THE GAME BEGINS

“I will use her to break him,” Damian said, his voice steady, eyes cold as steel.

“She is his weakness,” he continued, a bitter smile curling his lips. “Darius thinks he can win, keep his perfect image while I fade into his shadow. But I’ll make him fall, Marcus. I’ll take everything he loves.”

Marcus nodded slowly. “Do you plan to start soon, sir?”

Damian turned from the window, his silhouette sharp against the fading light. “Very soon. Let him enjoy his peace today. Tomorrow, I’ll remind him who the real Blackwood is.”

…

In the Garden

The Blackwood mansion garden glowed under the warm sun. Birds chirped softly, and flowers swayed in the gentle breeze. Lena sat beside Grandmother Grace, whose serene expression belied a serious tone. Clara, the maid, stood nearby, ready to serve tea.

“My dear,” Grace began, her voice soft but weighted, “the Blackwoods are not just wealthy. We are powerful… and power always carries darkness.”

Lena listened, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

Grace continued, “You’ve seen how different Damian and Darius are. One carries love, the other pride. Their father your late father-in-law tried to bridge their divide, but his death changed everything.”

Lena frowned. “His death?”

Grace nodded, her eyes distant. “They called it an accident a fire at the old factory. But I’ve lived long enough to know the Blackwoods’ enemies weren’t the only ones to blame.”

A chill ran through Lena. “You mean…?”

Grace sighed. “Some truths wait for time to reveal them. But beware, child evil often hides behind charm. Trust only the one who calms your heart.”

Clara poured tea, her hand brushing Lena’s shoulder. “You’re safe, my lady. Just breathe,” she whispered.

Grace smiled faintly. “Clara is a good girl. Keep her close. The storm in this house is just beginning.”

Lena nodded, her voice soft. “Thank you, Grandmother.”

…

Evening at the Mansion

Dark clouds gathered over the Blackwood estate, thunder rumbling faintly. A black car pulled up, and Damian stepped out, clutching a small black box. His face was unreadable.

Clara, passing through the hall, greeted him. “Good evening, sir.”

He ignored her, his footsteps echoing on the marble as he strode past. A quiet unease stirred in Clara’s chest as she watched him go.

Damian entered Lena’s room silently. The air was soft, scented with roses. He placed the black box on her bed, opened it, and left a note inside: “Get ready for me tonight.” A flicker of cruel satisfaction crossed his eyes before he closed the lid halfway and left.

…

Night fell, and Lena returned from the garden, weary. Clara walked beside her, adjusting the shawl around her shoulders. “You should rest, my lady,” Clara said gently. “It’s been a long day.”

“I will,” Lena replied, offering a tired smile. “Thank you, Clara.”

Clara bowed and left. Lena opened her bedroom door and froze. A black box sat on her bed, stark against the white sheets.

The air felt heavy, oppressive.

Her hands trembled as she approached. She lifted the lid slightly and gasped. Inside were instruments an anal plug, belts, chains and the note: “Get ready for me tonight.”

Her chest tightened, lips quivering. She sank to the floor, tears spilling silently. Why was this happening? Why did Damian hate her? She thought of Darius his calm eyes, his gentle voice, the only light in this nightmare. Her tears dried, but the note remained, a looming threat.

…

Across the city, Darius sat in his office at Velvet Crown, reviewing design files with his assistant, Ethan.

“Sir,” Ethan said, “the Paris contract is finalized. Shipments start next week.”

Darius nodded. “Good. Thank you, Ethan.”

He rubbed his temples, his mind elsewhere. Something felt wrong, a heaviness he couldn’t shake.

Ethan hesitated. “Sir, I can handle the rest tonight. You should rest.”

Darius managed a small smile. “Thank you, Ethan.” He packed his files, the unease growing stronger.

…

At midnight, the mansion was dim, the silence broken by heavy footsteps.

Damian, in a black coat, approached Lena’s room. His face was cold, half-lit by the hallway’s glow. He paused at her door.

“Let’s begin,” he whispered, pushing it open and locking it with a click.

