The Blackwood private jet cut through the midnight sky like a silver bullet, carrying them away from London and toward what Damien had cryptically called "somewhere they'll never think to look."
Seraphina sat in the buttery leather seat, still wearing her wedding dress, watching the lights of the city disappear beneath them. Her new husband—the word still felt strange in her mind—sat across from her, having traded his formal morning coat for dark jeans and a black cashmere sweater that made his pale eyes look like winter storms.
"So," she said, accepting the glass of champagne he offered, "are you going to tell me where we're going, or is this another one of your mysterious surprises?"
"Scotland." Damien's smile was enigmatic. "The Blackwood estate in the Highlands. Completely isolated, heavily secured, and staffed entirely by people who would die before betraying the family."
"Sounds romantic," Seraphina said dryly, though something warm unfurled in her chest at his casual mention of family. She was part of that now, whether by choice or contract.
"Romance can wait." His expression darkened. "Right now, I'm more concerned about keeping you alive."
The warmth evaporated, replaced by cold dread. "What do you mean?"
Damien pulled out his phone, scrolling to a series of photographs that made Seraphina's blood freeze. They were surveillance shots—her leaving Blackwood Manor that morning, getting into the wedding car, walking down the aisle. But the angle was wrong, taken from outside the estate grounds.
Someone had been watching. Someone had been close enough to kill her at any moment during the ceremony.
"Edmund Ashford wasn't working alone," Damien said, his voice grim. "He had partners, investors in his little murder enterprise. People who've been profiting from the fear and silence he created. With him arrested and talking to save his own skin, they're desperate to clean up loose ends."
"Loose ends meaning me."
"Loose ends meaning anyone who can connect them to the original murders." His fingers tightened on the phone. "You, Detective Inspector Chen, the remaining witnesses who helped build the case against Edmund."
Seraphina set down her champagne, her appetite for celebration gone. "How many people are we talking about?"
"At least six that we know of. Possibly more." Damien leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "The Ashford Foundation was just the beginning, Seraphina. Edmund was laundering money for some very dangerous people—arms dealers, human traffickers, politicians who like their bribes untraceable. Your father stumbled onto a conspiracy that goes to the very top of British society."
"And now they know I'm alive, married to you, and capable of exposing them." She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "So much for a quiet honeymoon."
"Who said anything about quiet?" Damien's smile was sharp as a blade. "I prefer my honeymoons with a little danger."
Before Seraphina could respond, the intercom crackled to life. "Mr. Blackwood, sir," came the pilot's voice, tense with urgency. "We have a problem."
Damien was on his feet instantly, moving to the cockpit with fluid grace. Seraphina followed, her wedding dress rustling around her legs like silk armor.
"What is it, Marcus?" Damien asked the pilot.
"Two aircraft, sir. Military jets, no identification. They've been shadowing us for the past ten minutes." The pilot's hands were steady on the controls, but sweat beaded his forehead. "They're not responding to radio contact."
Through the cockpit windows, Seraphina could see the dark shapes flanking them, sleek predators against the star-scattered sky. Her heart hammered against her ribs as the reality hit her—someone was trying to kill them before they even reached their honeymoon destination.
"How far to the nearest airfield?" Damien asked, his voice remarkably calm.
"Twenty minutes to Edinburgh, sir. But if they mean to shoot us down—"
"They won't." Damien's certainty was absolute. "They want it to look like an accident. Engine failure, pilot error, something that won't raise questions. But they need us over water or remote terrain to make it believable."
As if summoned by his words, one of the jets moved closer, close enough that Seraphina could see the pilot's face behind the mask. Cold eyes, professional detachment, the look of someone who killed for money rather than passion.
"Change course," Damien ordered. "Head for the Aberdeen oil platforms."
"Sir?" The pilot's confusion was evident.
"Trust me, Marcus. I have a contingency plan."
The jet banked sharply, changing direction toward the North Sea. The military aircraft followed, maintaining their predatory formation. Seraphina gripped the back of the pilot's seat as turbulence shook the cabin.
"Care to share this contingency plan?" she asked, surprised by how steady her voice sounded.
"Remember when I said the estate was heavily secured?" Damien pulled out his phone, typing rapidly. "I wasn't just talking about guards and alarm systems."
The response came thirty seconds later—a streak of light that rose from the dark ocean below like a comet in reverse. The missile struck the lead military jet with surgical precision, turning it into a brief star against the night sky.
