Chapter 4
Lucian Blackwood had learned, a long time ago, that sleep was a liability.
He lay awake anyway.
The city below his penthouse pulsed with light and noise, a living thing that never rested, but his mind was elsewhere, back in the narrow space between a gunshot and a woman's trembling hands pressing against his wound.
Elara Wynn.
He did not say her name aloud. Names had weight. Names invited attachment. He had buried men for less.
Yet here he was, staring at the ceiling, replaying the way she had looked at him in his office, defiant, terrified, and furious, all at once. Most people wore one mask at a time. Elara wore none. It made her dangerous.
Or valuable.
Lucian rose before dawn, showered, dressed, and reviewed security reports with the same detached efficiency he always had. The ambush from two nights ago was already being cleaned from the books, reclassified as a "vehicle malfunction" in public records. The dead men had names now. So did the ones who'd ordered them killed.
By eight a.m., he knew exactly who had pulled the trigger.
By eight-oh-five, he knew why.
His half-brother, Marcus Blackwood, had always been patient. That patience had finally run out.
Lucian stared at Marcus's file on the tablet, jaw tight. Same blood. Same father. Different mothers. Different lessons.
Marcus believed power was taken loudly. Lucian had learned it was taken quietly and kept by force.
He shut the tablet off just as a soft knock sounded.
"Come in," Lucian said.
Elara stepped inside.
She looked smaller in daylight. Not weaker, just more exposed. Her hair was pulled back, her expression guarded, and her eyes alert in the way of someone who had slept badly and expected the day to punish her for it.
"You're early," Lucian said.
"I didn't sleep," she replied.
That made two of them.
He gestured toward the chair. She sat this time without protest, but her shoulders stayed rigid, like she was braced for impact.
"You added a meeting to my calendar," she said. "Without asking."
"Yes."
She frowned. "Is that how this works?"
Lucian folded his hands on the desk. "You work for me. That is how this works."
Her jaw tightened. "You said I wouldn't get special treatment."
"You aren't."
"That message about my mother."
"Was not treatment," he cut in. "It was leverage."
The honesty startled her. He saw it land and saw the calculation behind her eyes shift.
"I don't like owing people," she said.
"Good," Lucian replied. "Then you'll be careful."
She studied him for a long moment. "You could've just told me."
"No," he said calmly. "If I told you, you would've said no. This way, you stayed."
"That's manipulation."
"Yes."
She exhaled sharply, leaning back. "At least you're consistent."
Lucian stood and walked to the window, watching traffic crawl below. "You saved my life," he said without turning. "I don't forget debts."
"I didn't save you to be part of whatever this is."
"You didn't save me for the right reasons," Lucian said. "That's why I trust you more."
She laughed softly, without humor. "That's twisted."
"So am I."
Silence stretched again, heavy but not hostile.
"You're not here to be my assistant," Lucian continued. "You're here to observe. To listen. To notice what others ignore."
She narrowed her eyes. "Why me?"
"Because you don't belong," he answered. "And outsiders see cracks insiders pretend aren't there."
Her gaze flicked away, unsettled.
"I'm not asking you to like me," Lucian said. "I'm asking you to survive."
By noon, Elara realized the job was not what she'd expected.
She sat in meetings where men twice her age circled each other with polite smiles and sharpened words. She watched Lucian dismantle arguments without raising his voice, his presence bending the room toward him. He didn't threaten. He didn't plead. He simply waited, and somehow that was worse.
Power moved around him like gravity.
And everyone felt it.
Except her.
She saw the pauses. The glances. The way certain executives flinched when his phone buzzed. The way others grew bolder when he left the room.
She noticed Marcus Blackwood's name come up more than once, always followed by silence.
During a break, she finally asked.
"Who's Marcus?"
Lucian didn't look at her. "A mistake my father made."
"That's vague."
"It's sufficient."
She hesitated. "He doesn't like you."
Lucian's mouth curved faintly. "No. He wants to replace me."
"That's worse."
"Yes."
She stared at him. "And you're just letting that happen?"
Lucian turned then, eyes cold. "I'm letting him believe he can."
Something in his expression warned her not to ask more.
The first real crack came that evening.
Lucian was reviewing contracts when the lights flickered once, twice, then went out entirely.
Darkness swallowed the office.
Elara's breath hitched. "Is this normal?"
"No," Lucian said.
The emergency lights failed, too.
That was deliberate.
"Stay where you are," Lucian ordered, already moving.
The door burst inward with a sound like a gunshot.
Elara screamed as someone grabbed her arm and yanked her backward. She stumbled, heart pounding, dragged into the dark corridor beyond the office.
"Let go!" She cried, clawing at the grip.
A second later, the man holding her slammed into the wall with a grunt. Another body hit the floor. Lucian moved like a shadow, fast and brutal, his restraint gone.
He didn't hesitate. Didn't warn. Didn't hold back.
By the time the lights flickered back on, two men lay unconscious, blood on the marble.
Lucian stood over them, chest heaving, eyes wild.
Elara stared.
She had never seen violence up close before. Not like this. Not controlled. Not precise.
He turned to her slowly.
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
She shook her head, numb.
Lucian exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. "Good."
Security flooded in seconds later, weapons drawn, confusion filling the room.
"Get them out," Lucian snapped. "Quietly."
They obeyed without question.
When the door shut again, the office felt smaller. Colder.
Elara hugged herself. "That wasn't a warning."
"No," Lucian said. "That was a message."
"To me?"
"To Marcus," he corrected. "But you were the proof of delivery."
Her stomach twisted. "You knew this could happen."
"Yes."
"And you still brought me here?"
Lucian met her gaze. "I told you this job was insulation. Not immunity."
She laughed then, a broken sound. "You're using me as bait."
"I'm using you as leverage," he said. "There's a difference."
Her eyes burned. "You said you owed me."
"I do," he replied. "That's why you're still alive."
The words hung between them, ugly and undeniable.
That night, Lucian stood alone in the office long after Elara left.
Marcus had escalated faster than expected. That was on him. Miscalculation was a luxury he rarely afforded himself.
His phone buzzed.
Marcus: You're slipping, brother.
Lucian stared at the message, jaw hardening.
Lucian: You missed.
Marcus: Not really.
Lucian's gaze drifted to the bloodstain still faintly visible on the floor.
Marcus: She's interesting.
Lucian's fingers tightened around the phone.
Lucian: Touch her, and I'll end you.
The reply came slowly.
Marcus: There he is.
Lucian shut the phone off.
He had protected assets before. He had eliminated threats without remorse. But this, this was different.
Elara was not part of the game.
And that made her the most dangerous piece on the board.
Elara sat on her bed, lights off, replaying the moment Lucian moved, how his face had changed, and how violence seemed to recognize him as its own.
She should quit. She knew that.
Instead, she found herself wondering who he'd been before the world made him this way.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: You did well today.
Her hands shook.
Elara: People tried to kidnap me.
Unknown Number: They failed.
Elara: That's not comforting.
A pause.
Unknown Number: I'm not good at comfort.
She swallowed.
Elara: Then why do this at all?
This time, the reply took longer.
Unknown Number: Because I don't know how to stop.
Her breath caught.
Before she could respond, another message appeared.
Unknown Number: And because if I don't, Marcus wins.
Her stomach dropped.
Elara: Wins what?
The typing dots flickered and then vanished.
No reply.
She stared at the dark screen, a chill creeping up her spine.
Somewhere in the city, Lucian Blackwood stood at the edge of a war he had been avoiding for years.
And without asking her, without warning her, he had placed Elara directly in its path.
The Devil had made his choice.
Now the consequences were coming.