Lena sat on the bed in a thin nightgown, clutching the sheets, her face pale.

Damian’s boots thudded as he crossed the room. He grabbed her chin roughly. “You’re my fucktoy tonight, slut,” he growled. She tried to pull away, but his nails dug in, drawing a faint taste of blood from her bitten lip.

He shoved her onto the bed, her nightgown riding up. Climbing on top, he pinned her, kissing her harshly, his whiskey-tainted tongue forcing deep as he ground his hardening cock against her.

Her hands pushed weakly at his chest.

From the box, he pulled nipple clamps, their chain glinting.

He tore her nightgown open, buttons scattering, and clamped them onto her hardened nipples, tightening until she gasped in pain. He smirked, yanking the chain to make her arch, then bit her neck, leaving dark hickeys.

Forcing her thighs apart, he bruised her skin. Ripping off her panties, he exposed her dry pussy.

He grabbed a vibrating bullet, pressing it hard against her clit on high. She flinched, the intense buzz mixing pain with unwanted sensation. “Stop,” she whispered. He ignored her, sliding two rough fingers into her, pumping to force wetness.

Stripping, his thick, veined cock stood rigid, pre-cum beading. He snapped a leather cock ring around the base, making it bulge harder. Flipping her onto her stomach, he spat on her slit, rubbing his cock along it. He thrust in halfway, stretching her painfully, then slammed in fully, the bullet still buzzing, his balls slapping her clit.

He fucked her roughly, the bed creaking. “Take my fat cock, whore,” he snarled, yanking her hair. From the box, he grabbed an anal plug, lubing it with her juices and pushing it into her tight asshole. She yelped as it popped in, the fullness overwhelming. He pounded harder, hitting her cervix, tugging the clamp chain to make her scream.

He grabbed a leather paddle, smacking her ass, leaving red welts. “Scream for my dick, bitch.” Flipping her onto her back, he spread her legs wide, thrusting deeper, the cock ring stretching her further. He fastened a leather collar around her throat, tugging it to choke her lightly. Her breaths rasped as he twisted a clamped nipple, pain shooting through her.

Her screams filled the room, raw and desperate. “Ahh! Stop!” He only fucked harder, smiling cruelly.

…

Damian was in his home office when a piercing scream reached him. Guilt flooded his chest. He ran to Lena’s room, banging on the door. “Lena! Damian!” Creaks and whimpers came from inside. He kicked the door open, the lock splintering.

He froze. Damian was naked, his cock buried in Lena’s stretched pussy, thrusting brutally. Her face was red, tears streaming, nipple clamps glinting, collar tight. Her breasts bounced with each slam, the anal plug’s base visible.

Damian grinned. “Watch me wreck her cunt, brother.” He lifted her legs over his shoulders, plunging deeper, her pussy gripping his shaft, juices and pre-cum frothing. He pressed the bullet harder against her clit, making her flinch.

Darius’s fists clenched, heart twisting. He loved her, but Damian’s armed men outside kept him rooted.

Damian grabbed a riding crop, snapping it across her thighs, leaving red stripes. He cuffed her wrists, chaining them to the headboard, and bit her breast, drawing blood. She cried hoarsely.

“See her slutty hole take it?” Damian taunted. He flipped her sideways, spooning behind, guiding his cock back in. He pushed the plug deeper, her body trembling.

“You’re ruining her,” Darius said, throat dry.

“That’s the fucking point,” Damian laughed. He fucked faster, wet squelches loud, her cries mixing with moans.

Her pussy spasmed as he slapped her clit with the crop. He grunted, cumming hard, thick spurts flooding her, leaking down her thighs. He kept thrusting, churning the mess.

Pulling out, her pussy gaped, red and slick. He stood, smirking at Darius. “Fuck the sloppy seconds later.” Grabbing his clothes, he left.

Darius rushed to Lena, unchaining her wrists, removing the clamps and collar, and covering her with a blanket. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, holding her trembling hand. Her red eyes met his, squeezing weakly. Guilt crushed him. “I need to do something,” he said, resolve hardening.