LOGINArielle Lawson has lost everything, her job, her stability. The last thing she expects is to clash with a cold, dangerously powerful billionaire on the worst day of her life. But when fate forces her into Damian Blackwood’s ruthless world, their hatred ignites a tension neither of them can control. He’s a man built from ice and trauma. She’s the soft, stubborn spark he never saw coming. As secrets unravel and enemies close in, Damian and Arielle are pulled into a collision of obsession, betrayal, and forbidden desire. In a world where power is everything, their hearts shouldn’t meet, let alone fall. But when ruthless hearts collide, someone always gets burned.
View MoreArielle Lawson’s morning began with the kind of silence that never meant anything good.
The kind that sat heavy on your chest. The kind that tasted like dread. Her phone vibrated on the nightstand at 7:12 a.m., and she reached for it with half open eyes, She expected a reminder to pay overdue bills, or maybe a notification from the hospital needing another signature. But when she saw the caller ID, her stomach dropped. Dr. Wilson..... She sat up instantly. “Hello?” “Miss Lawson,” the doctor began gently. Too gently. “Your sister’s test results are back. Her liver enzymes are elevated again.” Arielle pressed a hand over her eyes. “But she was improving.” “I’m afraid she’s showing signs of deterioration. We’re monitoring her closely, but we may need to discuss additional procedures.” Procedures. That word always meant money. Money she didn’t have and had run out of ways to borrow. “Can I come after my shift?” she whispered. “Yes. Come as soon as you can.” The call ended. Arielle stared at her cracked ceiling for a full minute before forcing herself out of bed. She couldn’t break. Not today. Emma needed strength, not fear. She dressed quickly, rushing through her cluttered room, grabbing her apron, tying her shoes with shaking hands. She whispered a prayer under her breath, the same one she repeated every morning. Keep Emma alive. Give me one more day to fix this. She locked her tiny apartment behind her and ran. ************ MapleSun Bistro was already busy when she arrived, clinking cups, blenders whirring, angry customers tapping their feet. The smell of burnt toast and cheap beans wrapped around her like unwanted fog. “You’re late,” Mrs. Green snapped the moment Arielle walked in. “I’m sorry,” Arielle muttered. “The hospital” “You always have an excuse. Get to work.” Arielle bit the inside of her cheek and swallowed everything she wanted to say. If she lost this job, Emma would lose a lot more than that. She pinned her badge on, tied her apron tight, and threw herself into the morning chaos. ************ By 8:40 a.m., her head throbbed. A toddler screamed because his muffin had the “wrong icing.” Two teenagers argued about which coffee was more “aesthetic.” A middle aged man complained his latte foam was too “energetic.” Arielle apologized, smiled, bowed, apologized again. Her phone kept vibrating. She didn’t have the courage to look. She couldn’t handle more bad news. ** At 9:15 a.m., the atmosphere shifted. The café door swung open, and a tall man in a tailored black suit stepped inside, and everything, even the noise, seemed to hush. Arielle didn’t notice him at first. She was balancing a full tray of orders, weaving between tables, her mind drifting to Emma, her soft curls, her small voice, her terrified question from yesterday: “Ari, am I dying?” Arielle had smiled and said no. But fear had clawed at her throat all night. Her phone buzzed again in her apron. She shouldn’t check it. Not while carrying hot drinks. But what if it was urgent? She shifted the tray, just as she lifted her phone enough to read the notification: Miss Lawson, please come in immediately. We need to discuss Emma’s treatment plan. Her heart dropped. Her balance slipped. And the tray tipped forward. A full cup of steaming coffee soared through the air in slow, horrifying motion, ....and splashed directly onto the chest of the man now standing at the counter. Gasps shot through the café. Arielle froze. The tray clattered to the floor. Her breath vanished. “Oh no, no, no, sir, I’m so sorry” The man looked down at the soaking fabric of his suit. Slowly, Deliberately. His jaw tightened. He lifted his gaze to hers. And Arielle felt the world tilt. His eyes were cold. Not angry. Not shocked. Just… ice. “Are you out of your mind?” he said, voice calm in the most terrifying way. Arielle’s mouth opened and closed. “It was an accident, I swear, I just, my sister is....” “I don’t care about your personal life,” he snapped. “You weren’t paying attention. You were reckless.” Arielle felt the humiliation hit her like a slap. People were whispering. Someone was recording. “I’ll fix it,” she whispered. “I’ll clean it, I’ll pay,” “You?” He looked her from head to toe, expression unreadable. “Pay for a custom tailored suit?” She blinked. “I get it dry cleaned” “You couldn’t even afford the buttons if you try..” Her throat closed. “Sir, I” “You’re irresponsible,” he continued, voice dropping lower. “And clearly incompetent.” Arielle’s eyes stung. “You don’t know me.” “I know enough,” he said. “You ruined an entire morning’s schedule with your stupidity.” Stupidity. Incompetent. Reckless. Every word she’d heard from teachers, relatives, social workers stabbed at her mind. She forced herself to breathe. “Please just let me explain” “Explain?” He stepped closer. “Do you know who I am?” She shook her head, terrified of what he might do to her. Mrs. Green appeared behind her, pale and sweating. “Mr. Blackwood” Arielle’s stomach flipped, her boss know him, OMG he might my someone important and I'm