CHAPTER 3

Mr. Samuel Blackwood sat back in his dark leather chair. The poor light from the desk lamp cast sharp shadows across his face. His fingers drummed around the edge of the thick file labeled Anderson while his eyes were hard and calculating. He swirled the glass of brandy in his other hand, eyes narrowing while weighing his next move.

That wasn't some list of debts and bankruptcies. This dug a little deeper than that. For years, Samuel had been keeping tabs on the Anderson family, way back before Leya's father died in that tragic accident, before their business went belly-up. He knew fully well it would only be a matter of time before the bottom fell out from under them, and he was positioned just right to make the most of it.

Yet even more Leya did not know: secrets safely laid to rest, secrets her father had taken to his grave.

Samuel's eyes strayed to the picture inside the folder, the same framed smiling family photo that had once hung in the Anderson house. He touched his finger to the image of Leya's father, a man who was once his best friend. But Samuel had learned long ago that friendship was a fragile thing. Easily shattered. Easily betrayed.

He reached into the file and pulled out a document that had been hidden until now, an old contract with wear and tear, both his and Leya's father's ink at the bottom. The terms were clear. The consequences even clearer.

"Poor girl," Samuel muttered under his breath, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. "She has no idea of what she'd walked into.

The thing was, Leya's father hadn't just mismanaged his company; he'd been into something far riskier, something that could ruin the Anderson name beyond financial collapse. Samuel had promised himself a long time ago that he would never let the Anderson family rise again. Not after what happened all those years ago.

But this quiet resilience of Leya was becoming far more of a barrier than he had anticipated. She had strength, much like her father had before his untimely death. Samuel could see it in the way she held herself at this wedding, even while being handed over as a lamb to the slaughter.

This was a strength that needed breaking.

His fingers danced lightly on the desk as he considered his next moves. Harrison's anger at Leya was useful, but that emotion would prove inadequate if he had to depend on it alone. He needed to play his cards with care, keeping both Harrison and Leya puppets in his greater game. And if Leya ever did find out the truth about her father, about what really happened to their family, the aftermath would be so much more disastrous than she could have ever imagined.

The sudden knock on the door pulled him out of his reverie.

"Come in," Samuel called out, his voice low but commanding.

The door creaked open, and in the doorway stood Eleanor, his daughter. Her usual icy demeanor was softened just a little by the dim lighting of the room as she stepped inside. She looked at the file in Samuel's hands, and her lips tightened into a thin line.

"You are still playing games, aren't you, Father?" she whispered, stepping closer to the desk. "Even now, after everything?"

Samuel chuckled, setting the file down. "This isn't a game, Eleanor. This is a strategy. And if I don't keep control of it, everything will fall apart."

Eleanor's gaze flashed to the file then back to her father. "Does Harrison know about all of this?" She waved a hand toward the file, her tone tight, her voice carrying a note of accusation.

Samuel leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. "Harrison knows what he needs to know. Nothing more.

"But Leya. she does not deserve this." For the first time, there was a shade of doubt in Eleanor's tone. She had hated Leya the moment she stepped foot into their world yet a part of her had canted after what she had seen her brother do to his new wife. "If she finds out,

"She won't," Samuel said curtly. "And even if she does, it won't matter. She's trapped now. The Andersons are finished."

Eleanor frowned, her fingers tapping listlessly on the desk. "And supposing Leya fights back?"

Samuel's smile broadened. "Let her try. She's not as strong as she thinks. And when the time comes, Harrison will handle her."

Eleanor had said nothing for a moment, her eyes on her father's face, the cold, unyielding expression that was armor worn to conceal all weaknesses. Then she turned on her heel and walked toward the door, but before she disappeared, she had stopped, her hand resting on the doorknob.

"If you push her too far, she won't just break, Father," she said, her voice very soft, not turning to face him. "She'll burn everything down around her.

And with that, Eleanor vanished from the room, leaving Samuel alone in his head and with her words that still hung in the air.

Leya sat on the bed and stared at the door Harrison had slammed shut. Her chest contracted in a mash of fear and anger. She replayed every word he said in her head, his cold indifference, the venom in his tone. She hadn't expected the heat or even affection from him; she was not naive enough to think this was a fairytale. But the frank scorn which flickered across his eyes shook the ground she stood on.

She bunched the material of her wedding gown into her fists, her knuckles bleaching white as she did so. She had agreed to this marriage to save her family, to protect her siblings from the terrors of their financial collapse. She had not, however, agreed to being treated like a prisoner. She wouldn't let him crush her.

A tear rolled down her cheek, but she wiped it off as she wasn't going to fall apart. Not here. Not now.

The mansion walls seemed to close in on her, suffocating her. The weight of it all, the death of her father, a desperate mother, and the hanging futures of her siblings threatened to buckle her knees. And she couldn't afford to be weak.

Not now.

Leya straightened her body taut with effort, holding herself together. She needed to think. She needed to find a way to survive this marriage, to outlast Harrison's cruelty. And if that means for now playing along, so be it. But she wouldn't let them break her.

 

She wouldn't let him win.

And as the night wore on, a preternaturally heavy blanket of silence had fallen across Blackwood Mansion, as if the weight of the day's events had finally decided to settle upon the household like a thick fog. But while the rest of the house slept, Leya couldn't shake off the feeling something much darker was at play, something far beyond the coldness of her new husband.

He could see across the distance, through darkness, there was a dark figure that continually watched from the shadows of the estate. Eyes fixed on the mansion, on Leya's window.

Watching. Waiting.

The game had only just begun.