The ancestral Blackwood home breathed differently from the city.
It did not hum with electricity or ambition. It watched. The walls listened. The floors remembered footsteps long buried beneath generations of power. From the tall windows of the east wing, Evelyn Blackwood sat in her high-backed chair, fingers resting lightly on the carved armrest, eyes fixed on the winter garden beyond the glass.
"She stayed late again," a calm voice said behind her.
Evelyn did not turn. "Of course she did."
Behind her stood Thomas Hale, her personal assistant—though that title barely scratched the surface.
Thomas ran errands no one spoke of aloud. He investigated bloodlines, traced secrets, uncovered truths buried beneath money and lies. He had served Evelyn for over twenty years, loyal as a shadow.
"Karen Whitmore," Thomas continued. "No scandals. No financial irregularities. Clean education records. Strong moral profile."
Evelyn smiled faintly. "As expected."
"She's getting close to him," Thomas added carefully.
Evelyn's eyes narrowed—not in concern, but calculation. "Closer than he realizes?"
"Yes."
A silence followed, thick with memory.
"I remember when closeness frightened your grandfather," Evelyn said softly.
Thomas knew better than to interrupt when her voice took that tone—the one that folded past and present together.
She had been young once. Brilliant. Desired.
Born Evelyn Ashcroft, heir to a pharmaceutical empire that stretched across Europe and parts of Africa, her family had been known for medical breakthroughs, ethical research, and influence that rivaled governments. Their laboratories had saved millions of lives—and earned enemies just as numerous.
Her marriage had not been born out of love or romance at first.
It had been engineered.
"I was nineteen when my parents told me I would marry a Blackwood," Evelyn said, her voice echoing in memory. "I didn't even know his face."
Thomas pictured the flashback vividly—the grand Ashcroft estate, her father's firm tone, her mother's careful silence.
"Power aligns with power," her father had said. "And survival requires alliances."
The Blackwoods had needed legitimacy. The Ashcrofts needed protection.
And so Evelyn had married Henry Blackwood—a man feared in business, respected in shadows, and misunderstood by history.
"I learned quickly," Evelyn continued, eyes distant, "that love is not always lightning. Sometimes it is a fire you build with patience."
Henry had not been cruel. He had been guarded. Like Kayden.
"I chose to be his partner," she said. "Not his ornament."
And she had been formidable.
When Henry fell ill, it was Evelyn who negotiated deals from his bedside. When enemies circled, it was Evelyn who reminded them that a Blackwood widow was far more dangerous than a grieving one.
By the time Kayden was a boy, Evelyn was already legend.
"He listens to you," Thomas said quietly, pulling her back to the present.
"Yes," Evelyn replied. "Because he knows I do not speak without purpose."
She turned then, her sharp eyes alive.
"And this woman—Karen—she reminds me of myself."
Thomas hesitated. "That could be dangerous."
Evelyn smiled. "Or it could save him."
Across the city, the office moved like a living machine.
"I don't understand why he needs her for everything," Maria whispered at the copier.
Brianna leaned in. "He asked for her opinion in the Zurich meeting. Me. A senior analyst. Ignored."
Karen sat at her desk, unaware—or pretending to be—as Kayden stepped out of his office.
"Karen," he said. "Come with me."
No explanation.
No justification.
Just expectation.
She rose instantly.
From the corner, Queen watched, arms crossed.
"That," Queen murmured, is not how he behaves.
Back at the ancestral home, Thomas set a tablet on Evelyn's desk.
"Security reports from Berlin," he said. "And… Kayden has been careful. But Adrian's movements are increasing."
Evelyn sighed. "The underworld never sleeps."
She tapped the screen thoughtfully. "Karen cannot be exposed to that side yet."
"You're protecting her," Thomas observed.
"I'm protecting Kayden," Evelyn corrected. "She is the only thing that makes him hesitate."
Thomas raised an eyebrow. "And hesitation is dangerous."
"Yes," Evelyn said calmly. "But it is also human.
In another office tower, Kayden stood by the window, Karen beside him, documents spread between them.
"You could delegate this," she said gently.
"I don't want to," he replied.
She looked up. "Why?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Because when you're near, the noise stops, he thought.
Because the ice doesn't feel necessary.
But aloud, he said only, "You're thorough."
She smiled faintly.
That smile reached far beyond the glass walls.
Evelyn closed her eyes briefly, as if sensing the shift.
"History repeats itself," she murmured. "But it does not have to end the same way."
Thomas nodded. "Do you want me to intervene?"
"Not yet," Evelyn said firmly. "Let them fall. Love cannot be engineered forever."
She opened her eyes, gaze sharp once more.
"But watch everything."
Because Evelyn Blackwood had learned long ago—
Power could be inherited.
Fear could be taught.
But love?
Love had to be chosen.
And she was watching closely to see if her grandson would finally choose it.
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