Novelas y relatos de Mrs Blackwood

“Thank you.” Austin appeared long enough to clap me once on the back and tell me I looked less like a man facing execution than he had expected. Then the day opened outward again—photographs, the formal entrance, the noise of a celebration that belonged as much to the watching world as it did to us. Through all of it I kept finding her hand, her eye, the small private checks that had nothing to do with spectacle. She was Mrs. Blackwood. Not as a public correction. Not as the ending to Isabella’s failed war.

I sat upright, changing my settings to switch to mails. It was from Dr. Xander with a black envelope as the subject followed by, "You need to see this!" I read out loud. I clicked on the new mail. Dear Becca, Dr. Baldowski managed to compile your memory into a disk and it is attached to this mail. But before you watch, hear me out first. You might have a deep-rooted belief concerning your personality but don't play a personality you are not. Yes, something or someone might have deluded you to that particular belief but believe me, that's not who you are.

I felt my head spin as I thought of what to say to Mom. “Mr. Blackwood might be in a meeting now. You know when I was still at the mansion, Mr. Blackwood spoke with his foreign clients all night and most nights we talked about it. Don’t these clients know we are at night? The chief maid always told us that our time was different from that of other countries.” “You know, it’s not a thing of surprise to us that Mr. Blackwood keeps getting rich every day.” The maid said. She was my life saver and again, it was a confirmation for me that she knew something.

The man himself stood with his back to them, gazing out through the panoramic windows at the city below. "Ms. Chen. Mr. Vitale." Blackwood turned slowly to face them. He was older than Maya had expected, with silver hair and sharp features that spoke of both intelligence and ruthlessness. "Thank you for coming." "Your invitation was... difficult to ignore," Maya replied carefully. A thin smile crossed Blackwood's face. "Please, sit." Two chairs faced his massive desk. Maya and Luca exchanged a glance before complying. "No Marcus Hoffman today?" Blackwood asked, taking his own seat.

After all, he was the most closed off; we knew he had a fucked up childhood but not the extent of it. "You say she left his belongings?" Silas asks, his voice much calmer than it had been seconds ago. "Yes, and hers as well, so strange." And hers? Who is this woman? Wait...if she really is... "You say she was here with a detective?" The attendant nods. "A Mr. Justin Powers or something like that. He seemed very disinterested in the case; he made the young lady cry." I hear Silas' sharp intake of breath. Justin is under the Magliana payroll; anyone who is anyone knows that. The second he learns a Black Rose has a known family member, he'll definitely take that to them, and in turn...

Struggling with the difficulty to reply, Blaze finally gave up. "He wants to meet with the owner of the environment. Mr Woodbead." She withdrew, keeping back some information but Stacy wasn't satisfied. "And?... Who is Mr Woodbead?" Stacy scanned the environment. The kids were no longer playing, they ran to the bungalow, after seeing them. Everywhere appeared peaceful to her. "Who is Mr Woodbead?" She asked again. Blaze succumbed to her pestering and sighed. "He's one of Rose's men. That's all I was told."

I replied very calmly. "Charlotte, my dear, don't get us wrong but we have our reasons to doubt you." Mrs. Blackwood implied the same in a sweeter tone,"You returned out of nowhere and decided to do business with us. One day, you just appeared at our son's house. I have more experience than your years on earth. So, tell us, what do you really want? Is it only for Ace or you have a motive?" She scrutinized. This woman knew how to play safe.

It felt like she somehow knew him. “That’s a long story,” he said softly. “But for now, let’s just say we’re here to help.” Richard let out a short, harsh laugh. “Help? She’s imagining things. She’s been accusing everyone around her of nonsense. What she really needs is a doctor, not strangers breaking into my home.” The man didn’t even move. “What she needs,” he said coldly, “is to get away from you.” Dr. Cross tried to stay calm. “Sir, please,” he said, “Mrs. Blackwood has been under a lot of stress. She’s been making serious claims about murder, about—”

I looked down the hallway and through the other side, and there was actually no one in sight. My heart hammered as I approached the large double office doors with D. BLACKWOOD engraved on the metal plate. I forced my trembling hand to knock. No answer. Great. I knocked again. Still nothing. Screw it. I pushed the door open— —and froze in place. Damian Blackwood sat behind his massive black desk. Sharp suit. Cuffed sleeves. Jaw tight enough to crack a diamond. He didn’t look up at me. Not even a glance. I opened my mouth to speak but was cut off by his deep voice.

"I know yo‍u probably th⁠ink I'm planning someth⁠ing. That this is another manipulation but I'm not. I'm‍ just...⁠ trying to be better." Marcu⁠s's expres‌sion so‌fte⁠n⁠ed‍ sl⁠i⁠ghtly, just‌ a fracti⁠on. "Mrs. Blackwood, I'⁠ve b‌een‍ with Mr. Blac⁠kwoo⁠d for thre‌e years‍. I've never seen him like this⁠. Whatever you're doing, whatever game you're playing..."