I'm the Billionaires' Secret

Risk and Revelation

POV: Damien Blackwood

-

Power is a drug, and tonight, Lana Sterling looks like the perfect dose of danger.

I lean against the edge of a marble pillar in one of the hotel’s private corridors, tapping out a single text on my phone. Everything is in motion: the shipments, the hush money, the calculated steps I’ve taken to secure both my empire and my enemies. Normally, I thrive on this synergy of deals and secrecy. But tonight, a pair of storm-gray eyes haunts the back of my mind.

I flick my gaze toward the main ballroom. Through the open doorway, I spot her - Lana Sterling - smiling politely at some socialite. There’s a dissonance in that smile, though, a restlessness that betrays how determined she is to find what she came for. The thirst for information radiates off her like a heat I can’t ignore.

Part of me wants to drag her into the shadows, pin her against a wall, and demand she relinquish whatever secrets she’s gleaned. Another part imagines the warmth of her body pressed to mine, the rasp of her breath against my neck, and it unleashes a torrent of filthy thoughts. Jesus. She’s crawling under my skin, into places I keep barred off.

I tug at my cufflinks, forcing my mind back on track. Focus, Damien. This night isn’t just about her. I have a deal to broker - one that could strengthen my grip on the black-market corridors of Eastern Europe. With rumors already stirring, I need to lock down every loose end.

“Mr. Blackwood.”

A voice pulls me out of my reverie. One of my more shadowy associates, Viktor, approaches with a measured pace, cutting through the corridor’s hushed elegance. He’s tall and lean, his face a tapestry of old scars. The rumors say he once belonged to a paramilitary group. I don’t doubt it.

Without waiting for formalities, I jerk my head toward the nearest vacant room. “Let’s talk in private.”

He follows me inside. The room is modest by the Grand Aurora’s standards - dark wood paneling, a wide leather sofa, and heavy drapes that swallow most of the hallway’s light. I move to the far corner, out of sight from the corridor, and turn to face him.

“You have news?” I demand.

Viktor’s expression remains carved from stone. “Yes. The next shipment is scheduled. My people expect it to arrive by tomorrow night.”

I nod, a surge of dark satisfaction coursing through me. “Good. The cargo remains the same?”

He hesitates, eyes shifting almost imperceptibly. “There’s… been a change. We secured additional items for transport - something our mutual ‘friends’ requested. More high-value, which means more risk.”

I inhale slowly. More risk means more potential for exposure. But it also means more profit, and in my world, the balance of power leans toward whoever is willing to step closer to the edge. “Fine,” I say at last. “But our arrangement doesn’t change. You deliver your end by midnight tomorrow. Or our deal is over.”

Viktor’s scarred mouth twitches in acknowledgment. “As you wish. But I heard whispers about a journalist poking around tonight. Should I be concerned?”

My fists clench reflexively, memory flashing: Lana’s dark hair, the cautious yet hungry look in her eyes. “Stay out of that,” I grind out. “She’s none of your concern.”

“She’s not going to cause problems for us?”

An instinctive surge of possessiveness flares in my chest. “If she does, I’ll handle it. She’s mine to deal with.”

Viktor studies me for a moment, then nods. “Understood.”

I wave him off, restless energy prickling through my limbs. “Get out. Make sure everything’s in place for tomorrow.”

He leaves without another word, pulling the door shut behind him. Alone in the room, I draw a steadying breath. The stakes keep climbing higher, and one misstep could unravel it all. At times like this, my father’s old teachings echo in my mind - the man who taught me that power is never given, it’s seized.

But it was also my father’s own arrogance that led to his downfall. Shot dead in a warehouse by men he believed were allies. I won’t make the same mistake.

I step back into the corridor and blend with the flow of the gala once more, the heavy scent of mingled perfumes and colognes greeting me. My phone buzzes with a fresh text:

“Attendee in the west corridor wants a word. Potential backer for your cause.”

