CHAPTER 2 — The Will Reading (Iris POV)
1074 Words
The Blackwell estate looked like grief had a budget.
Even the driveway felt expensive—long, silent, lined with winter flowers that couldn’t possibly be real. The gates opened without a sound, as if the house itself didn’t dare speak too loudly today.
Adrian’s car stopped in front of the main entrance.
I didn’t move immediately.
My hands were folded in my lap like I was walking into a meeting, not the ruins of my marriage.
Adrian sat beside me, dressed in black, put back together the way men like him always were—clean suit, sharp jaw, controlled breathing. You could lose a father and still look like a headline.
“Iris,” he said quietly.
I stared straight ahead. “Don’t.”
The driver opened my door. Cold air swept in.
I stepped out before Adrian could say another word. Gravel crunched under my heels—sharp, honest. The house stood tall and pale like it had never witnessed a woman walk out on a Blackwell.
A man in a dark suit waited at the door.
“Mrs. Blackwell,” he said, nodding. “Mr. Blackwell.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened at the title. He didn’t correct it.
The man introduced himself. “Daniel Cross. Estate attorney.”
His eyes flicked to me, respectful but cautious—like he already knew last night didn’t end with sleep.
“Please,” Cross said. “This way.”
We walked through a foyer that looked like a museum. White stone. Marble pillars. A chandelier that could light a city street. Everything screamed legacy.
Voices murmured somewhere deeper in the house.
Family. Board. Witnesses.
On this level, grief was just another negotiation.
Cross led us into a dark study with a long polished table that reflected the ceiling like a mirror. People were already seated.
At the head of the table sat Vivian Blackwell.
Raymond’s wife. Adrian’s stepmother.
She wore black like she invented it.
Her gaze slid over me slowly, assessing, and something like satisfaction softened her mouth.
Then she looked at Adrian.
Her eyes sharpened.
“Adrian,” Vivian said. “You look… exhausted.”
Adrian didn’t respond. He pulled out a chair for me.
I sat—not because I needed him, but because I refused to look shaken in front of Vivian.
Across from us, a man in a perfect suit leaned back with an easy smile—Mason Blackwell, Adrian’s cousin. The smile was soft. The intent behind it wasn’t.
Two board members sat nearby. A woman with sleek hair and cold eyes. An older man with stiff posture. Both looked like they’d calculated what grief could do to stock prices.
Cross placed a folder on the table like it weighed more than paper.
“Thank you for coming,” he began. “Mr. Raymond Blackwell’s will is legally binding and will be read in the presence of listed parties and witnesses.”
Vivian lifted her chin. “Proceed.”
Cross opened the folder and read the formal parts—assets, properties, trusts, philanthropic funds. Numbers too large to belong to one human life.
I listened without reacting.
Adrian didn’t move. Not once.
Then Cross paused.
“The next section pertains to Blackwell Holdings.”
The room shifted. Not physically—strategically.
Cross continued. “Raymond Blackwell held controlling interest through direct shares and voting trusts. His intent was to ensure stability of leadership while preventing hostile takeovers.”
Mason’s smile deepened a fraction, like this was his favorite kind of entertainment.
Cross glanced at the paper. “Raymond Blackwell names Adrian Blackwell as primary successor—”
Vivian’s mouth tightened.
Cross raised his eyes, calm. “—with conditions.”
There it was.
The air changed.
Cross read slowly, carefully, like each word was a trigger.
“In the event of Raymond Blackwell’s death, Adrian Blackwell retains voting control of Blackwell Holdings only under the following condition…”
My throat tightened.
Cross didn’t look up.
“He must remain legally married to Iris Vale-Blackwell.”
Silence.
Not the awkward silence of shock.
The dangerous silence of people instantly seeing profit.
My skin went cold.
Across the table, Vivian’s eyes glinted with something close to triumph.
Mason looked entertained.
One of the board members exhaled sharply like she couldn’t decide if this was brilliant or insane.
Adrian’s fingers curled against the table.
I heard my own voice before I fully recognized it.
“That’s a joke,” I said.
Cross’s expression didn’t change. “It is not, Mrs. Blackwell.”
I turned toward Adrian slowly, like my head was underwater.
He didn’t meet my eyes.
Not immediately.
When he finally did, his gaze was hard, tense—like he’d been expecting the blow and still didn’t know how to take it.
I swallowed.
Because last night I walked away thinking I had one weapon left.
Divorce.
And now I was sitting in a room full of sharks while a lawyer told me my freedom was tied to the Blackwell empire.
Cross’s voice continued, calm and merciless.
“The clause is effective immediately.”
I couldn’t breathe properly.
I looked at Adrian again, voice low and shaking only at the edges.
“So your father didn’t just trap you.”
My eyes burned.
“He trapped me too.”
Adrian’s jaw clenched.
Vivian finally spoke, smooth as silk. “Iris, dear… how fortunate.”
I stared at her.
Fortunate.
That was what she called a cage.
Cross cleared his throat again. “There are additional provisions tied to the clause. We will proceed—”
I cut in, my voice suddenly steady.
“No.”
Every eye turned.
I stood.
The chair scraped quietly, and the sound felt loud in the room.
I looked at Cross. Then Vivian. Then Mason. Then Adrian.
“I’m done being a clause in this family’s paperwork,” I said.
Adrian rose fast. “Iris—”
I held up a hand. “Not now.”
And I walked toward the door, because I needed air, and because I refused to let any of them see me break.
Behind me, Cross called my name, polite but firm.
“Mrs. Blackwell—please. You must hear the rest.”
I stopped at the doorway.
I didn’t turn around.
“Then make it short,” I said, voice cold.
Because whatever came next…
I already knew one thing.
They weren’t going to let me go.
END OF EPISODE 2
- Writer
