Chapter 2 - The Shadows of Blackwood Manor
The private medical wing of Blackwood Manor was larger and far better equipped than most municipal emergency rooms. It sat on the third floor of the east wing, accessible only by a private elevator that required a biometric scan.
Dr. Joseph, a soft-spoken man who had been the Blackwood family physician for over two decades, finished applying a soothing, cool burn salve to my shoulders before wrapping them in clean white gauze.
“The lash marks will heal without severe scarring, Miss Ivy,” Dr. Joseph said gently, helping me slip into a clean, oversized black cotton shirt. “The burns on your hands are second-degree, but we’ve treated them in time to prevent infection. You were very brave down there.”
“I wasn’t brave,” I muttered, staring at my wrapped hands. “I was just tired of being hit.”
The door to the room opened silently. Ronan walked in, having removed his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt. He motioned for Dr. Joseph to leave. The doctor packed his bag without a word and exited, locking the heavy door behind him.
The silence between us was suffocating. Ronan leaned against the edge of the silver examination table, crossing his arms over his chest. Up close, without the barrier of his suit jacket, he was intimidatingly tall, his frame packed with lean muscle that spoke of a past far more dangerous than high-finance boardrooms.
“Why did you let her hit you twice before you spoke up?” Ronan asked directly.
“If I fought back, I would have lost my job,” I replied simply. “And if I lose this job, my family’s debts default. My mother loses her house.”
“Your father was Arthur Lin,” Ronan stated, his eyes fixed on mine. It wasn't a question. “He owned Lin Logistics before his bankruptcy two years ago.”
I swallowed hard. “You knew?”
“I know everyone who works under my roof, Ivy. I knew your father made disastrous investments with men he shouldn't have trusted. I knew you took this job under an assumed middle name to pay off his creditors without dragging your family name through the press.” He took a step closer, his presence instantly filling the room. “What I don't know is what you meant down there when you told Vivien you were done protecting her.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. Telling Ronan meant stepping into the middle of a war between two of the most dangerous families in the city. The Hale family had political clout; the Blackwoods had absolute power. If I spoke, there was no going back to being an invisible maid.
“Three nights ago,” I began, my voice trembling slightly before finding its footing, “I was assigned to turn down the sheets in the master suite. Miss Hale was in the adjoining study. She thought I had already left.”
Ronan didn't interrupt. He merely listened, his face an unreadable mask of stone.
“She was meeting with a man named Julian Vance,” I continued.
Ronan’s jaw clenched almost imperceptibly at the mention of the name. Julian Vance was his primary rival in the logistics sector—a man heavily suspected of operating the city’s underground shipping networks.
“They were discussing a secondary contract,” I said, drawing a deep breath. “A contract to be executed seventy-two hours after your wedding. Vivien has been funneling internal ledger codes from your personal safe into Vance’s offshore accounts. She wasn't just planning to marry you for the Blackwood name, Mr. Blackwood. She’s planning to liquidate your holding assets the moment you sign the joint estate agreement.”
Ronan remained motionless for several seconds. Then, slowly, he pulled a sleek black leather notebook from his pocket, opened it, and produced a pen.
“You’re telling me my fiancée is committing high treason against my company with Vance?”
“I have proof,” I said flatly.
Ronan paused, his grey eyes piercing into mine. “What kind of proof?”
“When Miss Hale went to the bathroom, I used my phone to take photos of the documents left on the desk. The signatures had your personal seal replicated on them. She used a high-resolution silicon stamp she kept in her vanity drawer.” I pointed toward my small canvas bag sitting on the chair nearby. “My phone is in there. The photos are encrypted in a hidden folder.”
Ronan moved toward the bag, retrieved the phone, and handed it to me. I entered the complex passcode, opened the file, and passed it back to him.
For ten minutes, the room was silent except for the subtle swipe of Ronan’s thumb across the glass screen. As he examined the financial ledgers, signatures, and time-stamped transfers, his aura transformed. The cold, controlled businessman faded, replaced by something far more lethal.
“She didn't just target the estate,” Ronan whispered, his tone terrifyingly soft as he looked at a specific line on the screen. “She was setting up an unauthorized cargo transfer through Port 44 next Tuesday. A transfer carrying unregistered military grade equipment. If that went through under my signature, the federal government would have seized every asset I own and put me in a federal cage for the rest of my life.”
He looked up from the phone and stared at me.
“You’ve been sitting on this for three days?”
“I was trying to find a way to get it to your head of security without Vivien realizing it was me,” I said truthfully. “She threatened to have my brother blacklisted from every university in Illinois if I ever looked at her sideways. She knew who I was, Mr. Blackwood. She’s been using my past to keep me quiet.”
Ronan stood up straight, slipping my phone into his front pocket. He walked over to where I sat on the edge of the bed. He reached out, his hand hesitating for a fraction of a second before his warm, calloused fingers gently touched the edge of my jaw, tilting my face up to meet his.
“Nobody threatens anyone in this house,” Ronan said, his thumb brushing away a stray lock of hair from my cheek. “And nobody touches you again. Do you understand me, Ivy?”
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“I’m just a maid, Mr. Blackwood,” I whispered, overwhelmed by his proximity.
“You were a maid when you walked into that ballroom,” Ronan corrected, his eyes burning with an intense, dark fire. “Tonight, you just became the most valuable person in Chicago.”
