Chapter 6 - Father's Favour

Gregory’s POV

Gregory’s smile lingered even as the string quartet swelled into a waltz across the ballroom. He had smiled before, of course—boardroom victories, mergers crushed beneath his hand—but this one felt different. Quieter. Deeper.

The girl at the table hadn’t the faintest idea of the storm that had just shifted her way.

Gregory turned away deliberately, hiding his satisfaction from the circling crowd of donors who craved a nod, a glance, a word of approval. They did not matter tonight. He moved with a precision born of decades in power, cane tapping lightly against marble as though punctuating his thoughts.

She could carry it. The Blackwood name. The Blackwood heir.

It wasn’t love. Love was a frivolous thing, a weak man’s indulgence. What Gregory saw in her was far more valuable: dignity in simplicity, strength without vanity, a woman who would not break under the crushing weight of expectation.

He reached the bar. A glass of champagne was pressed into his hand before he even asked. People parted around him instinctively, their conversations bending like reeds against the wind of his presence. Gregory didn’t acknowledge them. His eyes flicked once more toward the volunteer table.

She was still there, smoothing brochures, adjusting small details that no one else noticed. Detail-oriented. Unassuming. Useful traits. He allowed himself another sip of champagne, the bubbles sharp on his tongue.

But his thoughts were not on the drink.

Damian thinks he can fight me. He thinks legacy is negotiable. Let him try. Once he sees her…

Gregory’s fingers tightened on the cane. The plan, unformed only minutes ago, was crystallizing with terrifying clarity.

Evelyn’s POV

Evelyn felt the prickle at the back of her neck long after the man had looked away.

She forced her hands to stay steady as she lined up pens for the silent auction, but her pulse betrayed her. She wasn’t used to eyes like that—eyes that seemed to strip away pretense, as though she were being weighed against some measure she didn’t understand.

She took a shallow breath.

Maybe he was just curious. Maybe she was imagining things. Wealthy men at events like this didn’t notice women like her—unless it was to bark an order or assume she was serving drinks. She was nobody here. Invisible. Safe in her smallness.

At least, she used to be.

Her gaze drifted once, unintentionally, across the room. He was at the bar now, cane in hand, sipping champagne as though nothing in the world could hurry him. Yet she knew—she knew—he was aware of her every movement.

Her throat tightened. Evelyn looked down quickly, gripping the table edge until her knuckles whitened. She told herself she was being ridiculous.

Focus. Finish your shift. Go home.

But even as she repeated the words, the faint echo of his eyes burned in her mind.

Gregory’s POV

He watched her without watching her. Years in business had taught him subtlety—how to observe without alerting, how to listen without being seen. And tonight, every small gesture she made confirmed his decision.

Not once did she preen for the attention of men nearby. Not once did she fish for compliments or fawn at wealth. She smiled politely when spoken to, bowed her head slightly in gratitude when someone handed her a glass to place aside.

She was humble without being meek.

Gregory exhaled slowly. Yes. The perfect vessel. The perfect beginning.

He set his champagne aside, tapped his cane once, and began walking toward her.

Heads turned as he moved. Conversations faltered. Gregory Blackwood approaching anyone was an event in itself. Evelyn, oblivious at first, only noticed when the hush spread closer, like ripples of water moving toward her.

When she lifted her eyes—he was there.

“Miss.”

His voice was deep, deliberate, carrying authority that silenced the noise around them.

Evelyn blinked, startled. Her lips parted, but no words came at first. She smoothed her gown nervously, then found her voice. “Were you… speaking to me, sir?”

“Yes.”

One word, heavy enough to root her in place.

Evelyn’s POV

Up close, the man was even more intimidating. His suit was cut to perfection, his silver hair sharp under the chandelier light, his posture commanding though age etched faint lines into his face. His presence filled the air, making everyone else fade like shadows.

Evelyn swallowed. “Can I—help you with something?”

He studied her, eyes sharp as glass. “You’re not like the others here.”

She blinked. Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I… I’m only volunteering, sir. Helping where I can.”

Something flickered across his face. Approval, perhaps. Or calculation. She couldn’t tell.

“Helping.” He repeated the word slowly, as though tasting it. “Rare quality these days.”

Her fingers curled against the tablecloth. She wasn’t sure what to say. Every instinct told her to shrink, to retreat, yet another part of her—the stubborn part that had carried her through years of scraping by—kept her spine straight.

“It’s not much,” she managed. “Just small things. Keeping order.”

His eyes softened. Only slightly. “Order is never small.”

Gregory’s POV

Her voice trembled at first, but her words held weight.

Order. Duty. She spoke of them without even realizing the power they held. Most women in this room would prattle about designer labels or connections, and here she was, giving him exactly what he sought.

Gregory inclined his head, almost imperceptibly. “Keep doing that,” he said. “Your best.”

She opened her mouth, confusion widening her eyes, but he was already turning away.

He left her there, deliberately, the same way he had left countless business partners speechless after offering a single cryptic line. He knew its power: the echo of uncertainty, the seed of curiosity planted in silence.

As he melted back into the crowd, the decision in his chest hardened into steel.

This is the one. Damian will resist, but resistance only makes iron sharper. And once he sees her…

Gregory allowed himself a rare, unguarded smile.

The game had begun.

Evelyn’s POV

Evelyn stood frozen, staring at the space he had just occupied. Her pulse drummed in her ears. The echo of his words—keep doing that, your best—clung to her skin like a chill.

What did he mean?

Why her?

She shook her head quickly, forcing herself back to the task at hand. Carmen would tease her mercilessly if she knew Evelyn was rattled over a stranger. That was all he was—a stranger. Wealthy, intimidating, unnerving, but still just a stranger.

And yet, as she tucked another stack of brochures into place, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something irreversible had just shifted in her life.

Gregory’s POV

From the mezzanine, Gregory looked down at the ballroom, his eyes finding her again through the glitter and gold.

Everyone else celebrated charity, wealth, appearances.

He celebrated the future.

Glass in hand, he raised it slightly in a private toast, the corners of his lips curving into the rarest of smiles.

He had found her.

And soon, Damian would have no choice but to meet her.

The heir would be secured.

The Blackwood legacy—unbroken.