Page 11 of Until She's Mine
I still keep the proof of ‘irreconcilable differences’neatly organized in a separate file: surveillance of Tobias’s Thursday night ‘poker games’ (actually $2,000/hour escorts), forensic accounting of his trust fund withdrawals, as well as hotel receipts, grainy security footage, and the damning text messages he thought he’d deleted. They’ve been meticulously collected, waiting for the right moment.
My phone shrieks.
Richard Blackwood’s name flashes. My father never calls at this hour unless it’s urgent, or another test of my obedience.
I swipe to answer. “Father.”
“You’re taking the Windsor case.” No greeting. No preamble.
“Tobias is the lead on that.”
“Tobias lost the Lockheed merger playing golf when he should’ve been reviewing contracts.” Ice clinks in his glass. He’s been drinking. “You’ll depose their CEO on Thursday.”
Through the window, dawn bleeds across the skyline. Somewhere in that glittering maze, Evelyn sleeps in her cold bed while my brother is likely passed out in some penthouse suite with a stranger’s perfume clinging to his clothes.
Tobias hadn’t touched her for almost two years. Not since the engagement became official. I’ve had him followed. I know.
The last time was the night of their engagement party, when Tobias still thought he could make her his perfect doll. Even then, it was a clumsy make-out in the dark. He’d been drunk, and she’d been polite, her body stiff beneath his hands.
Now Tobias fucks his escorts and old college flings, leaving Evelyn untouched—at least until the wedding.
“Lucian.” Father’s voice sharpens. “This family’s reputation—”
“—is my priority.” The lie drips like honey. “Send the files.”
I end the call and stride to the whiskey decanter. The first sip of Yamazaki 18 burns away the last vestiges of sleep.
Windsor’s CEO is a bulldog with a fetish for breaking junior associates. The thought of the deposition is almost a welcome distraction. There’s something satisfying about dismantling a man like that—peeling back his layers of bluster and arrogance until he’s left raw and exposed.
Showing Tobias his inadequacy will be satisfying as well. After all, my father’s message is clear: Tobias’s failures are my opportunities. But they are only as valuable as the risks one is willing to take. And for Evelyn? I’d burn down cities.
I tap my investigator’s number. He’s paid to be on call 24/7, and he answers on the first ring. “Mr. Blackwood.”
“I need everything on the Windsor case on my desk by lunch. Focus on the CEO’s personal life. Weaknesses, vices, anything that his PR team can’t bury.”
The voice on the other end is calm and professional. “On it. I’ll have a full dossier by 10 a.m.”
“Good, and dig deeper into my brother.” My reflection grins back at me. “Tobias has been frequenting a new club downtown. Find out who he’s been meeting there. I want names, faces, and details. If he’s stepping out of line, even in the slightest, I need to know.”
Tobias’s carelessness is a gift, one I intend to exploit to its fullest. The Windsor case will remind my father who the true heir to the Blackwood empire is. And when Tobias inevitably falters, I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.
Evelyn… she’ll be the prize. The one thing I’ve wanted more than power, more than control, more than anything this gilded world can offer. She’s the only thing I’ve ever truly coveted. And now, with that sketch in her hands, she knows I’ve been waiting.The game has shifted, and she’s no longer just a piece on the board—she’s the queen. And I’ll move heaven and earth to claim her.
“Understood.”
I hang up the call as the sun rises over Manhattan.
Let the games begin.
Chapter 6
Evelyn
It’s been four days since the night I saw Lucian. Four days of pretending everything is normal, smiling at Tobias during endless networking events, and discussing wedding plans that feel increasingly foreign to me.
Four days of lying to myself, telling myself that what I feel for Lucian can be buried, that it’s a spark that will eventually die if I just stop feeding it.
But it’s not a spark; it’s a wildfire, consuming every rational thought in its path. And it’s why I spent the last few years avoiding Lucian altogether, why I’ve kept my distance even in the same room. But now, when I have held his sketch in my hands, when I’ve seen the ways he’s captured me—not only my face, but the essence of who I am—I can’t pretend anymore.