I c**k a brow. Potential backer. Could be a politician or some corporate mogul with a taste for danger. In any case, I can’t afford to ignore it. Before I head there, though, I pause to glance around for Lana.

My gaze snags on a glimpse of her black dress, that mesmerizing curve of her hips, the sway of her ass as she moves. My c**k stirs at the memory of how she kept glancing at my crotch earlier, her lips parting ever so slightly, as if she were imagining all the ways we could devour each other in some dark, secluded corner. The craving to experience that tension in the flesh - skin on skin - throbs through me.

I drag my focus away, cursing under my breath. If I let my desire override my judgment, I’ll risk everything I’ve built. First the deal. Then Lana.

-

Later, in the west corridor…

A hush blankets this part of the hotel, contrasting sharply with the lively orchestra music echoing from the main gala. I find the “potential backer” Carter texted about waiting near a series of tall windows. He’s a squat man with slicked-back hair and a self-assured grin - the type who always thinks they’re smarter than they are.

“Mr. Blackwood,” he greets, extending a damp hand. “Vernon Knight. A pleasure.”

I take his hand briefly, ignoring the clammy grip. “I’m told you want to talk business.”

He straightens his jacket, a glint of excitement in his eyes. “Yes. Word on the street is you’re expanding operations, especially overseas. I have contacts that might prove… helpful.”

I keep my face impassive, though interest flickers beneath the surface. “And what do you want in return?”

“A stake. Nothing huge, just a percentage. Enough to make it worth my while.”

Typical. Everyone wants a slice of the Blackwood empire. “Details,” I say.

Knight leans closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I can connect you to some old Soviet-era pipelines - smuggling routes that have been dormant for years. Officials are either too corrupt or too lazy to c***k down. You’d be able to move contraband with ease.”

My eyes narrow. This is bigger than I expected. “And you can guarantee safety?”

“As safe as anything in this line of work can be,” he answers with a shrug. “But you’ll have the upper hand. Trust me.”

I study him for a moment. He’s overconfident, the type who believes himself indispensable. That can be useful - or dangerous. “I’ll consider it,” I finally say. “But if you’re bullshitting me, don’t bother showing your face in my city again.”

Knight’s grin falters. “I - uh, understood.”

Our conversation ends as swiftly as it began. He hands me a sleek business card, and I slip it into my pocket without a glance. New routes, more money, more risk. This dance is never-ending.

As he walks away, I’m keenly aware of a tingling sensation on the back of my neck - like someone’s watching me. Sure enough, I turn my head and catch a glimpse of dark hair at the corridor’s entrance. My pulse kicks.

She disappears the second I glance her way, but I’m almost certain it was Lana. The edges of my lips curve into a grim half-smile. She’s like a cat, prowling for scraps of information.

My chest tightens, recalling the conversation with Viktor. If Lana stumbles onto the details of my shipments, or worse, if she uncovers the deeper skeletons in my closet - debts owed to men more ruthless than me - it’ll be a f*****g disaster. I can’t let that happen.

Yet the thought of pressing her up against a wall, forcing her to confess everything she’s learned, sets off a spark of excitement in my gut. I’m usually cold and methodical, but something about her triggers a violent need, not just to protect my secrets, but to own her - to bend that fierce will until she’s moaning my name. Damn it, Damien.

I crush the thought and move down the corridor in the direction she vanished. Rounding a corner, I scan left and right, but there’s no sign of her. A dull pang of disappointment flickers through me. Focus on the job.

-

A memory clings to me as I wander back into the main ballroom - one of the darker skeletons in my closet. A gun pressed to my temple, a grinning face on the other end. I had been younger, cockier, diving headfirst into the underworld without fully grasping the cost. That night, I learned the price of letting your guard down. It took years to repay certain debts, to claw my way up until I was the one holding the gun.

I shake my head, returning to the glittering reality of the gala. Gowns swish across the polished floor, and the orchestra strikes a softer tune. It’s nearing the event’s conclusion, and the crowd is thinning.

