Ruin Me, Blackwood

Amelia

I never should’ve answered my brother’s call.

The thought crossed my mind for the tenth time as I stood in the marble-clad lobby of Blackwood Enterprises, the polished floor so clean it reflected the anxious rise and fall of my chest. High above me, the company’s insignia — a minimalist black ‘B’ encased in a silver circle — gleamed against the stark white wall, daring me to turn back.

I didn’t.

I smoothed my palms down the sides of my dress, silently cursing myself for picking something so tight. A pale blue wrap dress that clung in all the wrong places, paired with nude heels that already made my feet ache. But it had felt like armor this morning — something polished and confident, a desperate attempt to mask the fact that inside, I was unraveling.

“Miss Carter?” a clipped voice called from the reception desk.

I turned, forcing a polite smile for the sharp-faced woman behind the counter. Everything about her screamed money and control — from the flawless red manicure to the way she barely looked up from her computer screen.

“Mr. Blackwood will see you now,” she said, gesturing to the private elevator with a manicured finger.

Mr. Blackwood.

Not Dom. Not Dominic.

It was stupid, how the title sent a ripple of something sharp and breathless through me. I’d known Dominic Blackwood since I was seven years old. Back then, he was just Dom — my brother Nathan’s arrogant best friend who made it his life’s mission to torment me. He’d pulled my ponytails, teased me about my braces, called me “Shrimp” until I swore I’d push him in the pool.

But time changes people. Turns boys into men and careless grins into cold, unreadable stares.

I stepped into the elevator, the doors whispering shut behind me, cutting off the world. The ascent was silent, save for the soft hum of the machinery and the too-loud thud of my pulse in my ears.

Twenty-seventh floor.

The doors opened to a cavernous office bathed in soft grey light, the city skyline stretching out in a panorama of glass and steel behind a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. And there, behind an impossibly large desk, sat Dominic Blackwood.

He’d grown even more dangerous-looking since the last time I saw him.

Dark hair, cropped short on the sides and just long enough on top to be pushed back with careless precision. A sharp, cut jaw dusted with stubble, and eyes the color of storm clouds — cold, unreadable, and fixed on me like a predator sizing up its next move.

“Amelia,” he said, voice like smoke and shattered glass.

I swallowed hard. “Dom— I mean, Mr. Blackwood.”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his mouth. “Sit down.”

I did, because it wasn’t a request.

The leather chair was cold against the backs of my thighs, and I forced myself to meet his gaze, though every nerve in my body screamed for me to look away.

“Your brother tells me you’re looking for a job,” he said, leaning back in his chair. The way he moved — fluid, calculated — sent a shiver down my spine.

“I am,” I managed, my voice steadier than I felt.

“I need an executive assistant.” His eyes raked over me, lingering just long enough to make my skin flush. “You’re underqualified. And it’s going to be a problem.”

I bristled, the old fire in me sparking to life. “Then why am I here?”

He smiled then, slow and sharp-edged. “Because I don’t trust anyone else.”

I blinked. “I don’t understand.”

“I trust Nathan. And by extension, I trust you. That’s enough.”

I should’ve walked out right then. Should’ve told him to take his offer and shove it. But something about the challenge in his voice — the unspoken dare in his stare — made my pulse quicken.

“I’ll do it,” I said before my brain could catch up.

His smile widened, dark and knowing. “Good girl.”

And just like that, my fate was sealed.