The second jet peeled away immediately, its pilot apparently deciding that discretion was the better part of valor when faced with surface-to-air missiles from an unknown source.
"North Sea oil platform Seven-Alpha," Damien explained casually as debris rained down into the ocean. "Officially, it's a drilling operation. Unofficially, it's a Blackwood Industries research facility with some very interesting defensive capabilities."
Seraphina stared at him, her mind reeling. "You have a private military installation disguised as an oil rig?"
"Several, actually. Useful for protecting shipping lanes from pirates." His smile was all innocence. "Completely legal, I assure you."
"Legal doesn't mean normal, Damien."
"Normal is overrated, don't you think?" He pulled her against him, his arms strong and warm around her waist. "Besides, you married into the Blackwood family, darling. Normal was never going to be an option."
Despite everything—the attack, the danger, the casual destruction of military aircraft—Seraphina found herself laughing. "You're completely insane."
"And you love it." His eyes were intense, searching her face. "Don't you?"
The question hung between them like a challenge. She should have been terrified, should have been demanding to be taken home, should have been reconsidering every choice that had led her to this moment.
Instead, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, hard and desperate and full of everything she couldn't put into words. He tasted like champagne and danger and promises that might get her killed.
"Ask me again when we're not being shot out of the sky," she murmured against his lips.
"Fair point." His hands tightened on her waist, possessive and protective. "Marcus, how much longer to the estate?"
"Fifteen minutes, sir. Clear skies ahead."
They made the rest of the flight in relative peace, though Seraphina noticed that Damien kept his phone in his hand, ready to call in more defensive measures if needed. The man she'd married wasn't just wealthy and dangerous—he was connected to resources that most governments would envy.
Blackwood Castle emerged from the Highland mist like something from a Gothic fairy tale. Ancient stone towers reached toward the star-scattered sky, while modern additions blended seamlessly with medieval architecture. Lights blazed in dozens of windows, and Seraphina could see the shadows of armed guards patrolling the grounds.
"Home sweet home," Damien said as the jet touched down on a private airstrip carved into the mountainside.
"It's beautiful," Seraphina admitted, watching the castle grow larger as they taxied toward a hangar built into the rock face. "And completely terrifying."
"Most beautiful things are." He stood and offered her his hand. "Come on, wife. Let me show you your new kingdom."
The hangar doors closed behind them with the finality of a tomb sealing, but Seraphina felt safer than she had in hours. Whatever enemies were hunting them, they would have to be very good and very lucky to breach Damien's Highland fortress.
A woman in her thirties waited beside a sleek black car, her blonde hair pulled back in a military-precise bun. She wore tactical gear with the casual confidence of someone who knew how to use every weapon strapped to her body.
"Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood," she said with a crisp Scottish accent. "Welcome home. I'm Sarah MacLeod, head of castle security. I trust your flight was... eventful?"
"You could say that." Damien helped Seraphina into the car, his hand lingering on her waist. "Status report?"
"Perimeter is secure, sir. We've had some probing attempts—drones mostly, a few long-range reconnaissance teams that we've discouraged. Nothing serious yet, but they're definitely testing our defenses."
"How many?"
"At least three separate groups that we've identified. Professional operators, well-funded, but not military. More likely corporate security or high-end mercenaries."
Seraphina listened to the tactical discussion with growing unease. "Just how many people want me dead?"
"Currently?" MacLeod consulted a tablet. "We've identified at least twelve individuals with direct financial interests in keeping the Ashford murders buried. Plus their various employees, associates, and backup plans. I'd estimate somewhere between fifty and seventy active hostiles, with more likely to emerge as word spreads."
"Seventy people want to kill me." Seraphina leaned back against the leather seat, feeling suddenly exhausted. "On my wedding day."
"Technically, it's after midnight," Damien pointed out. "So it's the day after your wedding day."
"That makes it so much better."
"Look at it this way—you went from having no one who cared whether you lived or died to having seventy people invested enough in your existence to want you dead. That's progress."
Despite everything, Seraphina laughed. "Your optimism is truly inspiring."
The car wound up a narrow mountain road carved from living rock, passing through multiple security checkpoints that rose from the ground like mechanical sentinels. Each gate was more sophisticated than the last—armed guards, biometric scanners, weapons that could turn an army into vapor.
