The Blackwood Estate was breathtaking.
Not just expensive—breathtaking. Nestled on the cliffs overlooking the city, the mansion sprawled across twelve acres of manicured gardens and private grounds. Three stories of marble and glass, with floor-to-ceiling windows that captured the sunset like liquid gold.
This was nothing like the cramped apartment I'd called home. This was nothing like any place I'd ever been.
"Welcome home, Mrs. Blackwood," Damien said as the car pulled through the iron gates, his hand briefly touching my lower back.
A staff of housekeepers and assistants rushed to greet us, all impeccably dressed and professionally courteous. They showed me through rooms that seemed to go on forever—a library with thousands of books, a private cinema, a gym, a spa. Everything meticulously designed and maintained.
"Your suite is on the second floor," a woman named Eleanor explained, leading me down a hallway adorned with modern art. "Mr. Blackwood thought you might prefer separate accommodations, though there is a connecting door between the master and—"
"Separate is fine," I said quickly, grateful for the excuse. The last thing I needed was to fake intimacy when I was already so emotionally raw.
My suite was larger than my old apartment. A bedroom with a California king bed dressed in Egyptian cotton, a walk-in closet already filled with designer clothes in my size, a marble bathroom with a soaking tub, and a private sitting area with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the gardens.
A personal paradise. A gilded cage.
I sat on the edge of the bed, running my fingers over the silk sheets, trying to process everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. Two days ago, I was nobody. Now I was Mrs. Damien Blackwood, living in a mansion, wearing clothes that cost more than I used to make in a month.
My phone buzzed constantly. Calls from people I hadn't heard from in years, all wanting to know about my "mystery marriage." Business associates eager to congratulate me. Reporters requesting interviews.
And messages from Ethan. Dozens of them.
*"Sophia, please talk to me."*
*"I made a mistake. Can we discuss this?"*
*"You can't just disappear. I need to see you."*
I ignored them all.
Around seven, Damien sent Eleanor to tell me that dinner was ready in the formal dining room. I changed into a simple but elegant black dress from my new wardrobe and made my way downstairs, my heart racing irrationally.
The dining room was enormous, with a table that could seat twenty. But it was set intimately for two, with candles and fresh flowers. Damien was already there, dressed in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, making him look less like a CEO and more like the dangerous man I was beginning to realize he was.
"Did you settle in?" he asked as a server placed plates in front of us.
"It's overwhelming," I admitted. "It's beautiful, but it's... a lot."
"You'll get used to it." He took a bite of his salmon. "I had your things moved from the apartment today. Maya is in the guest house if you want her nearby."
I looked up, surprised. "You did what?"
"Your lease was ending anyway, and there's no point keeping an apartment you don't need." He said it matter-of-factly, as if he hadn't just made a massive life decision for me. "Maya seemed relieved. She was worried about you being alone."
"You moved all my things here without asking me?"
"Should I have asked?" His dark eyes met mine. "You're my wife now, Sophia. You live here. This is your home."
There was something possessive in the way he said it, something that made my stomach flutter despite my determination to keep this relationship purely transactional. "Right. Sorry. I'm just... adjusting."
"There's something we need to discuss," he said, setting down his fork. "About your pregnancy."
My entire body went rigid. "What about it?"
"How far along are you?"
"Five weeks. I found out the day before the wedding." I played with my food, not meeting his eyes. "If you want to back out of the deal—"
"I don't." His voice was firm. "In fact, I think we should make an announcement about it soon. Frame it as a happy surprise, a blessing on our marriage."
I stared at him. "You want to claim my baby as yours? Publicly?"
"Yes. And we need to do it before your parents or Ethan get any ideas about contesting it." He leaned forward. "If they know you're pregnant with Ethan's child, they'll try to use it against us. They'll claim I married you for the baby, that you're unstable, whatever narrative they can spin. But if the world believes the baby is ours—a product of our surprise marriage—it neutralizes that weapon."
It was strategic. Cold. And oddly protective.
"Okay," I said quietly. "Whatever you think is best."
"I'm glad you trust me," he said, studying me intently. "Because what I'm about to tell you requires that."
Every muscle in my body tensed. "What?"
Damien set down his napkin carefully, taking a moment before speaking. "Twelve years ago, my sister was engaged to your father."
I blinked. "What?"
"Her name was Elena. She was brilliant—an artist, a dreamer, beautiful inside and out. Your father courted her, promised her the world, and she fell in love with him." His voice was steady, but I could see the pain behind his eyes. "He broke the engagement a month before their wedding. Left her at the altar. Not because he stopped loving her, but because he found a woman from an even richer family. Margaret—your mother."
My heart was pounding. "Damien, I didn't know—"
"Elena couldn't handle the public humiliation. She tried to take her own life." He paused, his jaw clenching. "She survived, but barely. She spent years in psychiatric care, recovering from the trauma. She's better now, but she's not the same person she used to be. And your father—he faced no consequences. No scandal. He married your mother, consolidated his power, and lived his life while my sister suffered."
