Sienna called in tears, screaming that her father was forcing her to marry Killian Blackwood—the infamous heir whose name was synonymous with reckless spending, corporate ruin, and the whispering dark rumors of old-money nocturnal society. Before I could even offer a comforting word, Devon appeared in the doorway of my room. The man I had spent eight years quietly pining for in the shadows. He looked at me with an expression as casual as a comment on the weather. "Take her place." I froze in place. He stepped closer, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from my forehead. His touch was warm. "Be a good girl. A wreck like Killian won't last long anyway. Once the Blackwood empire collapses, you walk away completely clean." "And when that happens... I'll marry you." Eight years. For eight long years, I had waited to hear that word from his lips. My eyes burned, tears threatening to spill over. Yet I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling right in his face. Marrying Killian Blackwood? I couldn't believe my luck. 1 "Did you hear me, Willa?" Devon frowned slightly when I didn't answer right away. He despised it when I didn't immediately jump to give him a response. "I heard you," I replied, keeping my voice deadpan and smooth. On speakerphone, Sienna’s sobs instantly vanished, replaced by an ecstatic giggle. "Oh, Willa, I knew you were the best! Don't worry, whatever humiliation you suffer by taking my place, I promise I'll make it up to you." "Make it up to me." My gaze drifted to the fractured glass of the wristwatch sitting on my nightstand. I had bought it for myself for my birthday last month. Sienna had borrowed it yesterday and returned it this morning in pieces. That was her idea of making things up to me. "Tomorrow night, eight o'clock, at the St. Regis," Devon said, tossing my car keys onto the desk with a heavy, dismissive clatter. "Meet with Killian. Settle the terms of the engagement." "Okay," I nodded. He studied my face, thrown off by how composed I was. "Aren't you scared?" "Would being scared change anything?" I countered. He chuckled softly, reaching out to pat my head as if I were a stray pet. I tilted my chin away, dodging his touch. His hand hung awkwardly in midair. "What's wrong?" "Nothing," I murmured, lowering my lashes. "Just tired." "Feeling wronged?" He pulled his hand back, his voice dripping with condescending benevolence. "Just endure it for a little while. As long as you play your part and keep the Blackwoods off our backs, you'll be well rewarded later." "Rewarded." I looked up into his eyes. "Devon." "Yeah?" "What if the rumors are true? What if Killian really is... unhinged?" He paused for half a beat, then let out a dismissive laugh. "Just tabloid gossip about his eccentric nocturnal habits. Besides, you’re so obedient—who’d ever have a reason to lay a hand on you? Worst case scenario, if he does lose his temper, you just grit your teeth and bear it." "Grit your teeth and bear it." What an easy thing to say. Looking at this man—the one I had worshipped through the most formative eight years of my life—I felt the last hollow chamber of my heart turn to dust. "I understand," I said, turning my back to him. "I need to change. Please get out." He didn't move immediately. "Willa, you've got an attitude today." "Do I?" "Yes." He stared at my back. "Sienna didn't mean to break your watch. If you're throwing a tantrum over that, I'll buy you a new one tomorrow." "No need." "Suit yourself." His patience evaporated. He turned toward the door. "Dress modestly tomorrow. Don't let the Blackwoods think girls raised under the Lockwood roof are showy or cheap." "Understood." The door clicked shut. Silence flooded the room. I walked over to the desk, picked up the shattered watch, and dropped it into the trash can—tossing away eight years of pathetic, unrequited devotion along with it. The next evening, the lobby of the St. Regis gleamed with marble and chandelier light. The moment I stepped inside, a voice called out to me. "Willa!" Sienna was clinging to Devon’s arm nearby, dressed in a runway-fresh designer gown and flawless makeup. In my worn trench coat, I looked like an outsider who had wandered into the wrong ballroom. "You really wore "that"?" She looked me up and down with a smirk. "Well, I guess it’s for your own good. A man like Killian would only torment a pretty girl. Looking plain keeps you safe." Her voice was practically dripping with superiority. "Sienna is right," Devon chimed in. "Go on up. Don't be late." I ignored Sienna completely and looked straight into Devon’s eyes. "If I walk into that room tonight, whatever debt I owed the Lockwoods for the last eight years is paid in full." Devon’s brow furrowed. "What kind of tantrum is this now?" "Just confirming." "Stop being dramatic," his voice chilled. "My family took you in and raised you for eight years. Helping Sienna out is the bare minimum you owe us." "The bare minimum." I nodded quietly. "Fine." I brushed past them toward the private elevator. "Willa," Devon called after me. "Mind your manners in there. Don't cause trouble." I didn't look back. The penthouse private dining suite was dimly lit, intentionally shielded from the harsh glare of the evening sun. Killian Blackwood sat