45 - First day at work
Scarlett slammed the bedroom door hard enough to rattle the entire west wing.
The echo cracked through the mansion like a verdict being delivered—final, unforgiving.
Somewhere down the corridor, picture frames trembled against the walls.
She didn't slow, didn't turn back, didn't care who heard it.
Let Ethan hear. Let the staff whisper. Let the guards standing watch like silent sentinels trade looks.
She was done pretending.
Her heels struck the thick cream carpet as she stormed deeper into the room, each step sharp, violent.
Her arms crossed over her chest, tight and defensive, as if holding herself together by sheer force.
The bedroom—palatial, immaculate, draped in silks and muted gold—closed in around her despite its size.
Chandeliers glittered overhead. Floor-to-ceiling windows reflected the fading afternoon light.
The marble fireplace stood cold and decorative, untouched.
Every inch of it screamed wealth.
None of it felt like hers.
This wasn't a bedroom.
It was a gilded cage.
Ethan Blackwood's kingdom.
And she—Scarlett swallowed hard—was nothing more than a name added to his ledger. Wife. Asset. Acquisition.
She stopped short at the vanity.
Her reflection caught her like a slap.
Green eyes blazing. Cheeks flushed with fury. Lips parted, breath uneven. Her auburn hair had escaped its careful styling, curls frizzed by heat and frustration, wisps clinging damply to her temples. The woman staring back looked raw. Stripped. One sharp word away from shattering.
Scarlett dragged in a breath that scraped her lungs.
She tugged at the collar of her blouse, fingers trembling, as if fabric alone were suffocating her. Then she turned away from the mirror and paced to the bed, sinking down hard. Her fists twisted into the silken sheets, warm from the sun spilling through the balcony doors.
Her mind replayed the day in ruthless detail.
The signatures.
The witnesses.
The way Ethan's expression hadn't changed once as she signed her life into his hands.
She had married Ethan Blackwood.
Not for love. Not for hope. But for survival.
A contract disguised in white roses and designer vows. Ink instead of romance. Obligation instead of promises.
Scarlett grabbed her phone from the nightstand. The weight of it felt crushing. Her thumb hovered over one name.
Linda.
Guilt slid through her chest like ice water.
She had dragged her best friend into this mess. Cost her her job. Her dream. All because Linda had tried to help.
Still, Scarlett tapped the screen.
One ring.
Two.
"Scar?" Linda's voice came through, bright but edged with worry. "What's going on? Are you okay?"
Scarlett pressed the phone harder to her ear, clinging to the familiarity of that voice. "Linda... I'm so sorry. I should've called sooner. Because of me—because you got involved—they fired you. This is my fault."
Silence stretched.
Then, firm and unmistakable, "Stop it."
The gentleness in Linda's tone didn't soften the command. "You didn't cost me anything. And I'm not gone yet. We'll fix this. Together."
Scarlett squeezed her eyes shut, throat burning. "I disappeared. I just—everything spiraled."
"Oh no, darling," Linda said dryly. "We are not doing the self-destruction thing today."
A humorless laugh escaped Scarlett. She pressed her forehead into her palm. "I managed to sort it out. Sort of. We're launching the designs under the Blackwood name."
She straightened, resolve tightening her spine. "I told Ethan I want you on my team. I said I won't work with anyone else. If I'm leading this project, I need someone I trust. I need you. Is... is that okay?"
A beat.
"Yes," Linda breathed. "I would love to. Did he actually agree?"
"He didn't expect me to push back," Scarlett said quietly. "I think it caught him off guard."
Linda laughed—soft, proud. "Look at you. Married to the devil and already rewriting the rules."
"Barely," Scarlett murmured. But warmth flickered in her chest, fragile and real.
"If we're dancing with the devil," Linda said, voice gentler now, "I'd rather do it with you. Count me in."
Scarlett's shoulders sagged as relief rushed through her. "Thank you."
"And Scar?" Linda added. "Don't let that Armani-wrapped tyrant scare you."
"He wears Dior," Scarlett said faintly.
"Of course he does. Even his evil is couture."
When the call ended, Scarlett stayed seated, phone loose in her hand. Outside, the Hudson glowed lavender beneath a sinking sun. Shadows stretched across the manicured lawn.
Somewhere in this mansion, Ethan was already ten steps ahead—calculating, planning.
But he hadn't seen this move coming.
Hope stirred. Dangerous. Defiant.
She stood and faced the mirror again.
He wanted a pawn.
He got a queen.
Scarlett silenced the alarm before it finished ringing.
Morning light sliced through the curtains, painting the bed in gold. She lay still for a heartbeat, breath steady, pulse ticking like a countdown.
Today.
Her first day at Blackwood Enterprises.
Anticipation coiled tight in her chest—not fear, exactly. More like standing at the edge of something vast, knowing the fall could either destroy her or set her free.
The marble floor chilled her bare feet as she crossed the room. Her reflection flashed in the mirror—sleep-softened hair, bare skin, eyes alert despite the early hour.
This wasn't about Ethan.
This was about her.
Steam enveloped her in the shower, washing away lingering doubt. She dressed with intention—navy slacks, crisp white blouse, heels that grounded her. Armor disguised as elegance.
By the time she stepped into the hall, portfolio tucked beneath her arm, she was ready.
The kitchen smelled of coffee.
Ethan stood by the counter, immaculate in charcoal gray. Power radiated from him effortlessly. He didn't greet her—just assessed, gaze cool and sharp.
"The car will be here at 7:30."
"Where exactly am I going?" she asked.
He looked up, smile thin. "The same place we signed the contract."
Her stomach tightened.
"You'll go where I tell you," he said quietly, stepping closer, presence overwhelming. "Appearances matter."
"I'll get there on my own."
A pause. Then—
"Be cautious, Scarlett."
He left without another word.
At 7:30 sharp, the car arrived.
And when it turned onto that familiar street—
Scarlett froze.
The ruin was gone.
In its place stood glass and steel. Light. Ambition.
Her breath caught as realization slammed into her.
Ethan hadn't sent her back to haunt her.
He'd rebuilt it.
Inside, creativity pulsed through the space like a heartbeat. As the elevator carried her upward, her reflection stared back—calm, resolute.
The doors opened to the penthouse floor.
She didn't hesitate.
She pushed into his office without knocking.
Ethan looked up slowly, dark eyes locking onto hers.
The air shifted.
And in that charged silence, Scarlett realized—
This was only the beginning.