Billionaire's Dark veil

Sophia's POV

The door shut behind me with a quiet click.

Damian Blackwood sat at the head of the table, a glass of whiskey in his hand, watching me with the kind of stillness that made my skin prickle.

I took the seat across from him, careful not to show any hesitation.

“Mr. Blackwood,” I said, placing my notebook on the table.

He didn’t speak immediately, just observed me with unsettling patience. Then, finally, he murmured, “Ms. Rivers.”

Not a greeting. Just an acknowledgment.

I leaned forward. “Thank you for agreeing to this meeting.”

“You don’t sound thankful.”

“I don’t waste words on things I don’t mean.”

Something flickered in his eyes, amusement, maybe. “Good. I prefer honesty.”

I flipped open my notebook. “You built an empire out of nothing, but your history is vague.”

He took a slow sip of his drink. “Is it?”

I tapped my pen against the paper. “There’s no clear record of your education, no past associations before your father Introduced you to Blackwood Enterprises fourteen years ago. And then, Nine years later, you disappeared.”

A slow blink. “Did I?”

I tilted my head. “You tell me.”

He swirled the whiskey in his glass. “What exactly are you looking for, Ms. Rivers?”

“Answers.”

His smirk was unreadable. “To what?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Where did you go for those missing years?”

A pause. Barely noticeable. But I caught it.

“I traveled.”

“Where?”

“Here and there.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He placed his glass down, fingers resting lightly on the rim. “It’s the only one you’re getting.”

I held his gaze. “So you expect people to believe that one of the most powerful men in the country vanished for years, no meetings, no press, no business dealings and then reappeared as if nothing happened?”

“People believe what they’re told.”

I arched a brow. “And what are you telling me?”

He leaned back in his chair. “That I have nothing to hide.”

Lie.

I tapped my pen again, considering my next move. “Some people think you went back for someone.”

His expression didn’t change, but there was a shift. Subtle.

I pressed on.

“They say you disappeared because of a woman.”

No reaction.

I pushed harder. “Did you love her?”

Silence.

A sharp tension curled in the air between us.

I studied his face. He wasn’t just avoiding the question. He was guarding it.

I exhaled, shifting gears. “Maybe it wasn’t love.”

A flicker of something dark passed through his eyes.

I tilted my head. “Maybe it was regret.”

His jaw tightened.

There it was.

The hit.

He placed his glass down with measured control. “You seem to have a vivid imagination, Ms. Rivers.”

I smiled. “It’s a journalist’s greatest weapon.”

“Is that what you are?” His tone was mild, but razor-sharp beneath the surface.

My fingers brushed the edge of my notebook. “You don’t trust journalists, do you?”

“Should I?”

I let a small pause stretch before speaking again. “People who have nothing to hide don’t fear the truth.”

His lips curled slightly. “And people who dig too deep sometimes don’t like what they find.”

A chill traced my spine.

I knew how to read between the lines.

He wasn’t warning me off.

He was daring me to keep going.

Fine. I could play this game.

I flipped a page. “You grew up in an orphanage.”

His fingers stilled on the rim of his glass.

I had his full attention now.

“Your father found you there fourteen years ago,” I continued. “But before that, there’s barely any record of you. No photos. No school documents. Almost like you didn’t exist.”

His voice was quieter this time. “And yet, here I am.”

“You seem fascinated with my past, Ms. Rivers.”

I smiled back. “Men don’t just vanish for years and return without a reason.”

He leaned forward, just slightly. Close enough that I could smell his cologne, dark, intoxicating.

“Maybe I was chasing ghosts.”

“Or maybe you were chasing something you lost.”

His eyes darkened.

For the first time, true tension filled the space between us.

I parted my lips to speak again, but...

CRACK!

Glass shattered.

Screams erupted from outside.

Another shot.

The chandelier came crashing down, the sound deafening.

A sniper.

The realization slammed into me a second too late.

Red laser dot, fixed on Damian’s chest.

I moved.

BANG!

Pain. Searing, white-hot pain tore through my shoulder.

The world tilted.

I collapsed against Damian, blood blooming through my dress.

“Fuck!”

His hands were on me in an instant, pressing against the wound. His grip was firm, almost desperate.

“Why the hell would you do that?!” His voice was raw, furious.

I tried to smirk, but it was weak. “Instincts”

“Stay still,” he ordered, voice taut with control.

I gasped, trying to fight through the haze of pain. “Y-you… were armed.”

“Of course I was.”

Gunfire erupted outside. I felt Damian shift, his body partially shielding mine. His grip was firm, steady.

Too close.

His breath was against my cheek now, his heat pressing into me.

“Do you take bullets for every man you interview?”

I nearly laughed, but it came out as a breathless, pained sound.

Damian’s grip on me tightened. “Don’t pass out.”

“Not really up to me,” I muttered.

His eyes flickered something unreadable there.

Then, suddenly, his fingers brushed against the chain around my neck.

The moment his skin met the pendant, his entire body stilled.

Not just surprise.

Shock.

His fingers curled around the delicate chain, and his expression turned unreadable.

No more than that.

Haunted.

His breathing quickened. His grip on me tightened.

His lips parted slightly as if words failed him.

Then, just before everything went black, I heard him whisper so low, so raw

“Maybe I am done searching…”