SERA'S POV
I slid into an empty seat by the window, pressed my forehead against the cool glass, and let the motion of the bus lull my nerves.
Out there, the world looked ordinary—people walking dogs, kids with earbuds, coffee carts steaming.
The closer we got to the Blackwood district, the quieter it became. The buildings turned older, lesser.
At the Blackwood Stop, the bus hissed to a halt. I smiled at the driver and stepped off.
The road to the estate curved through dense woodland. I pulled my jacket tighter and kept walking.
Everyone knew the story of the curse of Blackwood. Some said it was lycanthropy, others said that the Blackwoods had bound themselves to a demon generations ago. Either way, people whispered that you shouldn't be anywhere near that place during a full moon.
And at the center of it all was him.
Eric Blackwood. The last heir. The recluse.
We were the same, I thought as I followed the gravel path.
The only difference was that his isolation was a choice. Mine was a prison disguised as protection.
The Blackwood estate came into view.
My stomach tightened.
I wasn't supposed to go inside. Mum's words echoed in my head: Collect the money and come straight home.
The gravel path ended in a sweep of marble steps. I climbed them.
When I reached the front door, it opened before I could knock. A maid stood there. "Hi, miss," she said briskly.
"Um, hi. My mum sent me. I'd like to see—"
"Oh right, come with me," she cut in, already turning on her heel.
I blinked. "Excuse me, my mum said not to—"
But she was halfway down the corridor. She didn't even glance back to see if I was following.
"Come on, miss. Mr. Blackwood is waiting."
That name stopped me. Mr Blackwood? My pulse jumped. My mother had been very clear—don't go inside, ask for the butler, collect the money, leave. No mention of meeting the heir himself.
"Is the butler in?" I asked carefully, lowering my voice.
"Not at the moment," she replied without slowing. "He took Mrs Blackwood to a clinic nearby. Emergency. I was given specific instructions to ensure you see Mr Blackwood."
"But—"
We turned a corner, and my protest died on my tongue. The hallway stretched long and gleaming.
The maid stopped at a door at the far end of the corridor. She produced a key from the pocket of her apron and fitted it into the lock.
I hesitated. "Are you sure this is where—"
"Just go in, miss. He's expecting you."
Before I could answer, she pushed gently at my shoulder. I stumbled one step forward, and the door closed behind me with a solid thunk. Then came the unmistakable sound of a lock turning.
I froze, staring at the ornate handle. "Um… hello?" My voice echoed into the vastness of the room.
"What in the world is happening?" I stammered. My gaze scanned the room, but my focus immediately landed on a figure lying on the bed. The sunlight filtering through the drapes caught the fine strands of his hair, giving him an almost unreal glow. My pulse raced.
"Excuse me… excuse me, sir. Mr. Blackwood?" I tried to steady my voice, but it came out higher than intended, bordering on squeaky.
He didn't move. Panic surged through me. Was he—dead? I swallowed hard, my stomach twisting as I stepped closer. I noticed the sheer perfection of his posture, even in stillness. He was impossibly beautiful. His hair was swept back casually but perfectly.
My hand shook as I reached out to check for a pulse, my fingers trembling over his neck.
Then—suddenly—his eyes snapped open. They were a color I couldn't name. Grey, blue, silver? and they fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath hitch. Before I could react, his hand shot out and clamped around my wrist.
He pulled me toward him, and I tumbled gracelessly onto his chest, my legs tangled awkwardly against the sheets. My face was mere inches from his, and I could feel the heat radiating off him, the subtle shift of his heartbeat under my ear.
"Mr. Blackwood?" I stuttered. He didn't answer. His eyes trailed down to my lips slowly. And then—shock of all shocks—he kissed me.
I nearly fell over in my own head. I tried to push away, to create some kind of barrier, but his grip didn't falter. As I squirmed, my movements revealed something I hadn't expected—something poking sharply against my stomach. My eyes widened, and I froze mid-breath.
Was that…oh God…was that exactly what I thought it was?
I'm nineteen, and I like to think of myself as reasonably experienced in theory—I've read novels, watched films—but this? This was real life. My cheeks burned hot from embarrassment.
"Mr. Blackwood, I—this is—" I stammered, cheeks flaming, but he silenced me with the softest, most intimate brush of his lips against mine again.
I struggled against him, my palms pressing helplessly against his chest. He was strong and the way his muscles tensed beneath my touch sent a strange mix of fear and heat spiraling through me. "Let me go!" I cried. He growled low in my ear. Before I could process it, he spun us over with terrifying ease, and my back hit the bed.
"Stay still," he growled again. His breath was hot against my neck. My pulse hammered in my ears. "Isn't this why my mother brought you here?"
"Your mother?!" I gasped, blinking rapidly, trying to process what he'd just said. "Wait, what are you talking about?" My mind raced. His mother brought me here?
That didn't make sense—my mum had sent me to collect the crates for the previous eggs delivered, inform the butler to kindly forward payment for the last delivery and the next one in advance. Panic fluttered in my chest. His proximity was overwhelming, and my body didn't seem to know whether to fight or surrender.