The Last Hope_Bound To Him

Cracks Beneath the Surface

The greenhouse remained Damian's least favorite place in Blackwood Manor.

It smelled of damp earth and roses.

His mother had always preferred flowers to people.

Perhaps because flowers never disappointed her.

Rows of white roses stretched beneath the glass ceiling, their petals glowing beneath the late afternoon sun.

Eleanor Blackwood stood with a pair of silver pruning shears in her gloved hands.

Without turning, she said quietly,

"You're late."

"I wasn't aware I'd been invited."

"You weren't."

Damian slipped his hands into his pockets.

"Then this conversation should be brief."

A faint breeze stirred the vines climbing the glass walls.

Only then did Eleanor set the shears aside.

"There is another dispute between you and Alexander."

Damian gave a humorless laugh.

"There is always another dispute."

"You froze one of his shipping contracts."

"He tried to redirect my cargo through one of his subsidiaries."

"Business."

"No."

Damian's eyes hardened.

"Theft."

Eleanor studied him for several moments.

"Release the contract."

He almost thought he had misheard.

"What?"

"The board meets next week."

"If this continues, your father will be displeased."

Damian's expression remained unchanged.

"My father's moods are not my responsibility."

"They become your responsibility when they threaten the stability of this family."

That word.

Family.

It almost made him smile.

Instead, he looked at the rows of roses.

"I don't remember us ever being one."

Silence settled between them.

Eleanor picked up another rose and trimmed away a dying petal.

"You've become more difficult with age."

"I learned from the best."

For the first time, her hand stopped moving.

Only for a heartbeat.

Then she continued as though nothing had happened.

"Alexander is your elder brother."

"He deserves a measure of respect."

Damian's gaze slowly shifted toward her.

"When I was nine, he pushed me down the eastern staircase."

Eleanor remained silent.

"When I was thirteen, he locked me in the old wine cellar for two days."

Still...

Nothing.

"When I was seventeen, someone tampered with my brakes."

His voice never rose.

Never cracked.

It remained frighteningly calm.

"The mechanic disappeared before he could testify."

Another pause.

"You remember all of those things."

"I do."

"So tell me, Mother..."

"When exactly did he become my brother?"

The greenhouse became painfully quiet.

Outside, rain began tapping softly against the glass roof.

Eleanor lowered her eyes.

"You survived."

Damian stared at her.

Then...

He laughed.

It wasn't amusement.

It was disbelief.

"That's your answer?"

"You survived."

He took one slow step toward her.

"I survived because no one protected me."

Another step.

"I survived because I learned that mercy gets people buried."

His gray eyes were colder than the rain outside.

"You never once stood between us."

"You never asked Father to stop him."

"You never asked Alexander to stop."

"You simply watched."

For the first time in years...

A flicker of emotion crossed Eleanor's face.

Gone almost instantly.

"You were stronger."

Damian closed his eyes briefly.

There it was again.

The same answer she had given him his entire life.

Not comfort.

Not apology.

Strength.

As though strength erased loneliness.

As though surviving excused abandonment.

When he opened his eyes again, whatever disappointment had surfaced disappeared beneath ice.

"I won't release the contract."

"It belongs to Blackwood Infrastructure."

"Alexander has no claim to it."

"If he wants it..."

"He can take it."

Eleanor's voice became firmer.

"You're forcing your father to choose."

"No."

Damian turned toward the exit.

"I'm forcing Alexander to lose."

He walked away without another word.

Behind him, Eleanor remained standing among the white roses.

Only after the greenhouse door closed did her shoulders finally relax.

She reached into the pocket of her dress.

Inside was a small, faded photograph.

A photograph no one knew she still carried.

Her fingers brushed gently across it before she slipped it back into her pocket.

A single whisper escaped her lips.

"So much like him..."

No one was there to hear it.

And no one would understand those words.

Not yet.

Damian had barely reached the main hall when a familiar voice stopped him.

"Leaving already?"

He didn't have to turn around.

Alexander.

Leaning against one of the marble pillars with a glass of whiskey in his hand, his tailored suit immaculate, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"You spend five minutes with Mother and somehow manage to upset her."

Damian adjusted the cuff of his watch.

"I wasn't aware you had appointed yourself her spokesman."

Alexander chuckled.

"No. Just an interested observer."

The two brothers stood facing each other across the polished marble floor.

Servants moved quietly through the corridor, lowering their heads as they passed.

No one lingered.

Everyone inside Blackwood Manor knew one rule.

Never remain near the Blackwood brothers when they were talking.

Because conversations between them rarely stayed conversations.

Alexander took a slow sip of his whiskey.

"You've become careless."

Damian raised an eyebrow.

"Is that so?"

"You've been away from headquarters too often."

"You've made enemies."

"You've started investigations."

He smiled.

"I wonder which of those will kill you first."

Damian regarded him with the detached interest one might reserve for an insect.

"You sound worried."

"I am."

Alexander's smile widened.

"If you die before Father names an heir, I'll lose the satisfaction of defeating you myself."

A beat of silence.

Then Damian stepped closer.

Close enough that only Alexander could hear him.

"When I die..."

"...make sure you aren't standing beside me."

Alexander's smile faltered.

"Because if my death looks even remotely convenient for you..."

Damian's voice was almost gentle.

"...every company carrying your name will disappear before my funeral is over."

Alexander searched his brother's face for any trace of exaggeration.

He found none.

That was the frightening thing about Damian.

He never made threats.

Only promises.

Alexander let out a quiet laugh.

"You've become Father's favorite monster."

Damian's expression remained unreadable.

"No."

"I simply became what this family raised."

For the first time, Alexander had no reply.

Damian walked past him without another glance.

That evening, Arthur Blackwood summoned his children to the west drawing room.

