The night was thick with tension, the air cold and damp as Adrian Blackwood walked through the darkened woods, his steps firm and unyielding. The rustling of leaves under his shoes was the only sound, apart from the faint, ragged breathing of the old woman beside him.Catherine Blackwood—his grandmother.The woman who had tried to kill him.The woman who had spent her entire life ensuring he would never inherit the Blackwood legacy.And yet, here she was.Leading him to the very thing she had once hidden from him.The key.Adrian smirked to himself, watching as she struggled to keep up with his pace. She was old, frail, her once-powerful aura diminished by years of manipulation and failed plans.Now, she had no choice but to obey.A fallen queen.“Keep up, Grandmother,” Adrian drawled, watching as she stumbled over an exposed root.Catherine shot him a glare, her silver hair gleaming under the dim moonlight. “If you’re so eager to get there, why don’t you carry me?” she sneered.Adria
Centuries Ago—The Beginning of the Curse and the story of the keyThe wind howled through the dense forest, rustling the thick canopy of leaves that shrouded the night sky. The towering trees stood like silent sentinels, their gnarled roots twisting along the forest floor, weaving a labyrinth that few dared to tread. The air smelled of damp earth and ancient secrets—secrets that had been buried long before men had the courage to seek them out.And yet, on this night, two men dared to walk the forbidden path.Their cloaks billowed as they trudged deeper into the wilderness, the flickering light of their torches casting eerie shadows on the bark of ancient oaks.Alaric and Tobias Blackwood.Brothers. Rivals. And soon—victims.Alaric, the elder of the two, was a man of strength and intellect, his sharp mind always a step ahead of the world. Tobias, the younger, was the wilder spirit—reckless, passionate, and endlessly curious.It was Tobias who had first heard the rumors.A key—one said
Adrian Blackwood stood in the dimly lit chamber, his sharp eyes scanning the fragile parchment in his hands. The edges of the ancient paper were brittle, yellowed by time, but the ink remained bold, etched with secrets that had been buried for centuries.His fingers tightened around it as he read, his pulse quickening with each word.A curse.A soul exchange.His ancestors had fought for this key, believing it would grant them power and wealth—only to suffer a fate worse than death.Adrian exhaled slowly, lowering the parchment.He turned to the old woman sitting before him—his grandmother.Catherine Blackwood watched him warily, her frail hands clasped in her lap. The flickering candlelight cast deep shadows over her lined face, but her eyes held the same sharpness they always had.Adrian smirked, folding the parchment between his fingers.“You expect me to believe this?” he asked, his voice dripping with amusement.Catherine’s jaw tightened. “You should.”Adrian let out a chuckle. “
The key felt cold in Adrian Blackwood’s grasp.The dim glow of torches flickered along the stone walls of the hidden chamber, their flames dancing against the damp air. The weight of centuries rested upon this place, whispering in the silence, warning of dangers unseen.Yet—nothing happened.No tremor in the ground. No eerie voices from the abyss. No curse latching onto his soul.Nothing.Adrian lifted the key, turning it over between his fingers. It was elegant, ancient, a work of masterful craftsmanship—yet at its core, it was just a key.A scoff built in his throat before escaping as a laugh.A deep, mocking chuckle that echoed off the stone walls.His grandmother, Catherine Blackwood, stood frozen a few feet away, her lined face twisted in disbelief.Adrian turned to her, smirking.“All that talk about curses, about power coming at a price,” he drawled, waving the key before her. “And yet, here I stand. Perfectly fine.”Catherine’s lips pressed into a thin line.“This isn’t right,
Pain throbbed in Damion Blackwood’s skull as he gasped awake. His breath came in short, sharp bursts, his chest rising and falling unevenly. His fingers dug into the dirt beneath him, cold and damp. The scent of earth and blood clung to the air.What the hell had happened?His body felt off—too heavy in some places, too unfamiliar in others. A deep, unsettling nausea swirled in his gut. He pressed a hand to his temple, groaning as he forced himself to sit up.The moment his eyes opened fully, he froze.Something wasn’t right.The torches in the underground chamber flickered dimly, casting long shadows along the damp stone walls. Several men stood nearby, their faces strangely unfamiliar, their eyes watching him with concern.Then—A gasp.He turned sharply, finding himself staring at an old woman rushing toward him—his grandmother.But why… why was she looking at him like that?“Damion?” Catherine Blackwood whispered, her voice trembling.Damion frowned.His lips parted, the rasp of h
Carmela sat curled up on the couch, her body wracked with silent sobs. Her mother sat beside her, rubbing gentle circles into her back, while her father stood near the window, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his face grim. The weight of Damion’s death had shattered something inside her. No matter how much she tried to hold herself together, the loss crushed her, suffocating her.Lily sat close by, eyes red from crying, occasionally glancing at Leonard, who stood stiffly near the door, his usual sharpness dimmed with grief.The living room was heavy with sorrow, the only sound being Carmela’s muffled cries against her mother’s shoulder.Then, the front door burst open.Everyone jerked in surprise as Lucas stormed in, his face pale, his breath ragged.“Carmela, something just happened,” he blurted, his eyes wild with urgency. “Are you all okay?”Carmela barely moved, her head still buried against her mother.Lucas swallowed hard, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He t