going to get fired. “Mr. Bla... wait, I didn’t.... I didn’t know” Damian Blackwood’s expression didn’t change. Mrs. Green turned on Arielle instantly, fear making her cruel. “You’re fired. Immediately. Turn in your badge.” Arielle’s breath cracked. “Please, Mrs. Green, give me 1 more chance, I really need this job” “Save it!” the manager hissed. “This is the last straw. You’re done here.” Arielle felt tears rising, burning her eyes. “My sister is in the hospital. I can’t lose this job, please.” Damian raised a look at them sharply. Both women fell silent. Then he said, in a voice colder than the air conditioner: “Security.” Two guards approached from near the door. Arielle shook her head, stepping back instinctively. “No... no, please.... I didn’t mean....” “get her out of here,” Damian said without hesitation, without emotion, without even looking at her. “Sir, please” Arielle’s voice cracked, humiliation swallowing her whole. “Please don’t do this. I’m begging you” He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Didn’t spare her a second glance. To him, she wasn’t a person. She was an inconvenience. The guards grabbed her arms gently but firmly. “Arielle Lawson,” Mrs. Green said stiffly, “you are no longer employed at MapleSun Bistro.” Arielle didn’t fight. She couldn’t. Her legs felt numb. Her throat felt shattered. People stared. Phones recording. Whispers buzzing like flies. The guards walked her toward the exit. She looked back one last time. Damian Blackwood was brushing the coffee off his suit with bored fingers, already moving on… as if she were nothing, a stain on his morning. The café doors opened. Cold air hit her. And her life fell apart again.The silence that followed Arielle’s question was not empty.it was crowded, suffocating, a living thing that pressed in from all sides, thick with things Damian did not say, with years he had sealed away behind discipline and success and precision, locked behind iron gates of control. It vibrated with the weight of unspoken words, with shadows he had banished to the corners of his mind, with the ghosts of vulnerabilities he refused to acknowledge. He stood across from her in the low-lit living room, the city glowing faintly through the glass walls behind him, a distant hum of neon and steel, his face carefully neutral in a way she was beginning to recognize too well, a mask he donned like a second skin. This was the face he wore in boardrooms, the one that brokered deals and crushed opposition and kept the wolves at bay. This was the face he wore when emotions weren't his favorite forth, when feelings were inconvenient, when the only currency that mattered was power. “The Locke de
Arielle waited three days before she started looking. Not because she forgot Valerie’s words, those had lodged themselves too deeply for that, but because she needed to be certain she wasn’t acting on fear alone. Fear had already cost her enough in her life, She refused to let it turn her into someone who distrusted shadows instead of truth. But doubt, once planted, always demands air. It was late when she finally opened her laptop, the penthouse quiet in a way that felt intentional. Emma was asleep down the hall, Damian still occupied with back-to-back calls in his private study, his voice occasionally carrying through the walls in measured, controlled tones. The world felt contained, orderly, and safe. That, somehow, made her chest ache. Arielle sat curled on the sofa, legs tucked beneath her, the soft glow of the screen illuminating her face. She typed slowly at first, as though moving too quickly might make the thing she was searching for more real. Blackwood Holdings Locke
Doubt did not arrive loudly. It slipped in quietly, like a draft through a window she hadn’t realized was open. Arielle stood in front of the bathroom mirror long after the water in the sink had gone cold, staring at her own reflection without really seeing it. Valerie’s voice echoed in her head with infuriating clarity, every word polished and precise, designed to lodge itself where reassurance could not easily reach. You were a broken thing on the worst day of your life. Arielle pressed her palms against the marble counter, grounding herself. She had survived worse than cruel words wrapped in silk. She had rebuilt herself before Damian ever entered her life. She knew that. And yet. She replayed moments now with a new lens, Damian stepping in at exactly the right time, resources appearing before she ever had to ask, her life stabilizing almost too quickly. Safety layered upon safety until she barely remembered what it felt like to breathe without it. Had she mistaken protectio
A week changed the temperature of everything. The city had moved on, as it always did, new scandals replacing old ones, outrage reshaped into something fresher, louder. Liam was recovering under protection, Emma had returned to laughing more easily, and Arielle had begun to sleep again without jolting awake at every imagined sound. On the surface, life had smoothed itself out. Underneath, tension still lived in her bones._______ A charity gala was held at a restored historical estate on the edge of the city, all marble floors and high arched windows, warm light spilling into manicured gardens. Damian had funded most of the evening anonymously, medical outreach, housing initiatives, education grants, but his presence was impossible to miss. Arielle walked beside him in a deep emerald gown, her hand resting naturally in the crook of his arm. She had learned the rhythm of these events now: the smiles, the pauses, the polite inquiries that were never quite innocent. She felt stead






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