Chapter 3

Grayson Blackwood has always been the formidable brother—fearless, unyielding, and willing to put it all on the line for his family. He never backed down from a mission and dealt swiftly with anyone who dared to threaten his loved ones or undermine their business.

Today, he found himself downtown—a place he didn’t belong—trying to unravel the shocking truth from his last mission: someone within his own family wanted him dead.

As he observed the waitress dropping their food at the table, he noticed immediately that it wasn’t the feisty brown-haired woman who had taken their order.

“Do you need anything else?” asked the new waitress.

But Grayson’s focus was locked on the counter, searching for the woman who had captured his attention.

“How rude of her not to bring the food herself,” Chadwick remarked, shaking his head.

“Come on, mate, aren’t you getting a bit obsessed with this girl?” Liam, seated beside him, joked.

“Very funny,” Chadwick dismissed him with a gesture.

“I believe that if you’re going to do something, you should do it right,” Chadwick asserted, shrugging.

“Why don’t you go do it, then? You seem to have all the answers,” Naomi shot back, her eyes glued to her phone.

“Looks like you’ve finally found something worthy of your attention, huh?” Chadwick teased.

Naomi rolled her eyes and sat up straight, directing her gaze at Chadwick. “If you think anything you do could ever catch my attention, you need a serious reality check. It’s pretty pathetic to criticize someone else's effort when you know you wouldn't perform any better in their position.”

Grayson tuned them out as his eyes locked onto the feisty brown-haired woman once again. He let a smirk escape before looking away, savoring the moment.

They engaged in a silent game of glances whenever she served the table opposite his or fetched supplies from the storeroom. Throughout his time in the diner, he couldn’t deny he’d admired her more often than he would admit.

Her hair was a cascade of full, curly locks that sometimes escaped the bun she wore, while her dark brown eyes, which he had only glimpsed once when she took their order, held a magnetic allure. Her figure was just as impressive—curvy hips and a full bust, perfect for his hands—she was the embodiment of stunning. She wasn’t overly thin, nor was she chubby; she was simply perfect in every way.

He held their gaze longer this time, feeling the electric tension intensify. He was aware she felt it too. But when she finally looked away, a soft, inaudible laugh escaped him.

“What the hell, man? Did you just giggle?” Chadwick asked, eyeing him with disbelief.

“Absolutely not! Why on earth would a grown man giggle?” Grayson retorted, giving Chadwick a glare that could cut.

Liam erupted in laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Grayson demanded, redirecting his attention to Liam.

“Chill out, man. It wasn’t a big deal,” Liam said, struggling to hold back his laughter.

“Okay, boys, I’ve had enough of this place. Can we go home now?” Naomi declared, looking expectantly at Grayson.

Grayson recognized that his brief escape from home was over. He shot one last glance at the counter, but the feisty brown-haired woman was nowhere to be seen.

“Let’s get out of here.”

***

Grayson strode into his father’s office, determined to confront him about what he had discovered. He wasn’t sure he wanted to share everything, but he understood the importance of transparency. Trusting his father was paramount, but a nagging feeling told him that everyone around him was a possible suspect.

His father sat behind his desk looking over some documents.

Edward Blackwood was over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, and solid, his physique betraying years of discipline. His face, marked by high cheekbones and a square jaw, held the sharpness of a man who commanded attention. Silver at his temples and deep lines around his piercing blue eyes spoke of hard-won experience.

He was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, he exuded authority without effort. The gold watch on his wrist, barely visible beneath his cuff, made a statement of quiet wealth. Every inch of him demanded respect, the kind that came naturally to someone who had earned it and knew his worth.

Grayson confidently chooses one of the empty seats directly in front of his father's wooden desk.

His father's office was very spacious, a dark wood desk gleamed under soft lighting, its surface neat. Behind it was a black ergonomic chair, which his father was sitting in. A bookshelf lined one wall, filled with business books and neatly arranged files. 

The room exudes calm professionalism, a perfect balance of work and thought, reflecting the man who inhabited it.

“When did you get back?” his father demanded, still sifting through the documents before him.

“Last night,” Grayson replied, maintaining a steady gaze.

“Then why are you only reporting to me this morning?” His father finally looked up, his expression a mix of anger and skepticism.

“I had urgent matters to attend to,” Grayson stated firmly as he leaned back in his chair.

His father’s eyes narrowed, clearly unconvinced, but he chose not to press further. 

“That works in my favor,” Grayson thought to himself; he didn’t have the energy to argue.

“How's the preparation for the grand gala?” His father shifted the topic, his tone commanding.

"I haven't checked in with Mother yet. Last I heard, she's managing just fine, as she does every year," Grayson responded, giving his father a pointed look. 

Why on earth would he ask him that? It was clearly none of Grayson’s business.

“That’s not what I meant,” his father retorted, rubbing his eyes in irritation. 

Ah, yes, Grayson recalled—the special task his father had assigned him before the gala.

His role was to intimidate their less-than-reputable business partners with whatever damning information he could find, aimed at protecting their interests and their reputation. They needed to drive up substantial bids on certain pieces of artwork at the gala.

The art this year was mostly legendary, attracting everyone from politicians to high rollers eager to flaunt their wealth. But this year, the main pieces featured his sister’s paintings. Emma was genuine talent, and Grayson believed in her work, unlike their father, who was hesitant and worried about how others might perceive his daughter's talent.

“Everything is in order; I handled it before I left,” he asserted, ready to wrap up the conversation and exit the room.

“Good. However, I have one more task for you,” his father said, rifling through his desk.

“One of our family ancestry neckpieces will be displayed at the gala, and I need you to oversee its safety,” his father commanded.

“We’ll have security everywhere. The neckpiece will be perfectly fine,” Grayson replied, exasperated by his father's lack of faith in him.

Grayson couldn't believe his father was essentially asking him to babysit a piece of jewelry. If it was that crucial, why not just keep it safe?

“Grayson, that neckpiece holds family secrets that we can’t let fall into the wrong hands,” his father countered, equally frustrated.

“And you don’t have to babysit it—just ensure it’s returned to the safe after the display,” he added, looking resigned.

“Fine. If it’s that important, I’ll handle it,” Grayson conceded, unwilling to engage in yet another fruitless argument.

He was accustomed to being saddled with the less glamorous tasks.

“You know I’ll have a lot going on during the gala, so my full attention won’t be on it,” his father continued, almost defensively.

"And you know how demanding your mother is during events like this; I must be by her side at all times,” he added.

Grayson understood his father’s perspective. His mother’s social events were an entirely different ordeal, and she always insisted that family business should stay out of them. One of the reasons their family enjoyed relative peace was that she remained oblivious to the dealings happening at these gatherings, and Grayson intended for it to stay that way.

“I understand,” he replied curtly.

“That’s all for now,” his father said, returning his focus to the documents on his desk.

Grayson, relieved that this was finally ending, stood to leave.

But just as he reached for the door, his father spoke again. 

“You should see your sister. She’s been worried about your delayed return.”

If there was one person Grayson trusted implicitly and who always prioritized him, it was definitely his younger sister.

Grayson nodded and moved toward the door.

Before he could exit, his father added, “And assist your brother however you can. He’ll need it.”

“He’s the future leader of this family an

d the Blackwood empire; I think he’ll manage,” Grayson replied pointedly.

He walked out before his father could say another word.