A thick silence hung in the air after Carmela’s slap landed on Adrian’s cheek.Adrian—no, Damion—stood frozen, his mind reeling. His head jerked slightly from the force, but the sting on his face was nothing compared to the shock that pulsed through his entire being.His body felt foreign, his surroundings warped.Carmela’s glaring eyes burned into him, filled with fury and confusion.And then, her voice sliced through the silence like a blade.“Are you out of your damn mind?!”Damion blinked, stunned. His hand instinctively reached up to touch his cheek, feeling the lingering warmth from her slap.“What…” He trailed off, his mind struggling to process. “Carmela… why did you—”Carmela let out a harsh laugh, stepping back as if she was disgusted by him.“What the hell was that, Adrian?” she spat, wiping her lips aggressively. “How dare you just waltz in here and kiss me? Are you trying to play some sick game?”Damion’s breath hitched.Adrian?She was calling him Adrian.Why?What the h
A suffocating silence filled the room.Catherine Blackwood stood in the center, her sharp gaze locked onto Damion—or rather, Adrian’s face, which now held Damion’s soul.Carmela’s chest rose and fell rapidly, her lips parted in disbelief, while Lucas stood beside her, his jaw tight, his body rigid. Lily and Leonard exchanged anxious glances, their unease growing by the second.No one spoke.No one could.Because what Catherine had just implied was impossible.And yet—She had spoken Damion’s name with such certainty.Lucas was the first to break the silence, scoffing as he raked a hand through his hair. “Alright, this is getting ridiculous. You expect us to believe this? That Damion is somehow… what? Inside Adrian’s body?”Catherine met his gaze, unwavering. “That is exactly what I am saying.”Carmela shook her head violently, stepping back. “No. No, this is—this is insane.”Damion’s fists clenched at his sides.“I am Damion,” he said through gritted teeth. His voice was edged with de
Isabelle’s POV The flashing blue and red lights outside my home were almost blinding, their glow casting distorted shadows across the walls. The tension that had held me captive for days still lingered, but Nathan was finally safe. He was asleep upstairs, his tiny body curled up under the blankets where he belonged. Yet, the weight in my chest refused to lift. A uniformed officer stood in front of me, his expression calm but probing. I knew they wanted answers—real ones—but I wasn’t ready to give them. I had my answers. I just couldn’t say them out loud. Damion. “Ms. Everett,” the officer began gently, flipping through his notepad. “I understand this has been an overwhelming situation, but we need to be sure we’re closing this case properly. Are you certain there’s nothing else you’d like to report? No new suspicions about who took your son?” I felt Damion’s presence behind me, lingering by the doorway, tense and silent. I swallowed hard, my heart pounding so loud it
Kaia’s POV The plan was unraveling faster than I had anticipated. When Damion stormed out after returning the boy, I knew things had shifted. I felt it in the way his voice trembled when he’d confronted me. The guilt. The hesitation. He was slipping away. And it was her fault. Isabelle. Always so righteous, so defiant, making him question everything I had carefully constructed. I paced the length of my penthouse, the sound of my heels echoing off the marble floors. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city glittered beneath the night sky, a perfect illusion of peace. But inside? Everything felt like it was closing in. Damion was supposed to be mine. I had done everything. Stood by him when his life crumbled. Cleaned up the mess after Isabelle abandoned him. I had been patient, understanding, even when he had made it clear she was still haunting him. And now? She was back, unraveling him piece by piece. And Walter—Walter was only making it worse. The call
Isabelle’s POV The house felt unbearably quiet without Nathan. Every tick of the clock on the wall seemed louder, each second pressing down on me with suffocating weight. The walls felt closer, the air heavier, the silence almost mocking. I sat curled on the couch, staring blankly at the framed picture of Nathan on the mantel. His bright smile, the way his eyes sparkled with innocence and trust—it was too much. Tears blurred my vision, but I didn’t cry. I couldn’t. Crying meant giving in to the fear clawing at my chest. It meant accepting the nightmare Walter had pulled me into. And I couldn’t break. Not when my son was out there, scared and alone. The sharp knock on the door jolted me out of my daze. My pulse spiked. I shot to my feet, half stumbling as I rushed toward the door. Please. Let it be the police. Let it be news. Let it be— I swung the door open, and my heart stopped. Damion stood there. And in his arms, cradled carefully, was Nathan. I couldn’t
