The transition from the sterile glass of the boardroom to the decaying grandeur of Blackwood Estate should have been nothing more than another assignment.
Instead, it becomes the beginning of something she can't explain.
Blackwood Estate sits along the Potomac like a relic from another century—beautiful, imposing, and carrying far too many secrets beneath its ivy-covered walls. What was supposed to be a temporary step into a world of old money, powerful families, and carefully guarded reputations quickly becomes something far more complicated.
There are people at Blackwood who have spent years protecting what belongs to them. People who know how to manipulate a room without raising their voices, who understand the value of a secret, and who have every reason to be suspicious of an outsider.
Then there is the pull she can't seem to resist.
Between stolen glances, buried histories, dangerous chemistry, and truths that refuse to stay hidden, the lines between attraction and obsession begin to blur. The closer she gets to the people—and secrets—at the heart of Blackwood, the harder it becomes to tell who she can trust.
Because some connections don't feel like choices.
They feel like gravity.
And once you're caught in their orbit, escaping may cost far more than you're willing to lose.
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The first thing Elara learned about being good at her job was that people rarely noticed the problem until it became theirs.
The second thing she learned was that, once they noticed it, they would usually bring it to her.
“Elara?”
She looked up from her laptop.
Megan stood beside her desk with the expression of someone who had either just discovered a major crisis or was about to make one Elara’s problem.
Judging by the folder clutched against her chest, probably both.
“What happened?”
“I may have messed something up.”
Elara leaned back in her chair. “That is a wonderfully vague way to start a conversation.”
Megan gave her a look.
“Sorry.” Elara smiled. “Tell me.”
“The Henderson proposal.”
Ah.
Elara glanced toward the conference room where the rest of their team was still gathered around the long glass table.
Three people were talking over one another, two were staring at their laptops, and their supervisor looked approximately thirty seconds away from developing a permanent eye twitch.
“What about it?”
“The numbers don’t match the revised budget.”
Elara held out her hand.
Megan passed over the folder.
Elara flipped through the pages.
“Who prepared the original projection?”
“Daniel.”
“And who revised it?”
“Me.”
Did Daniel send you the updated figures?”
“Yes.”
“Did you use the figures from the email or the spreadsheet?”
“The spreadsheet.”
Elara turned the page.
There it was.
The pronlem.
“Daniel sent you an old version.”
Megan blinked. “What?”
“Look.” Elara tapped the bottom corner of the spreadsheet. “This was modified three weeks ago. The email with the updated figures came yesterday.”
“So…”
“So you didn’t mess anything up.”
Megan stared at her.
“You used the information you were given.”
“Oh.”
Elara smiled.
“You’re welcome.”
Megan exhaled so hard it was a laugh. “I owe you.”
“No, you owe Daniel.”
Megan groaned.
Elara pushed the folder back toward her. “Go get the updated file. I’ll fix the presentation.”
“You’re a lifesaver.”
There it was.
Again.
Elara watched Megan hurry away before turning back toward her computer.
She didn’t mind helping.
At least, that’s what she told herself.
There was something comforting about being the person who knew what to do. Problems had beginnings, middles, and endings. They could be untangled. Corrected. Fixed.
People were harder.
People didn’t come with revised spreadsheets.
People could look you directly in the eyes and still leave things unsaid.
Her phone buzzed.
Kai:Tell me you’re alive.
Elara glanced at the clock.
6:17 p.m.
She had told herself she’d leave at five.
Apparently, five had become a suggestion.
She typed back.
Elara:Unfortunately.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Kai:Tragic.
Elara:I’m touched by your concern.
Kai:I’m outside.
Elara’s eyebrows lifted.
She looked toward the office windows.
Sure enough, through the glass doors at the front of the building, she could see Kai standing on the sidewalk with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.
She smiled despite herself.
Elara:You’re annoying.
Kai:And yet you still keep me around.
That one made her pause.
Then she locked her computer.
* * *
By the time Elara stepped outside, the sun had started sinking behind the buildings, washing the edges of Washington in gold.
Kai looked at her.
Then at the building.
Then back at her.
“You’re late.”
“I work.”
“You suffer from a condition called being incapable of saying no.”
“That sounds made up.”
“It is. I diagnosed you.”
“Did your medical degree arrive in the mail?”
“Amazon Prime.”
She laughed.
Kai grinned, clearly pleased with himself.
They started walking.
“Coffee?” he asked.
“You know I don’t like hot drinks.”
“Right. My mistake. I forgot you have the beverage preferences of a victorian child.”
“Iced coffee exists.”
“In December.”
“It’s not December.”
“It feels like December.”
“It is September.”
“Exactly. Winter.”
Elara rolled her eyes.
Kai bumped his shoulder against hers.
It was easy with him.
That was the thing.
She didn’t have to think about what expression she was making around Kai. She didn’t have to calculate whether she’d talked too much or not enough. She didn’t have to wonder if he was secretly annoyed with her.
She could simply exist.
They stopped at the corner.
Kai glanced at her.
“So.”
Elara immediately narrowed her eyes.
“No.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You have a face.”
“What does my face say?”
“That you’re about to ask me something I don’t want to answer.”
Kai smiled.
“How are you?”
Elara looked ahead.
“FIne.”
“Liar.”
She laughed softly. “I’m serious.”
“I know.”
He didn’t push.
That was why she loved him.
Not romantically.
Never that.
Kai was the kind of person who could see the door she’d closed and simply sit beside it.
