The Kingsley estate had never looked so cold. Or so suffocating.
Rain had left slick trails along the driveway, the ornate gardens glistening under the moonlight. I arrived in silence, tucked into the back of the family's black luxury car, my hands gripping the leather seat so tightly that my knuckles turned white.
My mother sat beside me, her expression grim. She didn't speak, she couldn't. We both knew she had no way to fight what was coming.
I tried to steady my breathing as the car rolled past the grand entrance and up to the black and chrome Mercedes parked beside the fountain. My heart thumped violently.
Dominic Blackwood.
The name alone had haunted me for hours. I had Googled him, read articles, watched videos, anything to know what to expect. But nothing could prepare me for him in person.
When I stepped out of the car, the rain had slowed to a drizzle, leaving the world shiny and reflective like glass. The grand doors of the estate opened before me, not the Kingsley mansion, but the Blackwood estate, a fortress of glass and steel that mirrored the skyline. It screamed power, wealth, control, the kind of wealth that made ordinary people invisible.
My stomach twisted. This was it. My future. My sentence.
A valet led me inside. The lobby was a cathedral of modern design, white marble floors, walls of dark oak, light streaming from geometric skylights. Everything here was perfect. Controlled. Untouchable.
I heard a voice before I saw him.
"Aria Kingsley," the voice said, low and deliberate. Calm, but cutting. Like a blade sliding across glass.
I froze.
Then I saw him.
Dominic Blackwood stood at the center of the room. Tall. Broad shouldered. Perfectly poised. Every inch the man I had imagined and yet somehow more imposing. His dark suit clung to him as if tailored by the universe itself. His hair was perfectly in place, his jawline sharp, his eyes oh, his eyes. Cold, calculating, and piercing in a way that made my chest tighten.
He did not move to greet me. He did not extend a hand. He simply watched, his expression unreadable.
I swallowed, stepping forward. "Mr. Blackwood" My voice wavered despite my effort.
"Miss Kingsley," he said evenly, his tone neither welcoming nor cruel. Neutral. Detached. Dangerous.
My mother, ever the protector, stepped slightly in front of me. "Dominic," she said cautiously, "thank you for"
"Your daughter is here," he interrupted, his voice smooth as ice. "I assume she's aware of the arrangement."
I felt heat rise to my cheeks. "I yes," I said softly. "I am aware."
His gaze dropped to me fully for the first time. His eyes scanned me with the precision of a surgeon, measured, dissecting, calculating. I felt exposed, raw, like he could see through my skin and into the fear I'd been trying to hide.
"Good," he said after a beat. "Because there's nothing to discuss. The agreement has been finalized."
I blinked. Nothing to discuss? My throat tightened. Nothing to discuss meant no choice, no negotiation, no escape.
My mother opened her mouth, probably to argue, but he didn't glance at her. He never did. "The contract terms will be sent to your legal team," he continued. "You will review them. Sign them. And then life proceeds as planned."
I wanted to say something. Anything. But my voice caught in my throat.
Dominic moved toward us with a calm, measured gait, each step deliberate. There was no warmth in his presence, none. Yet I couldn't look away. There was a strange gravity about him, a silent command that demanded attention.
He stopped two steps in front of me. Our eyes met.
And in that instant, I understood why people feared him.
Not for his wealth. Not for his power. But for the way he owned the room, the way he owned me without even touching me.
"I suggest you prepare yourself," he said quietly. "Marriage to me is not ordinary. You will follow the rules. You will respect the boundaries. You will obey."
I lifted my chin, suddenly finding a flicker of courage I didn't know I had. "I obey no one," I said softly, but firmly. "Not even you."
For the first time, I saw a flicker in his eyes. Surprise? Amusement? Something I couldn't name.
He tilted his head slightly, studying me. "Interesting," he said. "I expected tears, tantrums, begging. Not defiance."
I swallowed hard, feeling my heart race. "I do not... I will not," I corrected, my voice trembling slightly, "allow myself to be treated like a pawn. Or a deal. Or property."
Dominic's lips quirked in the smallest, almost imperceptible smile. A predator recognizing the spark of prey that might fight.
"Property," he repeated, almost amused. "You are far more spirited than I was told. This could be entertaining."
I bristled at the word entertaining. "You think my life is a game?"
He stepped closer, so close that I could see the sharp angles of his face, the faint curve of his lips. He did not touch me. He did not need to. "Life," he said, "is always a game. Some play to survive. Some play to win. And some play to see if others will survive their rules."
I took a step back, resisting the magnetic pull of his presence. "And I suppose you are the player who decides who survives?"
He paused, just for a second, letting the weight of that question hang between us. Then he nodded. "Correct."
I shivered. Not from the cold. From the realization that this man, this cold, ruthless billionaire was going to be my husband.
The thought made my chest tighten. Not with fear. Not entirely. Something else. Something I refused to name.
Dominic glanced at my mother, who was standing stiffly behind me. "You will handle your daughter's emotions," he said. "I handle mine. And I expect no interference. Do we understand each other?"
"Yes," my mother said quickly, her voice firm but strained.
"Good." He turned back to me, his gaze intense. "Tomorrow. Ten A.M. We meet again. At my office. Dress appropriately. Attire will be formal. Behavior expected."
I wanted to respond. To argue. To flee. But something in his presence froze me. Not fear. Not exactly. Control. Absolute control. And I knew for better or worse, I had just met the man who would rule my life.
As he walked away, leaving us in the marble lobby, I felt a strange mix of dread and fascination.
I had been warned about Dominic Blackwood. I had read about him. I had imagined him as a distant, untouchable force of wealth.
But now I knew the truth. He was far more dangerous than I had imagined.
And yet, despite every warning, I couldn't stop thinking about him.
About the way his voice cut through the air. About the precision in his movements. About the way he looked at me as if he were already calculating my worth.
I knew one thing for certain:
I was not afraid of him.
Not yet.
And he did not frighten easily.
Tomorrow, our war would begin.
And in that war, one thing was inevitable, someone would win. And someone would lose.
I just didn't yet know who.