at the head of the table, an unlit cigarette resting between his long, chillingly pale fingers. His black silk shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, radiating a careless, predatory indolence, his eyes carrying the quiet, ancient authority of a nocturnal predator. The town's most notorious, elusive phantom. The black sheep. "Sienna Fairchild?" he asked without even lifting his eyes, his tone laced with bone-deep boredom. "No," I said, taking a seat directly across from him. "I'm Willa Rhodes." Only then did he raise his eyes. His gaze was sharp, razor-focused, piercing right through me with an intensity that felt centuries deep. It bore zero resemblance to the useless lightweight the tabloids loved to mock. "This" was the real Killian. The shadowy powerhouse I had caught a glimpse of years ago, pulling the strings of the city's elite from the dark. "The Fairchilds sent a stand-in?" "Yes." A slow smirk played on his lips. He tossed the unlit cigarette onto the table. "Amusing. Passing off an outsider to play games with me." "It's not a game," I said, meeting his intense, piercing gaze. "They think you're beneath Sienna Fairchild. But for me? You're a perfect match." The room fell utterly silent. 2 His eyes narrowed. "And what makes you think you're anything to me?" His voice was quiet, but heavy with an unnatural, hypnotic authority. I didn't flinch. Pulling a folder from my bag, I slid it across the mahogany table. "I am your most qualified business partner." He glanced at the document without touching it. "Mr. Blackwood," I began, my cadence steady and measured. "You need a marriage right now to satisfy your grandfather's old-world traditions. You need a wife who won't stir up trouble, won't bleed your assets, and won't pry into your private life or your unconventional hours." I paused to let the words sink in. "Sienna can't do that. She's tangled up with Devon Lockwood, and she's high-maintenance. But I can." A flicker of dark curiosity crossed his eyes. "What makes you so confident?" "Because I've lived under someone else's roof for eight years. No one knows how to be invisible better than I do." Ten seconds of dead silence stretched between us. His long, pale fingers tapped twice against the polished wood. "Fascinating." "My terms are simple, Mr. Blackwood," I continued. "The legal title of Mrs. Blackwood, and a legitimate reason to sever all ties with the Lockwoods. Once the license is signed, you continue being the reclusive playboy in the public eye, and I'll be your dutiful, unobtrusive wife. We stay out of each other's way." He finally sat up straight, the lazy slouch vanishing completely, replaced by an imposing, predatory stillness. "Devon Lockwood sent you?" "He sent me to take Sienna's place. He didn't send me to negotiate terms." "Isn't he worried I'll destroy you?" "He doesn't care," I said flatly. He looked at me for a long moment, then let out a low, appreciative laugh that echoed strangely in the dim room. "Deal." He pulled the folder over, flipped straight to the signature page, and noted my name. "Willa Rhodes." "Yes." "Tomorrow morning, nine o'clock. City Hall." "Understood." I stood up. "See you tomorrow, Mr. Blackwood." As I reached the door, his deep voice cut through the quiet. "Willa." I stopped with my hand on the handle. "If we're partners, keep it professional," he said, the warmth entirely absent from his voice, replaced by cold steel. "Starting tomorrow, you cut all ties with the Lockwoods. My wife doesn't live on her knees for anyone—and certainly not for mortals of their caliber." I looked back. "Understood." Stepping into the corridor, my phone buzzed. Devon’s name flashed across the screen. I answered. "Did you meet him?" "Yes." "What did he say?" "He agreed." Devon let out a dismissive scoff on the other end. "Of course he did. In the pathetic state he's in, living in the shadows of that crumbling estate, he doesn't have the luxury to be picky. Did he give you any trouble?" "No." "Good," Devon's voice softened a fraction. "Sign the papers tomorrow, and your task is done." "Task." I looked at my faint reflection in the glass window. "Devon. Once I sign those papers, I’ll be Mrs. Blackwood." He paused, then chuckled with arrogant derision. "Mrs. Blackwood? It's just a piece of paper, Willa. The moment the Blackwood empire's financial scandals implode, that paper is worthless trash. Don't get lost in your own delusion." I didn't argue. "We're going to City Hall at nine tomorrow," Devon added. "I'll have a driver pick you up." "No need. I'll get there myself." Two seconds of silence. "Willa, you've been off all day." "Have I?" "Yes." "Maybe it's because... I'm getting married." I hung up before he could respond. Walking out into the crisp evening air, my phone lit up with a text from an unknown number: "My driver will pick you up at 8:30 AM. Black Maybach with tinted glass." No name was signed, but I didn't need one. I typed a single word: "Okay." At eight the next morning, I walked out of the Lockwood estate carrying a single duffel bag. A black Maybach sat waiting at the curb, its windows heavily tinted against the morning sun. The chauffeur stepped out and held the door. "Mrs. Blackwood, please." I slid into the plush leather interior. Killian