I spot Rachel - my occasional companion - sipping wine at a table, her predatory gaze roving the room for her next mark. We had our fun once, but she bores me now. She lifts her glass in silent greeting, and I offer a curt nod, unwilling to waste time on small talk.

Instead, I circle around to the bar for another whiskey. The burn in my throat steadies my nerves, reminding me that this is the price I pay for power - constant vigilance, constant risk.

“You look tense,” Carter says, sidling up beside me. He nurses a glass of his own, though I know he never takes more than a sip. Always prepared.

“This is the cost of doing business,” I reply. “Any updates on Sterling?”

He hesitates. “She was spotted talking to a couple of your associates. They didn’t reveal much, but it’s possible she’s piecing things together.”

I exhale through my nose, a flicker of anger crackling at my temples. Too close. “Let me know if she steps outside. I won’t let her leave with a loaded story.”

He nods and strolls off, blending with the crowd. I take another sip, letting the whiskey’s smoky tang fan the flames of my determination. If Lana is about to blow my secrets open, I need to stop her - tonight.

The last lull of music signals the gala’s imminent close. People murmur goodbyes, exchanging empty promises to reconnect. Waiters glide between clusters of guests, collecting stray champagne flutes. The energy has shifted from swirling excitement to a slow unraveling.

I drift near the exit, scanning faces as they leave. Where the hell is she?

Just then, a flash of black hair catches my eye. Lana stands at the far doorway, quietly slipping out. She casts a furtive glance over her shoulder before disappearing into the corridor that leads toward the hotel’s side entrance.

My heart kicks. Got you.

Without waiting for Carter or anyone else, I stride after her. My shoes click against the marble, echoing the thunder in my chest. Curiosity, anger, lust - everything collides inside me, forming a vortex of need that I can’t fully explain. She’s dangerous, but so am I.

Out in the side vestibule, the air is cooler, scented with the lingering aroma of the night’s breeze. I spot Lana’s silhouette weaving through the gilded archway that leads out to a small courtyard. Why is she heading that way? Searching for a private place to make notes or calls, perhaps?

-

I follow, stepping carefully to keep my approach silent. Outside, the moon hangs low, illuminating a series of manicured hedges and ornate statues. The courtyard is nearly empty, save for a lone security guard at the far corner, distracted by something on his phone. Perfect.

Lana is halfway across the courtyard when I clear my throat. She spins, eyes widening. For a split second, a flicker of uncertainty crosses her features, then she sets her jaw and straightens her posture, attempting composure.

“Leaving so soon?” I ask, letting my gaze rake over her figure. In the dim moonlight, her dress appears even more form-fitting, hugging her waist and thighs, revealing every curve.

Her lips part. “Mr. Blackwood,” she says, voice neutral. “I didn’t realize you were behind me.”

I step closer, each footfall measured. “Clearly.”

Her eyes dart around, probably checking if we’re alone. “Did you need something?”

A dark smile tugs at my lips. “Let’s not pretend. You’re the one who wants something - answers, a scoop, a story. Am I right?”

She lifts her chin, expression guarded. “And if I said yes?”

I exhale a soft laugh. “Then I’d say you’re playing a dangerous game. You’ve been sniffing around all night, asking questions you shouldn’t. Tell me, did you find what you were looking for?”

She crosses her arms, jaw tightening. “Not yet. But you know how these things go, Mr. Blackwood - stories eventually surface, no matter how deep people try to bury them.”

My pulse pounds in my ears. It’s a challenge, one laden with both defiance and unspoken attraction. I take another step, closing the distance between us. “You think you can unearth my secrets?”

Her voice trembles, just a fraction. “I think I’ll try.”

Heat pools in my veins, fueled by adrenaline and need. f**k, she’s brave. In the moonlight, her eyes shine with determination, and her lips part slightly as she catches her breath. Thoughts of pinning her to the wall, shoving that dress up her thighs, and burying myself in her flash through my mind, nearly derailing my focus. I want to watch her gasp as I push deep, see her fight that sharp intellect against the raw pull of lust.