Kaia’s POV It had all started with a whisper. The first time Damion had mentioned the child, I knew something was wrong. The way his voice caught when he asked about Nathan, the way his eyes lingered on the boy as if searching for a reflection of himself—it was like watching a man unravel in slow motion. And I couldn’t let that happen. Not again. Because I knew, deep down, that if Nathan was Damion’s son, everything I had worked for—the life I’d carefully built with him—would fall apart. So I did what I always did. I found a way to control the narrative. It hadn’t been difficult. Manipulation never was when you understood a man’s vulnerabilities. And Damion’s greatest vulnerability was his desperate need for closure. I hadn’t even needed to convince him. “It’s the only way,” I had whispered to him weeks ago, the night we’d sat in his study, the tension thick between us. “If she won’t tell you the truth, we have to find it ourselves.” And he’d agreed. But now, a
Isabelle’s POV The photograph trembled in my hands. Nathan—my sweet boy—blindfolded, vulnerable, and so far out of reach. The handwritten message beneath his image echoed in my mind. “You were warned. Now listen.” A cold knot twisted in my stomach. Walter. This was him. It had to be. I felt Damion’s presence behind me before I heard him speak. His voice was low, dangerous. “Let me see it.” I handed him the photograph with shaky fingers, my breath shallow. The moment his eyes scanned the image, his entire body stiffened. His jaw clenched so tightly I could hear his teeth grinding. The hand holding the photo curled into a fist, crumpling the paper slightly as his gaze darkened with rage. “Damion,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “What do we do? He’s my son. Our son—” “What?!” He turned sharply, his eyes burning with something unreadable. “Nathan is my son?!” I nodded nervously. I couldn’t lie to him anymore. It was for the best. He had to know the truth. If he’s
Isabelle’s POV The sound of shattering glass ripped through the house like a gunshot. “Nathan!” My heart seized, and without thinking, I bolted toward the kitchen. Damion was right behind me, his voice sharp. “Stay behind me, Isabelle!” I didn’t listen. All I could think about was my son—my baby. The kitchen window was broken, shards of glass glittering across the floor, but it was the open back door that made my blood run cold. The wind howled through it, carrying the sound of tires screeching in the distance. He was gone. Nathan. I stumbled forward, my breath catching painfully in my chest. “Nathan! Nathan, where are you?!” Silence. The kind of silence that leaves a void, the kind that makes you realize something precious has been stolen from you. Damion’s hands caught my shoulders, pulling me back as I shook uncontrollably. “Isabelle—stop! Stop! He’s not here!” His voice was rough but controlled, his grip anchoring me as I felt like I was falling apart.
Isabelle’s POV I stared at the message on my phone, the cold words burning into my mind. “You’re running out of time. Leave, or face the consequences.” Walter. I didn’t need proof. His fingerprints were all over this. The sudden sabotage of my contracts, the threatening text—it was his way of reminding me that I was nothing to him. That I was a problem he needed to erase. But the part that rattled me most wasn’t the threat itself. It was the fact that Walter knew I wouldn’t leave. Not this time. I set my phone down, inhaling deeply, fighting to steady my pulse. I wouldn’t be bullied. I wouldn’t let this man, or anyone else, push me out of my life. I had built everything from scratch. My business. My reputation. My home. But as I sat there, staring into the dimly lit living room, the ache in my chest was undeniable. Because I hadn’t just built this life for myself. I had built it for Nathan. The sound of his soft footsteps broke my spiral. “Mommy?” His sleep
Isabelle’s POV The morning came with a sense of foreboding I couldn’t shake. I’d barely slept, my thoughts consumed by Walter Ryder’s warning and the weight of his veiled threat. It wasn’t just his words that unsettled me—it was the way he delivered them. Calm. Cold. Unrelenting. Nathan’s laughter floated from the living room as I sipped my coffee, his innocent joy a stark contrast to the storm brewing in my mind. I glanced at my phone, the unread messages from Brian a reminder that my life wasn’t just a mess—it was a tangled web, and I was caught in the center of it. Stephanie’s call came just as I was about to head to the office. Her voice was rushed, almost panicked. “Miss Everett, we have a situation.” I gripped the phone tighter. “What is it?” “Three of our major clients have pulled out of their contracts this morning,” she said, her voice trembling. “No explanation. Just… gone.” The room tilted slightly, but I forced myself to stay calm. “All at once?” “Yes,” s
Isabelle’s POV Walter Ryder was a man whose presence lingered long after he left a room. Even now, as I sat in my office staring blankly at the door he had walked through, I could feel his cold, calculating gaze bearing down on me. His warning replayed in my mind, his words like shards of ice cutting through my resolve. “Take your son and disappear before Damion gets too close.” It wasn’t a suggestion—it was a threat. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. Walter Ryder had always been a puppet master, pulling strings from the shadows, and I wasn’t naïve enough to think his visit was just a courtesy call. He wanted me gone. He always had. But this time, I wasn’t running. Later that afternoon, I sat in my living room with Nathan, his laughter filling the space as he played with his toy cars. Watching him, I felt a pang of guilt. His innocence was a stark contrast to the storm brewing around us, and I hated that he was caught in the middle of it. “Mommy,” he