was already there, wearing a charcoal bespoke suit that fit his broad, cold shoulders impeccably. There was no trace of the disheveled rake, only the timeless, immaculate elegance of a creature of the night. "Is that everything?" He glanced at my duffel with piercing dark eyes. "Yes." "The Lockwoods didn't stop you?" "They couldn't wait to see me leave." He asked nothing more. The process at City Hall was swift. Signatures, paperwork, official seal. Within thirty minutes, two copies of the marriage certificate were placed in our hands. I looked at our names sitting side by side on the embossed paper. An unreal sensation washed over me. I was married. To the man I had secretly harbored in my heart—an immortal phantom who ruled the city's hidden underworld, though he had no idea of my deeper observations. "Done staring?" He slid the documents away and handed them to his assistant. "Done." "Where to now?" he asked, studying me with an unreadable gaze. "Back to the Lockwoods," I said quietly. "A few loose ends left to pack." "Want me to come with you?" "No," I shook my head. "I can handle it." He checked his watch, noting the advancing daylight. "One hour. The driver will pick you up and bring you home to the Blackwood estate before noon." "Okay." I took a cab back to the Lockwood manor. The second I pushed open the front doors, deafening music slammed into my ears. 3 The Lockwood living room was draped in celebration. Pastel balloons bobbed against the high ceiling, while champagne flutes and an elaborate three-tiered cake dominated the center table. Sienna stood in the middle of the crowd, holding a glass of Dom Pérignon. "Thank you all for coming to my 'Rebirth Party'!" she laughed, her eyes glittering with triumph. "And a special toast to my dearest friend, Willa. If she hadn't stepped up to marry that ruined, nocturnal degenerate, I'd be the one crying today!" The room erupted into snickering. "Honestly, Sienna, you're too sweet for still calling her a friend." "A freeloader taking the bullet for her master—it's an honor for someone like her." "Exactly. A sinking ship like the Blackwoods is all someone of her background deserves." Devon sat on the sofa, nursing his scotch. Hearing the mockery, he didn't intervene. A lazy, indulgent smirk rested on his lips. I stood in the foyer, watching the spectacle. This was the house I had spent eight years surviving in. These were the people I had bent over backward to accommodate. Without a word, I stepped toward the staircase. The laughter slowly died down as eyes turned toward me. Sienna set her glass down and strutted over in her stilettos. "Willa! You're back already? Is the deed done?" "Yes." "Oh, why didn't you say so sooner? We should toast you!" She grabbed a glass and thrust it toward my chest. "Here’s to the brand-new Mrs. Blackwood." Her tone dripped with condescension. I didn't take the glass. "Excuse me. I'm going up to get my things." "Wait a second." She grabbed my forearm, her eyes instantly fixing onto the jade bangle around my wrist. It was the only heirloom my grandmother had left me. I had kept it locked in a velvet box for years, only slipping it on today because I was moving. "This is gorgeous," Sienna's eyes lit up greedily. "Taking something this valuable into the Blackwood house is a waste—Killian will just pawn it for his gambling or shadowy habits. Why don't you let me hold onto it for you?" She reached out to slip it off my wrist. I yanked my arm back violently. "Don't touch it." She blinked, then immediately retreated, her eyes welling with theatrical tears. "Willa, why are you yelling at me? I was just trying to protect your grandmother's heirloom from being swallowed up by that monster!" Devon put down his glass and walked over, his forehead lined with irritation. "Willa. Sienna was just looking at it. What is your problem?" "This belonged to my grandmother," I said, meeting his glare. "I know that," he said, as if it didn't matter in the slightest. "But Sienna likes it. You're leaving anyway—what's the big deal about giving her one bracelet?" "Just one bracelet." The final memory of my family was, in his eyes, something that should be surrendered without hesitation just because Sienna wanted it. "No," I said. Devon's expression darkened. "Don't push your luck. My family put a roof over your head and paid for your food and clothes for eight years. And now you're throwing a fit over a piece of jewelry?" Murmurs rippled through the guests. "Ungrateful parasite." "Acting like a cheap trinket is worth a fortune." Looking at Devon's familiar features, I felt sickened by how blind I had been. "Your family took me in," I said, my voice quiet yet ringing clear across the silent room. "Because my father died in a car wreck saving your father's life. The Lockwoods didn't do me a favor. You were paying a blood debt." Devon's face drained of color. "Why are you bringing up ancient history?" "Because you brought it up first." I slowly slid the jade bangle off my wrist. I stared at it for two seconds. Then, I raised my arm and hurled it down. "Smash." The jade shattered against the polished marble floor, splintering into hundreds of green fragments. The sharp crack echoed in the cavernous room. Sienna shrieked, jumping backward. "Willa, are