All Chapters of Blackened: The Bastard Heiress's Rise: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

December 6th, Manhattan, a blizzard was raging outside.Ava sat in the chairman’s office on the 88th floor, her gaze fixed on the two freshly printed agreements spread out on the desk, her knuckles whitening with the force of her grip. She had thought she’d won the first round. In reality, she’d merely been granted entry into a far more intricate and perilous game of chess.At exactly 9:17 a.m., Landon’s private elevator arrived with a soft ding. He was alone, accompanied only by a cryptic smile that played on his lips. His black overcoat hung open, revealing a sliver of his collarbone—where the tooth mark she’d left days ago had scabbed over, a faint, crimson badge of their tangled history. He flipped the lock on the door with a casual flick of his wrist, then slammed a file thicker than hers onto the desk, his voice low and lazy, oozing with that characteristic nonchalance of his. “Little rose, I’ve read your proposal. The terms are quite pretty, but unfortunately… they’re missing s

London, December 9th, 7:03 a.m. Royal Free Hospital, VIP WardThe first words Nora spoke when she woke up were faint as a breeze through her oxygen mask, yet each syllable struck Ava’s heart like a hammer blow. “Baby… Ivy came to see me yesterday. She cried so hard… said she was afraid you’d never forgive her.”Ava stood by her mother’s bed, her fingers tightening instantly until her nails dug into her palms—the sharp pain jolting her fully awake. She’d only let Ivy leave the parking garage last night. But Ivy had beaten her to the ward, showing up the moment their mother opened her eyes.What was she crying for? Who was she performing for?Summer hurried over, holding out a freshly printed copy of Page Six, her voice trembling. The front-page headline blared in bold, eye-searing letters: ROZIER HOLDINGS CHAIRMAN’S MOTHER ON THE BRINK OF DEATH—STOCK PLUMMETS TO LIMIT DOWN BEFORE MARKET OPENThe accompanying photo was a candid shot of Nora being wheeled into the operating pod. A tiny

February 15th. Manhattan. Blizzard.It was four o’clock in the morning. Ava stood at the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows of her penthouse apartment, the icy particles of the blizzard striking the glass like shards of shattered crystal, emitting a fine, continuous, explosive sound. She was barefoot, clad only in a black silk dressing gown that hung loosely, its collar wide open. Her skin, visible at her collarbone and breastbone, was a roadmap of new and fading bite marks and finger bruises—a territory repeatedly staked and claimed by a beast. The fire in the bespoke marble fireplace roared fiercely, but its heat failed to warm the bone-deep chill radiating from her feet.A nearly silent padding of footsteps approached from behind.Sebastian came up to her, holding a mug of warm milk. His own black silk robe was tied carelessly, and a fresh scratch—a mark left by her in her desolate breakdown the night before—was visible near his collarbone. He hadn’t turned on any lights, relying o

December 18th. Manhattan. 8:00 AM.The city, silenced by the heavy overnight snowfall, was an immaculate landscape under glass. The only sound was the high-pitched, mournful howl of the frigid wind slicing between the monolithic skyscrapers.On the 88th floor of the Voss Group Headquarters, the global board meeting was in session. Landon sat at the head of the table, his cigarette clenched so tightly between his fingers it was permanently deformed, yet he hadn’t lit it. A look of sated, habitual smugness was plastered across his face, the confidence of a lion who had just secured his prey. This lasted until all the massive video screens in the room simultaneously went dark.The blood-red characters, cold and stark, then slammed onto the monitors, each line an invisible, agonizing blow to the chest:$$\text{Voss Group Offshore Account, \$47.28 Billion USD, FROZEN by Interpol Anti-Money Laundering Task Force.}$$$$\text{EU Pharmaceutical Agency Raid: Three CORE Manufacturing Plants CITE

Somewhere in the depths of the Pacific Ocean. An Uncharted Private Island.The ocean surface was a sheet of obsidian, sliced only by the occasional whitecap that rose and fell like the dorsal fin of a predator. The water here was deep, ancient, and unforgiving.At the heart of this desolate expanse lay a private island, dominated by a massive atoll that sat half-submerged in the crushing embrace of the sea. Beneath the coral reef, engineering arrogance had carved out a circular abyss—a man-made deep pool, one hundred meters in diameter. The walls were lined with polished black obsidian, smooth as glass and cold as death. When the underwater floodlights hit them, the rock acted like a funhouse of mirrors, magnifying every shadow that drifted through the water tenfold, turning slivers of darkness into lurking monsters.This was the domain of twelve Great White Sharks.They were not naturally occurring residents. They were trophies, smuggled from the coast of South Africa by Landon Voss.