself near a mahogany bar, swirling a glass of whiskey while keeping a discreet eye on the room. The amber liquid reflects the warm light of the chandelier overhead, and I inhale its smoky aroma, letting it ground me.

A couple of real estate moguls approach, offering polite conversation. I half-listen as they boast about new developments and potential overseas expansions. Normally, I’d feign interest, but tonight, I can’t be bothered.

My mind drifts to the deeper undercurrents swirling beneath this ballroom’s glittering surface. I can practically smell the deals happening in hushed conversations: money laundering, drug routes, crooked political alliances. And me, at the center of it all, orchestrating certain pieces, benefiting from the ignorance or complicity of the rest.

Another text pings my phone. I glance at it:

High likelihood someone is feeding info about the shipments to an external party. Could be connected to your reporter.

My grip tightens on the glass. If Lana is involved, that changes the game. I take a slow, calming sip of whiskey, the burn steadying my nerves.

A presence shifts beside me. “Enjoying the evening?” a sultry voice asks.

I turn to find a tall blonde woman in a red satin dress, a practiced smile on her lips. She’s a socialite, Alice something. Probably looking for a quick f**k or a chance to curry favor. Under normal circumstances, I might indulge, if only to blow off steam. But tonight, my patience is wearing thin.

“Busy,” I say curtly.

She pouts, leaning in. Her perfume is cloying and heavy. “I can see you’re tense. Maybe I can help you… unwind.”

I roll my shoulders back, ignoring the simmer of annoyance. “Not interested.”

She blinks, clearly not used to rejection, then attempts a coy laugh. “Oh, Damien, come now. After all the donations you’ve made, I’d say you deserve a little relaxation.” She lets a hand drift to my arm.

My jaw tightens. I hate clingy women. “Try someone else,” I say, my tone flat.

She flushes with embarrassment and hurries off, mumbling something under her breath. I exhale slowly, sipping my whiskey again. The last thing I need is another entanglement with someone whose only interest is my wallet.

No, the only entanglement that tempts me is the one that’s guaranteed to end in flames.

I scan the room again, searching for Lana’s dark hair. She’s nowhere in sight. A prickle of alarm slithers through me. She’s probably slipped off somewhere for more snooping. I should have Carter tail her. But I’ve already decided to let her be for now, to let her get comfortable, dig herself in deeper. That way, I’ll know exactly how to corner her when the time comes.

Still, a part of me burns at the thought of her disappearing into some hallway, cornering another of my associates, gleaning more information than she has a right to.

Downing the rest of my whiskey, I set the glass aside with a decisive click. f**k it. My entire body thrums with the need to take action. I stride out of the ballroom, slipping into a side corridor draped with gilded mirrors and adorned with tapestries that exude old-money charm.

Voices reach me from around the corner, low, urgent tones. I pause, blending into the shadows, straining my ears.

“...not sure who she is, but she’s asking all the wrong questions,” one voice says.

Another man replies, “We can’t have Blackwood’s deals exposed. You know what will happen if those shipments get traced back to him.”

My pulse spikes, and I move closer. The corridor leads to a small lounge area. Two men stand there, both from the shady group I spotted earlier. One shifts nervously, glancing down at his phone.

The other man continues, “We should get rid of her. Quietly. Before this goes any further.”

They’re talking about Lana. A tidal wave of possessive fury rises in me. These idiots think they can silence her without my permission?

Stepping into view, I let my presence ripple through the space. They stiffen immediately, eyes widening. “Mr. Blackwood,” one of them stammers.

I lock them in place with a cold glare. “I trust you’re not discussing anything… unwise?”

They exchange panicked glances. “Of course not,” the first man says quickly. “We were just...”

“I heard enough,” I cut in, voice quiet and lethal. “No one makes a move on my territory without my say-so.”

“Y-Yes, of course.”

I arch a brow, letting the silence hang. Their foreheads glisten with sweat. Fools. They don’t realize they’ve just stepped onto a minefield.

“Spread the word,” I say, my tone leaving no room for argument. “I handle my own business. If anyone dares to go after the woman”, I pause, rage simmering beneath my skin...“they’ll answer to me personally.”

They flinch, nodding vigorously. “Understood,” one squeaks.

“Good.” I step back, letting them shuffle away like the gutless cowards they are. When they’re gone, I release a sharp breath.

Protecting Lana from these vultures feels contradictory to my mission, she’s a threat, after all. But that’s precisely why it has to be me dealing with her. I refuse to let some underling take matters into their own hands and potentially bring more heat down on my head. Plus, a darker, more primal part of me rejects the idea of anyone else touching her.

She’s mine to handle.

A ghost of a smirk touches my lips. The notion of her being mine, even in the sense of an adversary, sends heat racing through me. I push off the wall, straightening my suit jacket. Time to return to the ballroom, to keep appearances and maintain control.

-

I spend the next half hour shaking hands, feigning interest in polite chatter, my mind half-occupied by the knowledge that Lana is somewhere nearby, weaving through the same throng of liars and schemers. The tension in my gut coils tighter. How long can I keep this charade before something snaps?

Toward the end of the night, just as the orchestra plays its final piece, I catch sight of Carter approaching with a grim expression. I set my empty glass on a tray and meet him halfway.

“Report,” I say.

He lowers his voice, his stance rigid. “We intercepted a whisper from the same group of men. One of them claims Ms. Sterling might be the key to uncovering evidence about the shipments. They say someone else might already be feeding her intel.”

My spine goes taut. “Any idea who?”

“Not yet. We’re working on it. But if she’s got an inside source, that complicates things.”

Complicates is an understatement. If Lana’s getting breadcrumbs from someone on the inside, she could be on the verge of exposing everything. My mind races, assessing possible leaks, Rickard? One of my other crooked associates? A politician looking to trade my secrets for a bigger slice of the pie?

None of that matters at the moment. What matters is Lana. If she’s close to the truth, I need to rein her in, and fast.

A swirl of excitement mingles with the dread. She’s become more than just a threat, she’s a puzzle, a fixation, a piece of forbidden fruit dangling right in front of me. And the idea of bending her to my will, of dominating that untamed fire in her eyes, sends a vicious jolt of lust through my veins.

Still, lust isn’t enough to overshadow the seriousness of the situation. I have too much at stake. My empire, my carefully cultivated web of deals and alliances, the fortress of power I’ve built, it could all come crashing down if she finds something tangible.

I exhale, forcing my emotions back under lock and key. “Double security,” I tell Carter. “Keep eyes on her. If she makes a move that jeopardizes our operation, notify me immediately.”

He nods. “Understood. And if she’s truly onto something?”

A grim smile curls my lips. “Then I’ll make her see reason… one way or another.”

My gaze drifts over the crowd for the final time that night, dancing on the edge of a spiral staircase and the shimmering chandelier overhead. I’ve built my empire by never letting anyone see my weaknesses, until now. Lana’s presence is a weakness, but I’ll be damned if I let her exploit it.

-

I slip one hand into my pocket, feeling the tension hum through my muscles. The knowledge that someone is feeding Lana information about my black-market dealings gnaws at me, but a darker desire flares in my chest, because, somehow, she may be the only one who can truly threaten me.

And I’ve never been able to resist a challenge.