But I can’t let it show, not fully. I keep my voice cool, though desire throbs in every syllable. “Let me offer you some advice, Ms. Sterling: walk away. Whatever story you think you have, leave it behind. There are lines you don’t want to cross.”

She lifts an eyebrow, seeming to gather confidence from the tension. “And if I do?”

“That’s up to you.” My gaze rakes her body, lingering on her breasts, the curve of her hips. My c**k stirs at the thought of taking her right here. “Just know there are consequences.”

Lana’s breath hitches, and for a moment, her guard slips. She’s attracted, too - I can practically taste the charged air between us. But she squares her shoulders, eyes flaring with resolve. “People like you always say that. You bank on fear to keep everyone in line.”

“Fear is an excellent motivator,” I concede, stepping even closer. “But it’s not the only weapon I have.”

We stand inches apart now, the tension crackling like static. She doesn’t back down, which makes me want her more. I imagine sliding my hand beneath her dress, cupping her ass, feeling her melt despite her bravado. A swirl of fantasies floods my mind: her on her knees, her nails digging into my back, her cries echoing as I pound into her with ruthless precision.

In that moment, all my carefully orchestrated control teeters. Part of me wants to force her compliance, devour that defiant mouth until she’s begging to know just how deep my darkness goes. Another part recognizes that the next move is crucial. If I push too far, I could lose everything.

Suddenly, Lana exhales, stepping back. Her voice trembles, but she keeps it steady. “I have enough for a good start. Don’t underestimate me.”

Anger flares at the idea she might have gleaned more information than I intended. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll tread lightly, Ms. Sterling.”

She bites her lower lip, a mix of nerves and stubbornness radiating off her. “Funny, I was going to say the same thing to you.”

My control snaps a hair’s breadth. I reach out, grip her chin lightly between my fingers. Her eyes widen in shock, and I lean in, feeling the heat of her breath against my lips. “You’re playing with fire,” I whisper, my voice rough with desire. “Don’t be surprised when it burns.”

For a moment, she freezes, and I sense her pulse hammering beneath my grip. The tension tightens into something almost tangible, sizzling between us. Then, abruptly, she jerks her face free, eyes blazing.

“Go to hell, Damien Blackwood,” she spits, cheeks flushed. Spinning on her heel, she rushes out the courtyard gate, disappearing into the night.

I stand there, heart pounding, adrenaline roaring in my ears. Anger, lust, and frustration war for control of my thoughts. She’s gone - at least for now. But the imprint of her mouth lingers in my memory, a promise of what might happen if I let this spiral further.

She can’t be allowed to slip away. f**k. Logic says I should send Carter after her, retrieve whatever information she has. But if I do that, I lose the chance to see this through myself - and a dark corner of my mind wants that confrontation, wants to see her yield under my hands.

Taking a shaky breath, I turn to the side gate, scanning the street beyond. Lana’s gone, likely in a cab or disappearing into Manhattan’s sea of lights. My options tumble through my mind: let her go and risk the fallout, or track her down, corner her privately. She might already be in too deep.

I grimace, raking a hand through my hair. The night’s not over yet - I still have threads to tie up, people to silence, deals to confirm. And all the while, my thoughts keep drifting to her. The shape of her ass, the flash of defiance in her eyes, the raw heat simmering beneath every word we exchanged.

If this keeps up, I’ll either destroy her - or find myself torn open in the process.

-

The courtyard is quiet, moonlight casting pale shadows on the marble. I clench my fists, a decision forming like ice in my veins. She’s not getting away that easily. Tomorrow, I’ll track her down. I’ll uncover every secret she’s hiding, every lead she’s followed, and then I’ll decide if she deserves my mercy - or my wrath.

Power may be a drug, but tonight, Lana Sterling feels like the perfect dose of danger. And I’m already addicted.