"Oh my God," I whispered. "I'm so sorry. I didn't—"
"You didn't know," he said, cutting me off. "But I've known for twelve years. I've been waiting for the right moment to make your father pay for what he did. And then you walked into my office, broken and desperate, and I realized—the universe had handed me exactly what I needed."
I felt sick. "So this marriage—this whole thing—it's just about using me to hurt my father?"
"It started that way," Damien said, and there was something in his tone that made me look at him carefully. "But it's not anymore."
"What do you mean?"
He stood and walked to the window, looking out at the gardens bathed in moonlight. "I've built a file on your father, Sophia. Years of research. Illegal business deals, bribery, corruption at the highest levels. I have evidence that will send him to prison for at least twenty years. I'm planning to expose all of it publicly."
"My father... he's a criminal?"
"Worse than that. He's a hypocrite." Damien turned back to face me. "He preaches about family values and business ethics while he builds his empire on lies and broken lives. And your mother—she's complicit. She's known about his dealings for years."
I thought about my mother's slap. My father's cold dismissal. The way they'd protected Victoria while casting me out. Maybe Damien was right. Maybe they deserved whatever was coming.
"What do you want me to do?" I asked.
"Nothing you haven't already done," he said, returning to the table. "Be my wife. Be seen with me at public events. Let the world know that you're happy, that you've moved on, that you're untouchable now. When the time is right, we'll make the announcement about your pregnancy. We'll position ourselves as the perfect couple—young, in love, expecting our first child."
"And then?"
"Then I expose your father. I destroy his empire piece by piece. I make sure he loses everything—his money, his power, his freedom. And you, Sophia, will be positioned safely outside all of it, protected by the Blackwood name and fortune."
It was a masterplan. Brilliant and brutal.
"What about my mother?" I asked quietly. "She'll go down with him."
"Probably," Damien said without mercy. "Unless you want me to go easier on her."
Did I? My mother had raised her hand against me. She'd chosen Victoria over her own daughter. She'd told me I was an embarrassment to the family.
"No," I said finally. "Don't go easier on her."
Damien nodded, a flash of satisfaction crossing his face. "Good. Then we're aligned."
We finished dinner in silence, but it was a different kind of silence now. Understanding. An acknowledgment of what we were—two people bound together by vengeance and circumstance, willing to burn down the people who'd hurt us.
After dinner, I went back to my suite and took a long bath, trying to process everything. The water was perfect, the bathroom luxurious, but my mind was spiraling.
I was married to a man I barely knew, carrying another man's baby, and participating in an elaborate scheme to destroy my family. It should have terrified me.
Instead, all I could think about was how right it felt.
My phone buzzed. A text from Maya: *"Babe, this place is INSANE. But are you okay? Like really okay?"*
I stared at the question for a long moment before responding: *"I'm better than okay. For the first time since all this started, I feel like I have control. I feel powerful."*
And it was true.
The girl I'd been—the one who'd sacrificed everything for a man who didn't value her, who'd hidden her true self to gain the approval of people who didn't deserve it—she was gone.
In her place was someone new. Someone strong. Someone willing to do whatever it took to reclaim her life.
Later that night, as I lay in my silk sheets in my enormous bed, I heard a soft knock on the connecting door to Damien's suite.
"Come in," I called, curious.
He stood in the doorway in silk pajama pants and nothing else, his chest bare, his dark hair disheveled from sleep.
"Just wanted to check on you," he said. "You looked shaken at dinner."
"I'm okay," I said, sitting up, suddenly very aware that I was wearing only a silk nightgown. "I'm just... processing."
He walked to the edge of my bed but didn't sit. "I know this is complicated, Sophia. I know you didn't sign up for a vendetta against your family."
"No," I agreed. "But they signed up for betraying me. So fair is fair."
Something flickered in his expression—approval, maybe. Or attraction.
"Your father destroyed my sister's life," he said quietly. "And I'm going to make sure he pays for it. But I won't let this destroy you. Whatever happens, I protect what's mine."
The possessiveness in his voice should have bothered me. Instead, I felt a strange sense of safety wash over me.
"Goodnight, Sophia," he said, turning to leave.
"Damien," I called out. "Thank you. For taking me in. For giving me a choice, even if it's not a choice you wanted me to make."
He paused at the door. "We're allies, Sophia. In this life, in this war. That's worth something."
Then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.
I lay back in my silk sheets, my hand instinctively moving to my stomach where my baby was growing.
Tomorrow, the world would see me as the lucky girl who married the powerful Damien Blackwood.
But I knew the truth.
I was a weapon. A beautiful, calculated weapon aimed directly at the heart of everything my family held dear.
And I was going to enjoy pulling the trigger.