Chapter 17 – Gregory’s Manipulation

Gregory’s POV

The city gleamed beneath the early afternoon sun, a jungle of glass and steel that reflected power back to those who already had it. Gregory Blackwood sat rigidly in the backseat of his town car, his cane resting across his knees, his gloved hands folded neatly on top of it. His driver maneuvered smoothly into the circular driveway of New Horizons Family Agency, a discreet but reputable establishment known for handling delicate matters for the elite.

To most, it was just another sleek glass-front building tucked between law offices and boutique clinics on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. But for Gregory, today, it was the key to securing his dynasty.

The car slowed to a stop. Gregory stepped out, the polished tip of his cane striking the pavement with a sharp tap. Heads turned automatically — not because anyone knew him personally, but because Gregory carried himself like someone the world was meant to obey. His tailored charcoal suit clung perfectly to his tall frame, his silver hair combed back with precision, his icy eyes alert.

Inside the lobby, the receptionist looked up from her desk and nearly fumbled her pen. “Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to New Horizons. How may I help you?”

Gregory’s smile was courteous, almost warm, but there was steel beneath it. “I am Gregory Blackwood. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.”

The receptionist’s lips parted. “Blackwood… Enterprises?”

“The same.” Gregory tapped his cane once against the marble floor. “I’m here because I’ve recently taken a personal interest in your work. The service you provide — giving families a chance at continuity, at legacy — is… admirable.”

The woman blinked rapidly, taken aback by the weight of his presence. “That’s very kind of you, sir.”

“I’d like to make a contribution.” Gregory gestured slightly, and his assistant — who had followed two steps behind — handed the receptionist a slim leather folder. She opened it and her breath caught. Inside was a check large enough to fund the agency’s programs for years.

“Oh my goodness,” she murmured. “Mr. Blackwood, this is—”

“Consider it an investment,” Gregory interrupted smoothly, his gaze flicking briefly to the polished brass plaque on the wall that read New Horizons: Building Families, Securing Futures. “Your mission aligns with my own values. Family must always come first. Always.”

The receptionist flushed under the intensity of his stare. “I… I’ll inform Dr. Pierre immediately. He oversees our donor relations as well as the medical side of things.”

“Please.” Gregory’s tone left no room for delay.

Moments later, Dr. Allen Pierre entered the lobby, his white coat crisp, his salt-and-pepper hair combed neatly back. He carried himself with quiet confidence, though the flicker in his eyes when he saw Gregory betrayed surprise — and unease.

“Mr. Blackwood,” Allen said, extending his hand. “This is unexpected. We’re grateful for your generosity.”

Gregory clasped his hand firmly, his grip strong despite his age. “Doctor, I’ve been following your work for some time. Discretion, professionalism — qualities too rare in today’s world. You run an admirable establishment.”

“Thank you.” Allen gestured toward the glass-walled hallway. “Perhaps we could talk in my office?”

Gregory inclined his head. “Lead the way.”

Dr. Allen’s Office

The office was understated but elegant, lined with medical diplomas and framed photographs of smiling babies held by glowing parents. Gregory’s gaze flicked briefly across them before settling into the leather chair opposite Allen’s desk.

Allen placed the check on the desk gently, as if it might combust. “This contribution will help us tremendously. Our research wing has been struggling to expand.”

“Good.” Gregory leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on the carved silver head of his cane. “I meant every word I said, Allen. Family is the cornerstone of civilization. Without heirs, without legacy… a man’s empire turns to dust.”

Allen inclined his head slowly, though there was a faint tightness around his mouth. “Yes, I’ve read of your… philosophy.”

Gregory’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Philosophy? No, Doctor. It is truth. Blood carries more than genetics. It carries destiny. Which brings me to why I am here today.”

Allen straightened, instinctively bracing himself. “Go on.”

“My son,” Gregory said, his voice lowering to a measured cadence, “is thirty-four. He has one year — one year — to produce an heir, or the company I built with my hands will be handed to scavengers who know nothing of Blackwood grit. Damian is brilliant, ruthless, and cold as steel — the perfect Blackwood in every respect. But he lacks one thing. An heir.”

