Constance Blackwood Novels & Stories

I took the file, opened it, and saw the name of this maid: Pyra Ruby Blackwood. It read. Picking up the photograph of Pyra Blackwood, I watched her portrait clearly. She was beautiful. With her mop of red hair cascading down her back, perfectly accentuating her delicate and soft face, framed by a high cheekbone. A smile was plastered on her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes; her dull crimson eyes lacked it, seemingly to hold a story of their own. Her skin was as pale, shimmering like fallen snow in the winter.

Did the royal henchman always have to be so damned harsh? I swallowed back the tears in my throat and nodded, pushing myself forward and inhaling a sharp breath when the doors closed with a soft click behind me. Cassandra Blackwood was sitting with her face to me. The silky white dress she wore emphasizing her full blonde hair that tumbled in straight waves down her back, coiffed with petals and crystals that caught the light beautifully. How could one woman be so perfect? The thought made my heart ache as I shuffled into the room, making her pause the teacup she held in one hand without looking up at me.

Chapter 65: Downfall Carol Blackwood sat in the grand conference room of Blackwood Group. Her perfectly manicured nails were tapping impatiently against the polished mahogany table. Her lawyers were late. "Unacceptable." She scoffed in disbelief. She was a woman of power, a woman of status. When she summoned someone, they arrived. And yet, here she was, left waiting like some commoner forced to sit in silence as the empire she had built crumbled beneath her.

Conner applied a clear gel to my stomach and operated the ultrasound machine and soon, a random image appeared, seemingly another lady's ultrasound. "Perfect.” Conner said. I took out my phone and snapped a photo of the projected image, wanting an extra copy for myself. Conner soon turns to me, his expression suddenly serious. "Remember our agreement Mrs Blackwood, if you try to dodge your end of the deal, I won't hesitate in revealing everything to Mr Blackwood." His tone sent a shiver down my spine, and I knew at this point I couldn't mess things up. I had to find a way to convince Mr Blackwood to partner with this charity event or I'll be screwed.

It seems I tuned in just in time for this bombshell. "Isn't that what I just said?" Vanessa replies, annoyance flashing across her face. Penny Lane is practically vibrating with excitement. "I just want to confirm we’re talking about the same man here, Miss Sterling. The one who’s graced every magazine cover and walked every runway? That Abel Blackwood?" "I don't know of another if there is one," Venessa answers. The host's jaw drops further. "Ouch!" She exclaims despite the sparkle of excitement in her eyes. "Abel Blackwood and Cyrus Blackwood share a last name. Could it be that they are...?” She trails off, breath hitching in anticipation.

BLACKWOOD MANOR – AFTERNOON The study was dark and heavy with the smell of old books and whiskey. Tall shelves of leather-bound volumes lined the walls, and stern family portraits stared down like judges. Alexander Blackwood sat behind his massive oak desk, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His eyes were cold as he looked at the woman sitting across from him. Katherina Rodriguez looked broken. Dark circles ringed her eyes. Her clothes were wrinkled, her hair messy.

When your son's bedtime stories came from mommy because daddy was always at another business dinner? "Ladies." I forced a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. "If you'll excuse me, I have another appointment." "Of course! Don't let us keep you from that perfect life of yours!" Mrs. Whitmore's laugh tinkled like breaking champagne flutes. I made it to the elevator before the words really hit. Perfect life. They saw what I let them see. The authentic Sera Blackwood, wife of Jonathan Blackwood, old money, new success. Mother to Oliver, the sweetest eight year old who still believed in magic and happy endings. Part-time art authenticator who worked "for fun" because surely Jonathan pr

Greene muttered, “Fine. Let it be on record…. Katherina Blackwood is replaced by Vivian Ashcroft, effective immediately.” A low murmur swept through the board members. Some looked relieved; others looked uneasy. Vivian stood, smoothing her blazer and offering a faint, confident smile. “Thank you, gentlemen. I assure you, you won’t regret this decision.” She stepped closer to the table, her tone firm and composed. “Good morning, everyone. I know some of you may doubt me, but I didn’t come here to play politics. I came to restore order to make sure Blackwood Industries runs clean, stable, and free of scandal.”

Draven didn’t say a word, just set his fork down with slow finality and called out, “It’s open.” The door creaked as it swung inward, and there she was. Ms. Blackwood. She walked in like she owned the place, heels tapping across the hardwood, her coat sliding off her shoulders with practiced ease. Her lipstick matched the wine-colored silk blouse clinging to her curves. Her eyes swept the room and landed on me. A flicker of something unreadable passed through them, before she dismissed me entirely. “Morning,” she said, her voice syrup-sweet as she moved toward him. “You look… stronger.”

The images he had built in his head of Emma being his child, the images he had created in his mind of having Elara back, it all shattered into a million broken pieces. Nathaniel Blackwood, who was known as the Ice king of the Blackwood empire, the man who had rarely showed a crack in his ice cold heart, he felt his knees grow weak, his heart growing heavier each passing second. While Elara watched him with no reaction over her face.