“Basically, I get to tell people what they’re doing wrong.”
Kai modded solemnly.
“Your dream job.”
“Exactly.”
They started walking again.
“What is the place called?”
Elara hesitated.
“Blackwood.”
Kai frowned.
“Blackwood Estate?”
“That’s what the email says.”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“So have I.”
“It’s the old Gothic house by the Potomac, right?”
“Apparently.”
“That’s creepy.”
“That’s probably why I want to go.”
Kai laughed.
“There she is.”
“Who?”
“The girl who pretends she isn’t curious about everything.”
Elara smiled.
She was.
That was the problem.
* * *
She didn’t open the email again until she got home.
Her apartment was quiet.
The kind of quiet she usually liked.
Elara kicked off her shoes, dropped her bag beside the couch, and went straight for the kitchen.
She opened the refrigerator.
Stared.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
“Helpful,” she muttered.
Eventually, she settled for lefterovers.
Music filled the apartment while she cooked.
A K-pop song played through her speaker, loud enough that she didn’t hear her phone buzz on the counter.
She was halfway through singing along when she caught her reflection in the dark kitchen window.
She froze.
“Okay.”
She pointed at herself.
“No one saw that.”
Her phone buzzed again.
She glanced over.
Kai:You better not be singing again.
Elara stared at the message.
Then typed:
Elara:How would you know?
His response came almost instantly.
Kai:Because I know you.
She smiled.
Then her eyes drifted toward the laptop sitting on the table.
Blackwood.
She dried her hands and opened it.
The email was still there.
The sender was a private historical preservation organization with an impressive portfolio and an even more impressive list of donors.
She read the proposal again.
The Blackwood Estate restoration project was expected to span several months.
Confidentiality was required.
The project involved historical documentation, administrative coordination, property research, and communication between multiple private and public interests.
The compensation was more than generous.
Suspiciously generous.
Elara scrolled further.
Then stopped.
We are particularly interested in your involvement due to your previous work involving complex archival and organizational projects.
Her brows drew together.
She hadn’t done anything remarkable enough to warrant that kind of attention.
Good work, yes.
Reliable work, absolutely.
But this?
She read the sentence again.
Then the next one.
Your specific perspective was recommended to us.
Recommended by whom?
She picked up her phone.
Called the number listed beneath the signature.
Someone answered after three rings.
“Blackwood Estate Preservation Office.”
“Hi. My name is Elara-”
“Yes, Ms. Vale. We were expecting your call.’
Elara paused.
Something about that bothered her.
“You were?”
“Yes.”
She sat down.
“I had a question about the proposal.”\
“Of course.”
“Why me?”
Silence.
Brief.
But noticeable.
“We were impressed by your previous work.’
“That doesn’t really answer my question.’
Another pause.
Then:
“Your name was recommended.”
“By who?”
“I’m afraid I can’t disclose that.”
Elara leaned back.
Of course.
“Is there anything I should know before I agree?”
The the person on the other end seemed to consider the question.
“Blackwood is a complicated property.”
“That sounds like a warning.”
“It is.’
Elara looked at the photograph attached to the proposal.
Blackwood Estate rose about the trees, all dark stone and sharp Gothic windows.
Beautiful.
A little menacing.
Like something out of one of the fantasy novels stacked beside her bed.
“What happened to the previous consultant?”
Another pause.
“They withdrew.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Elara almost laughed.
“You don’t know?”
“I wasn’t involved at the time.”
“Right.”
She stared at the photograph.
Something about the house pulled at her.
Maybe it was history.
Maybe it was the unanswered questions.
Maybe it was simply the fact that someone had chosen her.
The last thought made her uncomfortable.
She hated how much she wanted to know why.
“Can I have until tomorrow?” “Of course.”
The call ended.
Elara set her phone down.
She stared at the screen.
Then opened her messages.
Elara:I think I’m going to take it.
Kai replied:
Kai:You decided that fast.
She smiled.
Elara:I’m curious.
His response appeared a few seconds later.
Kai:That’s exactly what I am worried about.
She laughed.
Then another message arrived.
Kai:But go.
Elara frowned.
Elara:That’s it?
Kai:You want me to tell you not to?
She didn’t answer.
A moment later:
Kai:You don’t have to stay where you are just because it’s familiar.
Her smile faded.
She stared at the message.
He knew her too well.
She looked back at the photograph of Blackwood,
For most of her life, she’d learned to be careful.
Careful with people.
Careful with trust.
Careful with wanting too much.
Careful with believing someone might choose her and actually mean it.
But curiosity was different.
Curiosity didn’t ask permission.
It simply opened the door.
Elara clicked back into the email.
At the bottom was a button.
ACCEPT PROPOSAL
Her cursor hovered over it.
For a moment, she thought about everything that could go wrong.
Then she clicked
Accepted.
Elara leaned back in her chair.
Outside her window, Washington glittered beneath the night sky.
Somewhere beyond the city, an old house waited beside the Potomac.
She didn’t know yet why they’d chosen her.
She didn’t know who had recommended her.
She didn’t know what had happened to the consultant who came before her.
And she certainly didn’t know that three men were already waiting inside Blackwood’s walls.
All she knew was that, for the first time in a long time, something had made her want to step forward instead of retreat.
She closed her laptop.
Tomorrow, she’d begin.
For now, she picked up her book, turned on her music, and let herself believe she had simply accepted a job.
She had no idea she’d just walked into a story that had been waiting for her.**
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