Mag-log inTHE SAFE
(Damien's POV)
Midnight covered the townhouse in a dark, eerie shadow. The air smelled like dust and rot.
I walked slowly through the empty house. The floor creaked under my feet. Cobwebs hung everywhere, sticking to my face as I passed. I wiped them away, my fingers covered in dust. Disgusting!
The townhouse was old and abandoned, but you could still see it was once expensive. The floors were marble, now dirty and scratched. The walls had fancy moldings, though the paint was peeling. Everything was falling apart, but you could tell it used to house wealth.
I reached the master bedroom. The big closet was made of cedar wood. I ran my fingers along the panels until I felt a tiny crack in the wood. Just like Victoria’s team had said.
I pressed hard on the hidden spot and there was a quiet click. Then, the panel slid open without a sound.
There, a biometric safe glinted in the moonlight. State-of-the-art. The kind we used in our Zurich vaults.
My cufflinks caught the light as I entered the override codes in anticipation, the backdoor sequences only Blackwood executives knew. I smiled as the safe beeps twice before opening.
My eyes widened in shock.
The safe was completely fucking, empty.
A dry laugh escaped my mouth as I slammed the metal door. Of course. Serena had known we'd find this. She knew we'd waste resources breaking into a decoy.
The grandfather clock downstairs chimed three a.m. as I pulled out my phone, illuminating the dust covered bedroom which used to be mine.
I typed a message, “Safe was clean. She played us.” And I clicked send.
Eleanor's response came instantly. “Then you'll play harder. My office. Now.”
The townhouse's front door creaked as I exited. Rain poured down on silver curtains, soaking through my coat within seconds. My driver leapt to open the Rolls Royce’s door, but I waved him off. I needed a walk. I needed to think.
Halfway down the block, headlights flared behind me.
“Get in, little brother.” Victoria's black Maybach purred at the curb, her smirk visible through the rain-streaked window.
I slid into the leather seat, the car's heat making my soaked clothes steam. “You're up late.” I said.
“Unlike you,” she said, tossing me a tablet, “I don't break into empty houses for fun.”
The screen showed security footage from Vaughn Innovations' R&D lab dated tonight. Serena in a lab coat, demonstrating something to a room full of investors. My gut twisted at the sight of Adrian Cole leaning close to examine her work, his hand brushing her elbow.
Victoria's manicured nail tapped the timestamp. “While you were chasing ghosts, she was securing another $200 million in funding.”
I zoomed in on the schematic behind them. “Is that…”
“The NV-147 prototype?” Victoria's laugh was razor sharp. “Complete with our proprietary neural interface. She's not just using stolen tech, Damien. She's improved it.”
Rain blurred the windows as we sped through Tribeca. The numbers didn't lie, at this rate, Vaughn Innovations would overtake Blackwood's tech division within eighteen months.
“Eleanor wants her stopped,” Victoria murmured, applying lipstick in the vanity mirror. “Permanently.”
I stiffened. “We're not killers.”
“No?” She snapped the mirror shut. “Then why does Serena's lead engineer suddenly have a Swiss bank account worth five million dollars?”
The car fell silent.
We both knew what that meant. Eleanor had already made her move.
The Maybach turned onto Fifth Avenue, its wipers fighting the downpour. Through the rain, I caught a glimpse of the Vaughn Innovations tower, lit up like a beacon at this ungodly hour.
Serena's kingdom. Built with my family's bones.
How did she manage to pull this off? I wondered. A part of me was amused.
Victoria followed my gaze. “Still think she's the girl you married?”
Lightning flashed, illuminating the building's glass facade, and for a split second, I swore I saw a silhouette in the top-floor window. Watching and waiting.
Then darkness swallowed it up.
We drove into Blackwood’s estate. Eleanor's study smelled of bergamot.
“Pathetic.” She said, her voice dripping with disgust, but she didn't look up from her ledger, the ancient book spread across her desk like a corpse on an autopsy table. “First you lose the wife. Then the patents. Now you let her mock us with this… pantomime.”
I remained standing despite the exhaustion weighing my bones. “The safe was a distraction. She wanted us to…”
“Of course it was!” Eleanor's cane struck the floor hard enough to make the Tiffany lamp rattle. “While you were rummaging through closets like some common thief, she was hosting investors!” Her icy gaze lifted. “Tell me, dear grandson. At what point do you stop being outplayed by a girl from Queens?”
The insult landed exactly as intended. Serena's humble origins had always been Eleanor's favorite insult.
Victoria wrapped herself over the armchair. “We could always leak those photos of her in Monaco…”
“No!” I bellowed. The word came out sharper than I intended.
Eleanor's eyebrow arched. “Sentiment?”
“Strategy.” I leaned over her desk, pointing to a ledger entry dated five years back. “Dad approved the initial NV-147 funding. If this goes to court…”
“It won't.” Eleanor snapped the ledger shut. “Because you're going to retrieve what's ours. By any means necessary.”
She slid a file across the desk. Inside, surveillance photos of Serena's daily routine. Her gym. Her favorite cafe. The private maternity clinic she visited twice last month.
My breath caught. “She's pregnant?!”
Victoria snorted. “Please. The clinic's her new R&D partner. They're working on some fertility AI.” She tapped the photos. “But look who else is making house calls.”
The next image hit like a sucker punch, Dr. Adrian Cole leaving the same clinic, his coat pocket bulging with what looked like prototype chips.
Eleanor smiled, showing her teeth. “Seems your wife's been busy in more ways than one.”