It wasn't unusual.

What was unusual...

...was that all three wives had been called as well.

The atmosphere grew tense long before Arthur entered.

Damian stood near the fireplace, one hand tucked into his pocket.

Alexander occupied the opposite side of the room.

Lucas quietly leafed through a magazine, pretending not to notice the hostility surrounding him.

The children from Arthur's other wives sat together in cautious silence.

No one trusted anyone enough to speak freely.

The heavy oak doors finally opened.

Arthur Blackwood entered without haste.

Even at seventy, his presence commanded absolute attention.

No one sat until he did.

Arthur's sharp gaze swept across the room.

"I've made a decision."

Every head lifted.

"The Dubai International Port project..."

A project worth several billion dollars.

The largest contract Blackwood Holdings had pursued in years.

"...will remain under Damian's control."

Alexander's jaw tightened.

Arthur continued as though he hadn't noticed.

"However..."

"The board has suggested appointing a second executive to oversee financial compliance."

Silence.

Arthur looked directly at Alexander.

"You'll be joining the project."

The room seemed to grow colder.

Every person present understood exactly what Arthur had done.

He hadn't chosen between his sons.

He had thrown them into the same cage.

Alexander smiled first.

"I won't disappoint you, Father."

Damian said nothing.

Arthur turned his attention to him.

"And you?"

Damian met his father's gaze.

"As long as he stays out of my way."

Arthur's lips curved into the faintest smile.

"That depends on whether either of you survives working together."

A ripple of uneasy laughter spread through the room.

No one laughed because it was funny.

They laughed because, in the Blackwood family, no one was ever certain whether Arthur Blackwood was joking.

Damian wasn't smiling.

Neither was Alexander.

Both understood the assignment for what it truly was.

It wasn't a business decision.

It was another test.

Another opportunity for one son to destroy the other.

As the meeting ended, Arthur remained seated, watching his children file out one by one.

His empire was built on competition.

His heirs had been raised to believe compassion was a flaw.

Sooner or later...

One of them would emerge victorious.

The rest would simply disappear.

And Arthur Blackwood intended to watch it happen.

That's a stronger progression. Greg shouldn't appear suspicious this early, and no one should immediately conclude he has bad intentions. Instead, his behavior should seem subtle enough that Elena dismisses it, while Nora (or another close coworker) gradually begins to feel that something is off over time.

Here's a more natural opening to the dinner scene.

The office was unusually lively that Friday afternoon.

The Kingston Publishing contract had finally been signed after weeks of negotiations, and the relief could be felt on every floor.

Editors wandered between desks with cups of coffee instead of hurried manuscripts.

Someone had even started playing music softly from a speaker near the design department.

Greg Harris stepped out of his office with a satisfied smile.

He waited until the conversations died down before clearing his throat.

"Everyone."

Heads turned toward him.

"I have some good news."

A chorus of exaggerated groans rose from the editorial department.

"If this is another deadline—"

"It isn't," Greg laughed.

"The Kingston deal is officially ours."

Cheers erupted throughout the office.

Several employees clapped while someone jokingly asked whether that meant a salary increase.

Greg spread his hands dramatically.

"I can't promise raises..."

"...but I can promise dinner."

Another round of cheers followed.

"The company's paying?"

"The company's paying."

The room immediately became louder.

People were already discussing what they wanted to order before the details had even been announced.

Greg waited patiently before speaking again.

"Tomorrow evening. Seven o'clock."

"The Riverside Pavilion."

"As always, attendance isn't compulsory..."

"...but I'd like everyone there."

The announcement ended with applause before everyone gradually returned to work.

Elena looked after him curiously.

"Dinners like this happen often?"

She had only been observing the office customs for a short while and still found many of them unfamiliar.

Nora, seated across from her with a red pen tucked behind one ear, looked up from her manuscript.

"Oh, yes."

She shrugged.

"Whenever the company lands a big client."

"Mr. Harris likes celebrating."

"Is everyone expected to go?"

"No."

"But almost everyone does."

"Why?"

Nora grinned.

"Because free food tastes better."

Elena couldn't help laughing.

"I suppose that's true."

"And besides," another editor joined in, spinning around in his chair, "it's one of the few times we get to see Greg paying instead of complaining about printing costs."

The office burst into laughter.

Even Greg smiled from inside his glass office.

Elena relaxed.

If everyone was going...

There was no reason for her not to.

Saturday evening arrived sooner than expected.

The Riverside Pavilion overlooked the river, its outdoor terrace glowing beneath strings of warm golden lights.

The atmosphere was elegant without being extravagant.

Soft music drifted through the restaurant while waiters moved effortlessly between tables carrying polished trays.

Nearly everyone from the office had come.

Groups formed naturally.

Editors gathered with editors.

Designers with designers.

The marketing team immediately claimed the table closest to the buffet.

Nora caught Elena's wrist before she could hesitate.

"You're sitting with us."

"I wasn't planning not to."

"Good."

She lowered her voice conspiratorially.

"Otherwise Daniel would spend the whole evening talking about book covers."

"I heard that," Daniel called from across the table.

"You were meant to."

Laughter spread easily around them.

For the first time in a long while...

Elena found herself laughing without thinking about it.

The weight she had carried since her mother's death seemed lighter, if only for one evening.

Across the room, Greg watched the employees enjoying themselves.

His gaze swept across the tables before resting, almost absentmindedly, on Elena.

Only for a moment.

Then he joined another conversation as though nothing had happened.

No one noticed.

Except perhaps Nora...

who happened to glance toward Greg just as his eyes lingered a fraction longer than they had on anyone else.

She frowned briefly.

Then dismissed the thought.

It was probably nothing.

After all...

Greg looked at everyone while he talked.

Didn't he?