Ruin Me, Blackwood
Hallie Hartblackwood manorconstance blackwoodblackthorn manorscp lord blackwood
And there, behind an impossibly large desk, sat Dominic Blackwood.
He’d grown even more dangerous-looking since the last time I saw him.
Dark hair, cropped short on the sides and just long enough on top to be pushed back with careless precision. A sharp, cut jaw dusted with stubble, and eyes the color of storm clouds — cold, unreadable, and fixed on me like a predator sizing up its next move.
“Amelia,” he said, voice like smoke and shattered glass.
I swallowed hard. “Dom— I mean, Mr. Blackwood.”