you insane?!" Devon stared at the debris in pure disbelief. "That was your grandmother's!" "It was," I said, looking down at the fragments. "And I'd rather destroy it with my own hands than let her touch it." I lifted my gaze to meet Devon’s stunned eyes. "Now, we're even." I turned and walked upstairs. I stuffed the last of my sketchbooks and clothes into my bag and walked back down without glancing at anyone. The living room remained in dead, stunned silence. No one dared to block my path. I stepped out the front doors into the midday light. The Maybach was idling at the curb, shielded from the sun. The chauffeur opened the door, and I climbed inside. As the car pulled away, I watched the Lockwood manor shrink in the side mirror. Eight years of captivity. Finally over. My phone vibrated with a text from Devon: "Willa, you disappointed me today. Once you suffer out there in the real world under a monster like Killian, you'll realize how good you had it here. You'll come crawling back to beg me." I blocked his number without a second thought, then leaned back and closed my eyes. From this moment on, I was only Mrs. Blackwood. 4 The car glided past the city's gates into a secluded, heavily wooded private estate shrouded in perpetual shadow and ancient oaks. The Blackwood residence. The estate manager, an impeccably dressed older gentleman with an unnaturally pale composure, greeted me at the foyer. "Welcome, ma'am. Mr. Blackwood instructed us that your suite is the south-facing master on the second floor, designed with optimal privacy and blackout drapes. Everything has been tailored to your measurements and preferences." "Thank you." I walked inside. The interior featured clean, minimalist architecture and muted tones—commanding, sleek, and stripped of unnecessary clutter. It mirrored Killian’s true, chilling aura as an apex predator of high society. In the walk-in closet, racks of designer clothes hung in immaculate rows, and the vanity was stocked with premium skincare. This wasn't the carelessness of a deadbeat playboy; it was an exacting attention to detail—a level of respect and quiet provision Devon had never once shown me in eight years. At lunch, the house manager served a tray. "Ma'am, Mr. Blackwood asked me to inform you that he needs to maintain appearances at the main family estate with his elder council this week. He may not return until nightfall. Please let me know if you require anything." "Maintain appearances." I caught the phrasing and nodded. "Understood." For the next three days, Killian only returned after dark, his presence heralded by a subtle, chilling drop in the room's temperature. I spent my days sketching blueprints and reading in the quiet sunroom, blending into the estate like a ghost. On the fourth afternoon, my phone rang. It was the director of design at Lockwood Enterprises. "Willa, about the interior blueprints for the Apex Tower project you handled before—Miss Fairchild altered several structural parameters on her own." The director sounded harried. "Now the construction team is hitting major roadblocks, and none of the materials match up. Mr. Lockwood wants you in the office immediately to take the blame." My pencil stopped mid-stroke. "Sienna changed the blueprints. Why should I take the fall?" "It's Mr. Lockwood's direct order," the director said coldly. "He said you don't have a job right now anyway, so taking a professional reprimand won't hurt you. Miss Fairchild needs a clean track record to build her reputation in the industry." I let out a bitter laugh. "I'm not coming." "Willa, don't make this difficult," the director sneered. "Mr. Lockwood said if you don't show up, he has a dozen ways to blacklist you from the entire design industry in this state." The call went dead. Ten minutes later, my phone rang from an unknown number. I picked it up. "Get your ass over to the office right now," Devon’s voice was taut with suppressed rage. "Sienna is in tears because the client chewed her out over your carelessness." "My carelessness?" "If you had handed off the project parameters properly, would she have made a mistake?" His twisted logic was as suffocating as ever. "I'm not coming." "Willa," his voice dropped to a sinister hush. "Do you think marrying Killian gives you a backbone? The Blackwoods are walking a dangerous edge. Killian can't protect you from real corporate ruin. Come over, sign the incident report, apologize to Sienna, and I might still leave you a way out. Otherwise, I will make sure you never find another drafting job in this state." This was who he had always been. Weaponizing my career, my passion, and my livelihood just to protect Sienna's fragile pride. I remained silent, breathing in the quiet air. "Did you hear me?" he barked. Before I could answer, a broad, ice-cold yet powerful hand reached over my shoulder and plucked the phone straight from my grasp. I startled, glancing up. Killian was standing right behind me, moving with absolute, soundless grace. Still in his dark shirt, carrying a subtle, crisp scent of cedar and old blood. He raised the phone to his ear. "Devon Lockwood." His deep baritone resonated through the room, dripping with a lethally calm, ancient authority." "
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