Allen’s brow furrowed. “Mr. Blackwood, I sympathize, but your son’s personal life isn’t—”

“I am not here to discuss his personal life.” Gregory’s tone sliced through the air. “I am here because I have decided that your agency will play a role in ensuring my legacy. I want you to show me the profiles of your newest candidates.”

Allen’s eyes widened. “That’s… that’s against protocol. Confidentiality is the foundation of this agency. Clients review profiles, not donors.”

Gregory chuckled softly, the sound dry and sharp. “Protocols are for ordinary men, Allen. Look again at that check. Do you think I gave it merely to see my name on a plaque? I have invested in your mission. I expect a return.”

Allen swallowed. He had dealt with wealthy benefactors before, but Gregory Blackwood radiated a different kind of pressure — the kind that made rules feel flimsy and negotiable.

“Please,” Gregory said, softening his tone, though his eyes remained hard. “I merely want to ensure that the young woman chosen for my son is… suitable. Damian is particular. He cannot risk entanglements with women who would use him for status or manipulation. He requires someone simple. Someone… clean.”

Allen hesitated. “Mr. Blackwood—”

“Do not insult me with excuses.” Gregory’s voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “You know as well as I do that your agency bends rules for donors. I am not asking. I am directing.”

Silence thickened between them.

Finally, with visible reluctance, Allen opened a secure drawer and withdrew a slim folder. He slid it across the desk. “These are the newest applications. But this is irregular, and I can only—”

Gregory raised a hand, silencing him. “Irregular is another word for progress.”

He opened the folder, his expression a mask of detached interest as he leafed through profiles. A teacher. A nurse. A graduate student. His eyes flicked over each one with feigned care. He knew what he was looking for, even if he pretended not to.

And then he found her.

Evelyn Carter.

Her photo was clipped neatly to the top of her file. She wasn’t glamorous. She wasn’t styled or polished like Vanessa Hart, or the glittering women who usually hovered around his son. She was… ordinary. A diner waitress with tired eyes and soft curves. But in that ordinariness, Gregory saw exactly what he needed.

He tapped the photo with his finger. “This one.”

Allen blinked. “Evelyn Carter? She’s only just applied. The evaluation process isn’t even complete.”

“All the better.” Gregory’s lips curved faintly. “Fresh. Untouched. No complications. My son doesn’t need affection. He needs a womb strong enough to carry his heir, and a woman too desperate to bargain.”

Allen’s jaw tightened. “You can’t reduce a person to that.”

Gregory’s gaze turned glacial. “Watch me.”

For a moment, Allen looked like he might protest further. But then his shoulders slumped. The check still lay between them, its weight heavier than stone.

“I’ll… make a note,” he said quietly.

Gregory rose to his feet with fluid grace, tucking the cane against his side. “Good man. History remembers those who serve destiny. And make no mistake, Allen — this girl is destined to be part of my family’s story.”

He slipped Evelyn’s profile back into the folder, but not before letting his gaze linger on her photo once more. “Evelyn Carter,” he murmured. “Yes… she’ll do nicely.”

Evelyn’s POV

That same afternoon, Evelyn wiped down tables at the diner, trying to focus on the streaks of water instead of the knot in her stomach. The agency paperwork was done, her signature inked, but the name Damian Blackwood still echoed in her mind like a warning bell.

“Evie, you okay?” Carmen asked fondly, balancing a tray of dirty plates.

Evelyn forced a smile. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

But her eyes strayed to the window, to the world outside. She had no idea that across town, a man in a tailored suit had just chosen her like a piece of cloth, sealing her fate without her knowledge.

Dr. Allen’s POV

After Gregory left, Dr. Allen sat alone in his office, the folder open in front of him. Evelyn Carter’s profile stared back at him, her photo paperclipped to the corner.

She looked so young. So vulnerable.

Allen rubbed his temples. “What have I done?” he whispered.

His gaze lingered on Evelyn’s photograph, and a chill ran through him.

“She has no idea what she’s walking into.”