Finally, they reached the castle itself. Up close, it was even more impressive—and intimidating. The ancient stone walls had been reinforced with modern materials, and Seraphina could see the subtle gleam of surveillance equipment disguised as decorative elements.
"The castle has been in the Blackwood family for eight centuries," Damien explained as they climbed the steps to the main entrance. "Each generation has added their own... improvements."
The massive oak doors opened to reveal a great hall that belonged in a museum. Tapestries that were probably worth millions hung from stone walls, while a fire large enough to roast an ox blazed in the enormous fireplace. But it was the people waiting for them that made Seraphina's breath catch.
A dozen men and women in formal attire stood at attention, their faces respectfully blank but their eyes sharp with intelligence. These weren't servants—they were soldiers, operatives, people who could kill with their bare hands but looked equally comfortable serving tea.
"The household staff," Damien said with obvious pride. "Each one handpicked, trained, and absolutely loyal to the Blackwood family. They'll die before they let anyone hurt you."
"That's... reassuring," Seraphina managed.
An elderly man stepped forward, his silver hair immaculate despite the late hour. "Master Damien, Madam," he said with a formal bow. "Welcome home. I am Henderson, the castle steward. We've prepared the master suite for your arrival."
"Thank you, Henderson." Damien's arm slid around Seraphina's waist, and she was grateful for the support. The adrenaline from the attack was finally wearing off, leaving her drained. "Has there been any word from London?"
"Detective Inspector Chen called an hour ago, sir. Lord Ashford has been formally charged with four counts of murder. He's requesting a plea bargain, offering information about his associates in exchange for a reduced sentence."
"Let him talk." Damien's smile was sharp. "The more he reveals, the easier our job becomes."
"There's also been movement on the financial front," Henderson continued. "Several offshore accounts have been frozen, and three prominent London businessmen have fled the country rather suddenly."
"The rats are abandoning the sinking ship." Damien seemed pleased by this development. "Excellent. Fear makes people careless."
Seraphina listened to the casual discussion of international manhunts and financial warfare with growing amazement. She'd married into more than a wealthy family—she'd become part of what amounted to a private intelligence service.
"I think," she said carefully, "I need to sit down."
"Of course." Damien was immediately solicitous, guiding her toward a chair by the fire. "It's been a long day. Henderson, please have dinner sent up to our room. Something light—Mrs. Blackwood needs rest more than food."
Mrs. Blackwood. The title still felt strange, but also... right. Like putting on armor that had been forged specifically for her.
"There's one more thing, sir," Henderson said quietly. "A message arrived by secure courier an hour ago. From Isabel Ashford."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Damien went very still, his hand tightening on Seraphina's shoulder.
"What did she want?"
Henderson handed over a cream envelope, expensive and elegant. Damien opened it, his face growing darker as he read.
"What does it say?" Seraphina asked.
"She wants to meet," Damien said, his voice carefully controlled. "Alone. She claims to have information about the people hunting you, offers to trade it for safe passage out of the country."
"It's a trap."
"Obviously." He crumpled the letter, tossing it into the fire. "But it might also be an opportunity. Isabel knows things—names, locations, financial records. Information we could use."
"Or she could be leading you into an ambush."
"That's why she won't be meeting me." Damien's smile was sharp as winter. "She'll be meeting us. Together. Because whatever game Isabel Ashford thinks she's playing, she's about to learn that the rules have changed."
Seraphina stared into the fire, watching Isabel's letter turn to ash. Tomorrow, she would face the daughter of the man who had destroyed her family. But tonight, she was safe in her husband's fortress, surrounded by people who would kill to protect her.
For the first time in seventeen years, Seraphina Kane—no, Seraphina Blackwood—was exactly where she belonged.
"When?" she asked.
"Tomorrow night. Neutral ground—the old Ashford estate. Poetic justice, don't you think?"
"Perfect," Seraphina said, and meant it. "I've been waiting my whole life to have a conversation with Isabel Ashford."
Damien's eyes glittered with dangerous approval. "That's my girl," he murmured, and leaned down to kiss her temple. "Now come on, wife. Let me show you to our room. We have a big day tomorrow, and I intend to make sure you're thoroughly... prepared."
The promise in his voice sent heat spiraling through her, and for the first time since the ceremony, Seraphina remembered that this wasn't just about revenge and survival.
This was their wedding night.
And she was about to discover what it truly meant to belong to the devil's heir.