Chapter 2 : The Lion's Den
The Blackwood Manor didn't welcome me. It loomed over the cliffside like a jagged tooth, gray stone and cold glass reflecting the moonlight. It was a monument to old money and older sins.
I walked through the iron gates, my small suitcase feeling like a lead weight. Six years. I had stayed away for six years, scrubbing floors and smelling like cheap grease just to scrub the scent of this place off my skin. And now, the house was reclaiming me.
"Your room is in the East Wing," XERXES said, his voice echoing off the marble foyer. He didn't look back as he climbed the grand staircase. He walked like he owned the air he breathed. "The door stays unlocked. Always."
I stopped at the base of the stairs, my knuckles white on the handle of my bag. "I'm not a dog, Xerxes. I value my privacy."
He stopped, turning slowly. His silhouette was terrifyingly sharp against the crystal chandelier's light. "No. Dogs are loyal. You're a liability. And in this house, liabilities are kept where we can see them. If I find that door locked, I'll take it off the hinges. Do I make myself clear, Vesper?"
I let my shoulders slump, playing the part of the defeated girl. "Yes. Clear."
He disappeared into the shadows of the upper landing, leaving me alone in the foyer. Or so I thought.
"He's such a bore, isn't he? Always so… structural."
I spun around. ZION was leaning against the heavy oak door of the library, a crystal glass of amber liquid in his hand. He had shed his suit jacket, his white shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, revealing the edge of a tattoo—a serpent's tail disappearing into his waistband.
"Go to bed, Zion," I snapped, forcing my voice to tremble just enough.
He didn't move. He took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving mine. "I would. But I find myself wondering... did the 'waitress' act work on the police in Paris, too? Or was that just for us? You look so fragile, Vesper. Like a glass doll someone forgot to break."
He stalked toward me. Zion moved like a predator—fluid, silent, and far too fast. Before I could move, he was in my space, his hand coming up to rest on the wall behind my head, pinning me against the cold stone pillar.
He smelled like expensive sin and wild rain.
"You're a good liar," he whispered, his breath hot against my cheek. He leaned down, his lips ghosting over the pulse point in my neck. "But your heart... it's beating like a drum. Are you scared? Or are you excited that three monsters finally have you cornered?"
I looked up at him, letting my eyes fill with fake moisture. "I just want to sleep."
Zion's eyes narrowed, a flicker of doubt crossing his dark gaze. He reached out, his thumb dragging across my lower lip, pulling it down. "Run along then, little bird. But remember... the East Wing is a long hallway. And I'm a very light sleeper."
I bolted. I didn't stop until I reached the East Wing, my heels clicking a frantic rhythm on the marble.
The room they gave me was a gilded cage. Silk sheets, a fireplace that roared with a pre-lit flame, and a bathroom that was larger than my entire apartment in the city. I stripped off my stained uniform, the fabric feeling like a layer of filth.
I stepped into the clawfoot tub, the hot water stinging my skin. I needed to think. Phase one was complete. I was in the house. I had the ring. Now, I needed the file.
The file Silas had mentioned—the one about Paris—wasn't just blackmail. It was my death warrant if it ever fell into the wrong hands. But it also contained the codes to the Blackwood's private server. Silas had hidden his greatest weapon in the same folder he used to keep me on a leash.
I was leaning back, eyes closed, when the click of the door made me freeze.
I didn't scream. I grabbed a towel, clutching it to my chest as I sat up.
KYLO stood in the doorway. He hadn't changed. He still wore the black hoodie, the shadows obscuring his face. But his eyes—wide and bloodshot—were locked on me. He didn't look like a billionaire's son. He looked like a ghost.
"Get out," I hissed, the water dripping off my shoulders.
He didn't move. He walked toward the tub, his heavy boots thudding on the tile. He stopped just inches away, looking down at the water.
"You have a scar," he whispered. His voice was raw, like he hadn't used it in years. He pointed to the small, jagged mark on my shoulder—a souvenir from the night in Paris. "He didn't tell them about the scar."
"Kylo, leave. Now."
He knelt by the tub, his hand shaking as he reached out. I flinched, but he didn't touch me. He traced the air above the scar.
"They think you're the prize, Vesper," Kylo murmured, finally meeting my eyes. For the first time, I saw it—the madness. The same madness that lived in me. "But I know why you're really here. You didn't come back because of the Will. You came back to finish what you started."
My heart stopped. Did he know?
"I don't know what you mean," I lied, my voice steady now. The "scared girl" mask was slipping.
Kylo leaned closer, his forehead almost touching mine. "I won't tell them. On one condition."
"What?"
"When you kill Xerxes..." Kylo whispered, a dark, twisted smile breaking across his face. "Let me watch."
He stood up and walked out without another word, leaving me shivering in the cooling water.
I got out, dried off, and dressed in a silk robe. I waited until the house went silent—the kind of silence that only exists in places where blood has been spilled.
I reached into the lining of my discarded suitcase and pulled out a small, encrypted burner phone. I sent a single text to a blocked number:
'Kylo is a wildcard. He knows I'm here for blood. Adjust the plan. We strike X first.'
I tucked the phone away and looked at the gold ring on my finger. Silas thought he was trapping me. The brothers thought they were owning me.
They had no idea that I wasn't the prize.
I was the executioner. And by the time the year was over, there wouldn't be a single Blackwood left standing.