Father Blackwood Novels & Stories

"It's not just about that. There's so much more on there, things that could ruin everyone involved. We have to be careful." But Rachel how did you know all these things, Rachel took a deep breath and held my hand "Emma, I've been Mr. Blackwood's personal maid for a very long time," she began, her eyes searching my face for understanding. "I've seen and heard things that no one else knows. The USB contains evidence of his betrayals, his business deals, his... appetites." And also I never told you this but Harrison took me,I've worked for Mr blackWood before working here. Mr blackwood was Harrison's father's friend,and Mr blackwood was the one who killed Harrison's parents in a car accident an

“What did he mean, when he said the Moon remembers you?” She looked down at her gloved wrist, where the Mark still throbbed faintly through the leather. “It means I’m the last of its bloodline. The Black Moon was forged through sacrifice — through a binding that required a living heir to carry part of its power. That heir was my family. My mother before me. And now… me.” Zevran slowed his horse until they rode side by side. “You said the Echo was gone.” “It was. The Echo was the shadow of what the Moon once was. But the true essence — the core of it — it’s bound to me. Always has been.”

BLACKWOOD PENTHOUSE ~ NEW YORK CITY Damien's face turned white. He looked at his dad, then at his step mum. His voice shook. "Dad… I honestly have no idea." Alexander let out a long, heavy sigh. He rubbed his forehead. "Then listen to me very carefully." His voice was quiet but sharp. "The Blackwood family has been around for generations. We've survived wars, money problems, and scandals. But never—and I mean never—has a dead body shown up at our front gate inside a gift box."

The man the world adored. He wasn’t cursed. He was cursing his own blood. I looked down at Roman, fast asleep now against my chest, completely unaware of what I’d just uncovered. His fevered skin pressed against me, burning hot. I held him tighter, not because he needed comfort, but because I needed to keep myself from shaking. Because now, I finally understood. The Blackwoods weren't cursed. It was one man. Reginald Blackwood. Just a man —a father— who decided that no one in his bloodline deserved to live long enough to replace him.

I opened my laptop, the glowing screen my only shield against the room. Ten minutes passed. The room filled with the chatter of people who had never worried about a grocery bill in their lives. Then, the silence hit. The air left the room, sucked out by a vacuum of pure intimidation. I didn’t have to look up to know who had walked in. The Blackwood Heirs. There were three of them, but only one mattered. Niccolò De Luca. I risked a glance over the top of my laptop. They moved in an arranged movement. Nico was at the front. He was tall, over six-foot-three, with hair the color of midnight ink and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass.

The spoon was still in my hand. I looked at the magazine. BLACKWOOD EMPIRE ON THE BRINK, the headline read, in the large bold font reserved for things the financial world considered catastrophic. Beneath it, smaller: Can Adrian Blackwood Save What His Father Built? And beneath that, the photograph. Adrian in a charcoal suit, standing in front of the Blackwood Industries building, looking at the camera with that expression I knew better than almost any other expression in the world. Controlled. Unreadable. Certain, even when he wasn’t.

It was about a father’s delusion, a predator’s regret, and the blood that was about to be spilled on a mountain he couldn't even see. ​Arthur Blackwood sat in the dark, a king of nothing, waiting for the first report from the Jackals. He was a man ready to die to "save" the daughter he had already destroyed.

“That’s him.” Nathan Blackwood. I recognized that face instantly. CEO of Blackwood Industries, headquartered in New York. The man was always in the news. His face was plastered all over the business magazines I loved to read. He was tall, like his cousin, Julian—handsome, with the kind of presence that commanded attention, even in a photograph. And his fiancée—Kimberly—she looked exactly like me. I swiped back to her picture with trembling fingers, my stomach twisting in confusion and disbelief.

"They’ll fire me. If Mr. Blac‌kwood finds out...⁠" ⁠ "Mr. Black‍wood i‌s unconscious," I reminded her. "Talk." She swallowed hard, he‍r voice a frantic whisper. "I‌t’s his heart, Mrs. Blackwood.‍ It's..‍. it's a genetic conditi‍on. It run‍s in the family. His‍ father had th‌e same thing, that's what ac‌tually killed him so young.‌ It’s a de‌fect h‌e’s‌ lived wit‍h his whole life.‍"