The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of the Blackwood estate, casting warm light over the breakfast table. Jenny chatted with Maria, their laughter filling the room, soft and genuine—an innocent world untouched by the shadows building around them.
But from across the table, Mrs. Blackwood watched silently, her eyes sharp and calculating.
She had always been a woman who trusted her instincts—instincts that had carried her from poverty to luxury, from insignificance to influence. And right now, every instinct inside her whispered the same warning:
Lance was dangerous.
She sipped her coffee, her gaze fixed on the charming, composed young man seated beside her daughter. Everything about him was too perfect—his manners, his smile, the way he spoke with precision and confidence. He carried himself like a man who knew more than he said… and revealed less than he showed.
Lance looked up, sensing her stare. Their eyes met.
His expression remained polite, a faint smile touching his lips, but his gaze held an edge—quiet, observing, assessing.
Mrs. Blackwood didn't look away.
"You seem very comfortable around my daughter," she said smoothly, her voice deceptively warm.
Jenny blinked, surprised by her mother's tone. "Mom—"
Lance replied before she could finish. "Jenny is interesting," he said calmly. "She has depth. I appreciate that."
Mrs. Blackwood's fingers tightened slightly around her cup. Too smooth.Too confident.Too practiced.
"And I find it curious," she continued, her tone still polite, "that you've appeared in our lives so… suddenly."
Jenny stiffened. "Mom, please—"
"No, Jenny." Her mother smiled gently, though her eyes remained cold and analytical. "It's perfectly natural to ask questions. After all, we barely know him."
Lance rested his hands together, unfazed. "Then feel free to ask me anything."
Mrs. Blackwood leaned back, studying him like a piece of artwork she couldn't decipher.
"Where is your family?" she asked casually. "Your parents? Your upbringing? These things shape a man."
Maria froze, her breath catching. Jenny looked between them, confused.
Lance's smile didn't waver.
"I grew up… elsewhere," he said simply. "With people who taught me important lessons." His tone was calm, almost too calm. "Especially about trust."
Mrs. Blackwood narrowed her eyes. "Vague answers are usually signs of secrets."
"Or boundaries," Lance replied smoothly. "Not all truths belong in the open."
The air thickened.
Jenny looked uneasy. Maria stared down at her hands, guilt flickering in her eyes—she hadn't told Jenny the truth about her past. Not yet.
Mrs. Blackwood finally set her cup down, her voice low and steady."Well," she said, "I'm sure your intentions toward my daughter are… harmless."
"Of course," Lance answered, his voice silky. "I respect Jenny. Deeply."
The stepmother's eyes sharpened. "I hope so. Because I protect what's mine. Fiercely."
For a moment, Lance's polite mask cracked—just a tiny shift in his expression, a flicker of something dark beneath the surface.
Then it vanished just as quickly.
"As do I," he murmured softly.
Their gazes locked, two predators circling quietly.
Jenny watched them with unease. "Mom… Lance isn't dangerous. He's kind."
Mrs. Blackwood smiled sweetly at her daughter."I'm sure he is, darling."
But inside, her suspicion grew like wildfire.
This young man wasn't here by chance.He wasn't here for art.He wasn't here for friendship.He wanted something.
And she would find out what it was—before it was too late.
From a distance, unnoticed, Lance watched her walk away.
His faint smile returned.
"Let her doubt," he whispered under his breath."It won't save her."