The man who destroyed my family didn't recognize me.
That was the first thing I noticed as I stood in the glass-walled boardroom, a silver tray balanced in my hands, my pulse roaring so loudly I was sure everyone could hear it.
Lucien Blackwood looked exactly like the monster I remembered.
Older, maybe. Sharper. The kind of handsome that came with money and power and the confidence of a man who had never paid for his sins. His black suit fit him like it had been sewn onto his body, his dark hair perfectly styled, his presence commanding the room without him saying a word.
Five years ago, that same presence had crushed my family.
He stood at the head of the table now, fingers braced against polished glass, eyes scanning the executives seated before him. Calm. In control. Untouchable.
The world's favorite billionaire.
My father's executioner.
"Coffee," someone murmured.
I stepped forward automatically, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor. My hands were steady, even as memories clawed their way to the surface flashing cameras, shouted accusations, my father's face drained of color as Lucien Blackwood looked straight into a microphone and said his name like a verdict.
Fraud.
Corrupt.
A threat to investors.
Three words.
That was all it took.
My father never recovered from the disgrace. Neither did we.
I placed the cup in front of Lucien carefully, refusing to let my fingers tremble. His hand brushed mine by accident, warm and solid, and the contact sent a sharp jolt through my body rage, not attraction. Never that.
I pulled back instantly.
Lucien glanced up.
For half a second, our eyes locked.
Something flickered across his face. Curiosity, perhaps. Or irritation. His gaze lingered on mine, sharp and assessing, like he was trying to place me.
My breath caught.
Recognize me, I dared silently. Remember what you did.
He didn't.
"Thank you," he said absently, already dismissing me as unimportant.
I turned away before my expression could betray me.
Good.
That was good.
Because if Lucien Blackwood had recognized me as the daughter of the man he destroyed, I wouldn't be standing here. I wouldn't be breathing his air or walking his halls under a false name and a carefully constructed résumé.
I wouldn't be this close.
And closeness was everything.
Two hours later, I stood in the executive corridor staring at the city skyline through floor-to-ceiling windows, my reflection staring back at me like a stranger.
New name.
New history.
New life.
Everything about me was a lie except my hatred.
"You're the new strategist."
The voice came from behind me.
I didn't turn right away. I already knew who it was.
Lucien Blackwood didn't announce himself. He didn't have to.
"Yes," I said calmly, then faced him. "That's me.
Up close, he was worse. Taller than I remembered, shoulders broad beneath his suit, his presence heavy and undeniable. His eyes dark, intelligent, unyielding studied me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
"You were highly recommended," he said. "I don't hire easily."
"I don't disappoint," I replied.
A corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "Confidence is dangerous."
"So is underestimating people," I said.
Silence stretched between us.
He liked control. I could feel it in the way he stood, the way he waited for people to fill the quiet for him.
I didn't.
Finally, he nodded. "You'll work directly under me. Long hours. High pressure. No room for mistakes."
Perfect.
"I understand," I said.
"You should know," he continued, his tone cool, "I have no tolerance for divided loyalties."
The words struck deeper than he could possibly know.
"If you betray me," he added, "I will end your career."
I met his gaze steadily, my pulse unwavering. "I wouldn't dream of it."
Because betrayal implied trust.
And I trusted Lucien Blackwood with nothing.
That night, alone in my apartment, I opened the encrypted folder on my laptop.
Inside were documents, recordings, and emails evidence I had spent five years gathering. Evidence that proved my father had been framed. Evidence that showed how easily truth could be twisted by power.
And at the center of it all was one name.
Lucien Blackwood.
I closed the laptop slowly and leaned back, staring at the ceiling as the weight of my plan settled over me.
I wasn't here for justice.
I was here to destroy him the way he destroyed us quietly, thoroughly, and without mercy.
What I didn't know yet…
What I couldn't afford to suspect…
Was that Lucien Blackwood had been manipulated too.
And that loving him might cost me more than hating him ever did.