Chapter 4 - Unmasking the Beast of Blackwood
A cold wave of panic rushed through Anaëlle's veins. For the past hour, the silk blindfold had been her only shield, her armor against the terrifying reality of the man who ruled this estate. Seeing him meant crossing a line of no return. It meant stepping out of the shadows and into whatever dangerous world he inhabited.
"You said... you said I wasn't allowed to see you," she stammered, her fingers trembling over the keys.
"Rules change," he murmured, his voice dipping into a low, hypnotic register that paralyzed her objections. "Your time is almost up. Take it off, Anaëlle."
Slowly, with fingers that felt like lead, she raised her hands to the back of her head. She found the knot, her nails fumbling against the smooth fabric. With a deep, shuddering breath, she untied it and pulled the black silk away from her face.
The sudden rush of amber-toned light made her squint, her eyes stinging as they adjusted to the brightness of the grand chandelier. She blinked rapidly, her vision clearing piece by piece—the polished ebony piano, the gilded clock reading 9:59 p.m., and finally, the man standing just inches away.
Her breath caught permanently in her lungs.
He wasn't an aging, scarred crime lord of her imagination. He was in his early thirties, with sharp, aristocratic cheekbones, a strong jawline shadowed by dark stubble, and hair as black as midnight, combed back neatly. But it was his eyes that truly paralyzed her—a striking, piercing shade of steel-blue, looking down at her with an intensity that could burn through steel.
It was Julian Blackwood.
The name echoed in her mind like a thunderclap. Julian Blackwood—the reclusive billionaire shipping tycoon and venture capitalist whose name was whispered in hushed tones across Wall Street and the city's underworld alike. Men called him ruthless, a ghost who bought empires and destroyed rivals with a single signature.
And he was looking at her as if she were the only person in the world.
"Julian..." her voice slipped out in a breathless whisper before she could stop it.
A slow, faint smirk touched the corner of his lips—not cruel, but possessing a quiet, dangerous satisfaction. "You survived the hour, Anaëlle. And you played brilliantly, despite the stumbles."
She looked down at her hands resting on the keys, her mind spinning in a chaotic vortex. "You... you brought me here just to listen to me play? All this mystery, the blindfold, the threats—why?"
Julian stepped closer, resting one large hand on the polished wood of the piano right beside her trembling fingers. The scent of amber and vetiver enveloped her completely.
"Because I didn't want you to be intimidated by my face, or my name," he said softly, his gaze locked onto hers. "If you had known who I was stepping into this room, your hands would have frozen, and I wouldn't have heard the real you. I wanted your music, unfiltered and raw."
Before she could process his words, the grandfather clock struck ten times. Bong. Bong. Her hour was up.
Julian reached into his tailored suit jacket, pulled out a crisp, thick white envelope, and laid it gently on the piano music rack, right in front of her eyes.
"What is this?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"Your payment," he replied. "Five thousand dollars. Ten times what was agreed."
Anaëlle’s eyes widened in shock. She stared at the envelope, then back up at his piercing blue eyes. "I can't take this. We agreed on five hundred. I made mistakes—I failed your test."
"You didn't fail," Julian corrected, his tone turning firm, brooking no argument. "You bled onto those keys, Anaëlle. And I am a man who pays generously for genuine art."
May you like
He straightened up, turning slowly toward the grand double doors of the foyer, which were already beginning to swing open on their own.
"A car is waiting outside to take you home," Julian said over his shoulder, not stopping as he walked away into the dimly lit corridor. "And consider your cafe job terminated. Starting tomorrow, you are the resident pianist for Blackwood Estate—at a salary that will clear every single debt you carry. Do not argue with me. I expect you here tomorrow at nine sharp."