I stared at the photos until they blurred. The timelines matched. The stolen tech. The sudden funding. The way Serena had strategically dismantled my empire piece by piece.
This wasn't revenge.
It was a goddamn masterclass.
And the most terrifying part?
I'd never been so turned on in my life.
THE REFUSAL(Serena's POV)The lawyer's office smelled like leather and old money. The kind of scent that clung to everything in Manhattan's most expensive legal firms. Mahogany panels lined the walls. Crystal decanters filled with amber liquid sat on antique side tables. Oil paintings of long-dead judges stared down from their gilded frames.I sat across from William Hartwell, Eleanor's personal attorney for thirty years. His silver hair was perfectly styled, swept back from his forehead in waves that probably cost more to maintain. His charcoal suit was tailored to perfection, every line sharp enough to cut glass. Behind him, law books lined the walls like soldiers in formation, their leather spines bearing the names of cases that had shaped the city's power structure.The baby kicked hard against my ribs as I shifted in the plush leather chair. Twenty-six weeks now. Strong and restless, like it could sense the weight of the decision hanging in the air. I pressed my hand to my stoma
THE VISIT(Serena's POV)The prison smelled like bleach and broken dreams. The scent hit me as soon as I walked through the heavy metal doors.I walked through the metal detectors, my heels clicking against the polished concrete floor. The sound echoed off the walls like gunshots. The baby kicked restlessly in my womb, as if sensing the tension that radiated from every pore of my body."Mrs. Vaughn?" A guard approached me. His uniform was pressed and clean. His badge read "Martinez." "This way, please."He led me through a maze of corridors painted institutional green. The color reminded me of hospitals and morgues. Places where people went to die."The VIP wing," he explained as we walked. His voice was respectful. "Your... arrangement... has been very generous to the city."I nodded but didn't speak. Money talked, even in prison. Especially in prison.The visiting room was nicer than I'd expected. Actual chairs instead of metal stools. A table with a clean surface. Windows that actu
THE ARREST(Damien’s POV)The handcuffs bit into my wrists like metal teeth. Cold and sharp. They left red marks on my skin. I sat in the back of the police car, watching my family's empire crumble through bulletproof glass. News vans lined the estate's circular driveway like hungry wolves. Camera flashes lit up the night like fireworks. Every flash captured another piece of our humiliation. "Blackwood heir arrested!" I could already see the headlines. "Dynasty falls!"Eleanor sat beside me, her silver hair still perfect despite everything. Even in handcuffs, she looked like a queen about to be executed. Her black silk dress didn't have a single wrinkle. Her spine was straight as steel. "This is temporary," she said quietly. Her voice was steady as stone. I wanted to believe her. But the way the officers had read our rights... The way they'd searched our house like they owned it... This wasn't temporary. This was the end of everything. "Grandmother..." I started. "Don't." Her vo
THE TRAP(Damien's POV)The grandfather clock in Eleanor's study chimed eleven-thirty when I finally worked up the nerve to knock."Enter."I pushed open the heavy oak doors. Eleanor sat behind her antique desk, her silver hair perfectly coiffed despite the late hour. She wore her signature black silk, the fabric catching the firelight like oil on water."Grandmother." I stepped forward, my dress shoes silent on the Persian carpet.She didn't look up from the ledger spread before her. "You're late.""I was handling the Langley situation.""Mmm." Her pen scratched against parchment. "And did you handle it? Or did your wife handle you again?"The words stung because they were true. While I'd been chasing ghosts in empty safes, Serena had been three steps ahead, playing a game I was only beginning to understand.Eleanor finally looked up, her pale blue eyes sharp as winter ice. "Sit."I settled into the leather chair across from her desk, the same chair where she'd questioned me as a chi
THE WILL (Serena's POV) The private jet's cabin hummed softly as we soared above the Atlantic. The leather seats smelled of expensive cologne and fear-induced sweat. I stared at the will document on my tablet, the words swimming before my exhausted eyes like fish in murky water. "To Serena Vaughn Blackwood, my granddaughter-in-law, who showed more steel in three years than my blood relatives have in thirty..." My hands shook as I read it again. And again. The baby kicked restlessly against my ribs, as if sensing my turmoil. I pressed a palm to my stomach, whispering softly, "Easy, little one. Mommy's just having a moment." Elena paced the narrow aisle, her red Louboutin heels clicking against the marble floor like a metronome counting down to disaster. Her usually perfect hair was disheveled, dark strands escaping her chignon to frame her flushed face. "This has to be fake. Eleanor would never..." "Never what?" I looked up, my voice hoarse from exhaustion and disbelief. "Never r
THE BEGINNING (Serena’s POV)The lab hummed with silent tension at 3:47 AM. I pressed my palm against the frost-coated cryogenic chamber, watching my breath form a mist on the steel surface. Inside the chamber slept the real NV-147 prototype, the one not even my investors had seen. The one Damien's spies would never find. “Temperature holding at -196 Celsius,” murmured Dr. Chen, her gloved fingers dancing across the monitoring system. “Neural matrix remains stable.”Elena leaned against the lab table, arms crossed. “You're sure the decoy worked?” A smile tugged at my lips as I recalled the security feed from the townhouse, Damien's furious face when he'd found the empty safe. “Like clockwork.”The real breakthrough wasn't in some dusty closet. It was here, buried beneath Vaughn Innovations' flagship lab, accessible only through a biometric elevator even our employees didn't know existed. I ran a hand over the slight swell beneath my lab coat. Twenty-two weeks. Twenty-two week







