Courtney Blackson Novels & Stories

Ramsey merely looks straight ahead. "Last night." His eyes narrow. "I had eyes on you from the moment you arrived London, Blackstone. I saw you with her. Your obsession with Romanov's daughter is a dangerous one. But then, who would have thought? Blackstone, sworn enemy of Romanov Anton and a thorn in his side, suddenly becomes a butt-kisser to his only daughter. That's rich." I look at him incredulously. "You've had me watched?" "Of course, Blackstone. Did you ever pause to wonder why I did not call you by your name while she was here? The girl hates your guts. Apparently, you've hated her guts and her father's for years. There was no need for an enemy style reunion."

He fully supports me and we still run our co-owned jewellery business. Courtney is a fire-cracker with very wavy light red hair, light golden eyes, slim figure and stands tall at 5’5”. Her porcelain skin is decorated in freckles. She is the flirty type and loves to mingle. Courtney never backs down from a challenge and is the type to take on a group of guys in a game of pool and will take all their money, playing innocent. In reality, she was an orphan, her parents were killed when she was little and has always taken care of herself. I ran into her as she pick-pocketed my brother and caught her in the act. He let her live as I took responsibility for her life. We were both around sixteen as

And if Jackson couldn’t find it, Damian might be lost forever. Diana pulled out a chair, the scraping sound jarring in the silence. “Shall we begin, Mr. Hayes? Time is of the essence, and Mrs. Blackwood is quite eager to resolve this... unfortunate situation.” Jackson met her gaze, seeing the same calculated coldness he’d come to associate with everything connected to Serena Blackwood. He smirked. “And what maes you think you are worthy?” She adjusted her glasses before speaking. “Mr. Hayes, I am a professional.”

Three of them. Two men and one woman all dressed in black. They were not flashy, not loud and they looked controlled and disciplined. The woman stood in the center, she’s in her mid forties and her eyes were sharp with a composed expression. She did not scan the room like someone looking for approval. She observed like someone measuring value. “That’s her,” Lucas said quietly. “Helena Blackthorne.” So that was her name. Helena Blackthorne She did not rush and she did not smile widely, she simply walked forward as if the room already belonged to her.

Hailey Ramsey Kingston. Her professional photos came up first, there was no shortage of them now. The board coverage, the custody hearing headlines, and then last night's dinner. She was wearing black, standing beside him, Maxwell Kingston, who I had done exactly one G****e deep-dive on and come out of feeling vaguely unsettled, and she looked like she had been born to stand in rooms like that. The kind of woman who didn't look like she was trying because she'd stopped needing to try a long time ago.

Following the only route in this place that I know, I skip down the stairs, and into the kitchen, where I remembered seeing a back door. Instead, I see Grayson. What is doing in here still? He stands with his back to me, doing something at the sink. And the only thing he wears, are a pair of black dish washing gloves. One brief eye full of a very firm, smooth butt has me screaming and ducking for cover behind the bench. "Lexia?" I hear Grayson say into the air, as I press myself as close to the bench as physics allow. He can't see me. I can't see him...What the hell did I just see?

And then there she was. Celeste Wren. Young. Striking. Composed. Dressed in something modest, but well thought-out. She had the Blackstone jawline. The same eyes as Lawrence—icy, calculating, impossible to ignore. “Mrs. Blackstone,” she said, addressing Morgan with surprising calm. Morgan didn’t blink. “You must be Celeste.” “I understand this is unusual,” Celeste said, “but I’m not here to cause drama. Only to be acknowledged.” Damian stepped forward. “We don’t even know if your claim is legitimate.”

The one who knows exactly what I sound like when I come. Jennifer beams, completely oblivious. “Elena Martinez, this is Damien Blackwood, our CEO.” His jaw locks so tight I’m surprised I don’t hear teeth crack. And every careful, responsible brick I’ve built my life out of? Just crumbled into dust.

Celeste walked in. She was shorter than Nerissa had expected. Petite, compact, with dark hair cut sharply at her shoulder. Her clothes were impeccable, a black blazer, tailored trousers, simple jewelry. Her face was sharp, her eyes watchful. She carried a leather portfolio under one arm and a tablet in the other. She stopped when she saw them. Her gaze moved from Vance to Nerissa. Then back to Vance. "Mr. Blackwood." Her voice was low, measured. "I am Celeste Ashworth. Thank you for meeting with me."

The mahogany bench of the High Court felt like a fortress. Justice Silas Blackwood leaned back, his black robes pooling around him like a shadow. He watched Elena Rossi pace the length of the courtroom. She wore a charcoal suit that hugged her curves, her dark hair pulled into a tight, professional bun that looked like it was fighting a losing battle against a few stray, rebellious curls. "The evidence is circumstantial, Your Honor. My client cannot be held accountable for a crime based on a hunch and a grainy CCTV feed."