Mrs Blackwood Novels & Stories

That's practicality. The vampire accountant arrives the next day. Female, looks forty, been dead two hundred years. She introduces herself as Mrs. Blackwood. "Lord Mordaunt briefed me," Mrs. Blackwood says. We're in Father's study, door locked. "You need fabricated embezzlement evidence. Fifty thousand pounds, six months, offshore account." "Correct." "I'll need complete access to your financial systems. All passwords, all accounts, all records." I provide them. Mrs. Blackwood sets up her laptop and starts working. I watch over her shoulder.

"Mrs. Blackwood, could you come downstairs with me for a moment?" I looked up from my sketchbook. "Why?" "Mr. Blackwood asked me to show you something when I arrived." I put down my pencil and looked at her properly. Her expression was the kind that people wear when they are trying very hard to look neutral about something they are not neutral about at all. "What did he do?" I asked, already guessing what the fuss might be about. "I really think you should just come and see for yourself.” We entered the private section of the building, the side that opened into a covered bay used mostly for deliveries and staff vehicles.

“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.

Just then, her assistant panicked and yelled, "Healer Petra, the patient's stopped breathing. What's going on?" Only then did they realize I was poisoned by wolfsbane. It was already so deep in my system that I was beyond saving. "Healer Petra, what do we do now?" the assistant asked, clearly flustered. Looking resigned, Healer Petra shook her head and said, "Continue the surgery. Since the patient's already dead, let's not waste the kidney." I drifted out of the operating room. Outside, Mom, Dad, and Simon were all waiting anxiously. "Why isn't the surgery over yet?" Mom asked, looking worried. "They've been in there for so long!"

Victoria's poison was working again. "Mrs. Blackwood," Dr. Morrison said, "are you going to come voluntarily, or do we need to involve additional security?”

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

Luxurious, yet dignified in its silence. Neither of them could hide their curiosity—how had Old Master Rosetti even managed to establish contact with the Blackwood family? Mr. Steve Blackwood leaned on a cane. His hair was as white as freshly fallen snow. One glance told you he was already very advanced in age. His fingers slowly ran over the pendant. A single, calm look from him was enough to make the air around them grow heavy—his presence was overwhelming. “Mortensen?” he asked quietly. “Yes,” Ria replied respectfully. “I’m the daughter of the Mortensen family from Avenlith.”

“Power? Don’t make me laugh. She’s nothing but a criminal. I’m sure Mrs. Blackwood will have her arrested the moment she arrives.” That was the final straw. Enzo couldn't control himself any longer. “Suit yourself, Mrs. Cross, because the woman you’re insulting, Mrs. Amber, is none other than Mrs. Amber Blackwood, the owner of MPK herself. She’s the one granting you those contracts you’re so quick to mock.”

Not him please not— I turned. It wasn’t Damian. It was worse. It was his mother. Mrs. Blackwood. Elegant as ever, hair perfectly styled, cardigan pristine, holding a basket full of spices and detergents like she was starring in a commercial. My chest tightened but not in a bad way. I actually… liked her. A lot. She’d been the one warm piece of light in that house when everything between Damian and me collapsed. “Mrs. Blackwood?” I breathed, and before I knew it, we were embracing.

Blackwood. Moments later the Blackwood housekeeper hurried in, having finished the endless paperwork and payments. Naomi turned to him at once. “What happened? How did Old Mr. Blackwood fall down the stairs?” The housekeeper looked genuinely lost. “I don’t know, Young Madam. The maid who handles the morning cleaning found him. The moment I learned of it, I had him brought straight here.” Something in his account felt incomplete. Naomi’s gaze dropped to the folder of medical records still clutched in the housekeeper’s hand.