Chapter 2 - The Pen on the Table
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Damian Blackwood walked back into the sitting room, adjusting his cuffs. The argument with his father had ended in a tense standoff, but he had accomplished his goal. He had convinced the old man that Charlotte meant nothing to him.
It was the only way to keep the target off her back. His father was ruthless; if he knew Damian loved the school teacher, she would have been used as leverage by the end of the week.
“Charlotte,” Damian called out, his voice softening the moment he stepped through the archway.
The room was empty.
His dark eyes scanned the antique furniture, settling on the small mahogany table near the entrance. Resting on the polished wood was a beautifully wrapped box with a velvet ribbon.
Damian walked over, his heart suddenly hammering against his ribs. He pulled the ribbon, opening the box to reveal a perfectly restored 1960s Montblanc fountain pen. It was a masterpiece.
But there was no card. No note.
He looked toward the hallway leading to the dining room. The heavy oak door was cracked open.
A sickening realization washed over him like ice water. She had heard him. She had heard the one sentence he had spoken solely to save her life.
“Where is she?” Damian barked, turning to the houseman standing in the corridor.
“The young lady left, sir. About twenty minutes ago.”
Damian pulled out his phone, dialing her number. It went straight to voicemail. He cursed violently, throwing the phone against the wall, shattering the screen.
May you like
From the shadows of the staircase, his younger brother, Silas, watched with a faint, amused smile. Silas had seen the teacher leave in tears. He had also seen the opportunity. Damian had a weakness, and in the Blackwood family, weaknesses were meant to be exploited.
“Don’t worry, brother,” Silas murmured to himself, stepping back into the darkness. “I’ll make sure the trash takes itself out.”
