Novels by BlixenIX

My phone buzzed with another text from that same unknown number: Car downstairs. You have five minutes.That was it. No pleasantries, just another command delivered with the same cold efficiency that seemed to define everything about him.I looked around my apartment one last time, my fingers trailing along the chipped counter where I'd eaten countless meals alone. At the peeling paint I'd grown used to, the stack of unpaid bills that would no longer matter, the crossword puzzle still lying unfinished on my table.Twenty-six years of life, and it all fit into two suitcases and a cardboard box.I touched the locket at my throat. It was my mother's silver heart, now warm against my skin. Whatever came next, I'd carry this piece of her with me.The car waiting outside was sleek, black, expensive. The driver took my bags without a word, his movements precise and militant. I settled into leather seats that probably cost more than my entire salary, feeling like an imposter in someone else's

I'd barely slept.The package sat on my nightstand like a ticking bomb, wrapped in innocent brown paper that gave no hint of its contents or importance. Every time I'd closed my eyes, I saw Damien's face. Those cold, merciless eyes that had looked at me like I was already dead if I failed to comply.At 7:30 am, I stood in my tiny bathroom, staring at my reflection. Dark circles shadowed my eyes, and my hands still trembled slightly as I brushed my teeth. In twelve hours, my entire life had been upended by a man who spoke in commands and owned people like they belonged on chessboards.At 8:15, my phone buzzed. A text from my boss, Richard. Where are you? The Jameson files need to be processed by 10 AM!My stomach fell. I was usually at work by now, deep within the mundane world of insurance claims and deadlines. But now…I typed back: Family emergency. Will be in soon.It wasn't entirely a lie. My family, Alex and Mara, were in danger. That made this an emergency, even if Richard would

Damien Black stepped into my apartment and suddenly the cramped space felt even smaller. His dark eyes swept over the peeling walls and scattered bills with detached assessment before settling on me.I stumbled backward, my back hitting the kitchen counter. My pulse hammered so violently I was sure he could hear it. Up close, he was devastating in a way the magazines hadn't captured.Six-foot-five of controlled danger wrapped in a suit that probably cost more than I made in a year. Every line of his body radiated money and power and the kind of authority that had never been questioned.His gaze dropped to the contract scattered across my floor."You read it.""I—" The words barely made it past my constricted throat. "I — I — Don’t understand. ”“What don’t you understand?”“Why are you threatening me?”Those dark eyes held mine, studying me until I had to resist the urge to fidget under the weight of his attention. "Sign it.”"Sign it?" My voice cracked on the word. "You're threatenin

My apartment was barely standing.The paint was peeling, the kitchen faucet dripped constantly, and I had bills stacked like a paper fortress on my tiny counter. I shoved the last envelope onto the pile without opening it. Probably another rejection letter from the design firms that had been ignoring my portfolio for months.After the fifteenth, "thank you for your interest, but..." I'd learned to expect disappointment.Still, each letter felt like another door slamming shut on the life I'd dreamed of building.Interior design had been my passion since I was twelve. I was always sketching room layouts on napkins and trying to rearrange the furniture in our cramped childhood home, which annoyed my mother to no end.Now those dreams lived in sketch pads buried beneath student loan statements, gathering dust along with my hope of ever escaping the endless cycle of dead-end admin jobs.Beside the bills lay my half-finished crossword, clues scribbled in my messy handwriting.Ancient Roman