I had spent five years preparing for this moment.
Five years building a new identity, polishing a résumé that would survive scrutiny, training my voice not to shake when I stood in the same room as Lucien Blackwood. Five years rehearsing calm in the mirror while my insides burned with a rage I never allowed to surface.
And still when his assistant told me he wanted to see me now my chest tightened.
Lucien Blackwood's office sat on the top floor, wrapped in glass and arrogance. The kind of space designed to remind everyone who walked into it that power lived here. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, the soft click sounding far too final.
He was standing by the window, his back to me, hands in his pockets as he stared down at the city like it belonged to him.
"Sit," he said without turning around.
I didn't.
"I prefer to stand," I replied.
That got his attention.
He turned slowly, dark eyes sharp, calculating, landing on me with an intensity that made my spine straighten instinctively. He didn't smile. He rarely did, from what I'd observed. Smiling was for men who needed approval. Lucien Blackwood did not.
"You're bold," he said.
"I'm honest."
"Hm." His gaze swept over me not leering, not inappropriate, but thorough. Like he was dissecting a puzzle. "Honesty is overrated. Results aren't."
I folded my hands loosely in front of me. "Then you'll be pleased. I deliver results."
Silence stretched.
He liked that silence. He used it as a weapon, waiting for people to fidget, to explain themselves, to expose weakness. I gave him nothing. I had learned long ago that power shifted to the one who could endure the quiet the longest.
Finally, he nodded once. "You've reviewed the situation."
"Yes."
"And?"
"And your company is heading for a reputational war," I said evenly. "One that won't be won with money or intimidation."
A muscle in his jaw tightened. "Careful."
"Your public image is brittle," I continued, unshaken. "Strong on the surface, unforgiving underneath. One wrong move and it shatters. The board is nervous. Investors are watching. And the media smells blood."
He studied me for a long moment, then moved toward his desk, resting his hands on the edge. "You speak as if you've been here before."
I had.
Just not on this side of the table.
"I know how scandals grow," I said. "I know how they destroy families."
Something dark flickered in his eyes gone as quickly as it appeared.
"You'll be working directly under me," he said. "No committees. No filters. You advise, I decide."
A faint smile touched my lips. "That's the only way I work."
"You should know," he added, voice cooling, "I don't tolerate mistakes. Or betrayal."
There it was.
The word settled between us, heavy with irony.
"If you fail," he continued, "I'll make sure no one in this city hires you again."
I met his gaze, steady and unflinching. "If I fail, I deserve it."
He paused, clearly unused to that response.
"Very well," he said at last. "You start today."
Just like that.
The man who had destroyed my family had just handed me unrestricted access to his world.
An hour later, I sat at the sleek desk outside his office, files spread before me, my heartbeat finally slowing. From here, I could hear everything his calls, his meetings, the inner workings of the empire that had crushed us.
I should have felt triumphant.
Instead, something uneasy curled in my stomach.
Because Lucien Blackwood wasn't behaving the way villains were supposed to.
He worked relentlessly. He snapped at incompetence but rewarded loyalty. And once just once I overheard him on a call late in the evening, his voice low and strained.
"No," he said. "I won't revisit that case. What's done is done."
A pause.
Then, quietly, "I live with it every day."
I froze.
That wasn't the voice of a man without conscience.
It didn't absolve him. It didn't change the past. But it unsettled me in a way I hadn't prepared for.
I pushed the thought away and opened the encrypted folder on my laptop again, scrolling through evidence, reminders of why I was here. Names. Dates. Proof.
This was not about feelings.
This was about justice.
Still… as I glanced toward the glass wall of his office and saw him standing alone inside it, shoulders tense, expression unreadable, a dangerous thought crept in uninvited.
What if the man I hated wasn't the one who had truly destroyed us?
I shut the laptop hard, the sound echoing in the quiet office.
No.
Questions were a luxury I couldn't afford.
Because the closer I got to Lucien Blackwood, the harder it was becoming to remember where hatred ended… and something far more dangerous began.