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Not that anyone would care, nor would they say anything if they did. These are the Blackharts we're talking about. Their word is law around here. I roll my eyes at Jackson's voice echoing through the mansion as I add the final touch to my makeup with a deep red lipstick that perfectly matches my fitted dress. With one last glance in the mirror, I slip my feet into the killer heels waiting by the door, grab my purse, and prepare myself for what's to come. It's another dinner at Damien's house. Another part of the never-ending cycle of family traditions.
I've lost count of how many of these dinners I've attended, every single one mandatory, all at Damien's insistence. The awkwardness that hangs in the air, the undercurrent of resentment, the obvious tension, it never changes. Stepping out of the room and into the sprawling hallway, I steel myself for another long night.
Mingling with the Blackharts is like walking on a tightrope. One misstep, one wrong word, and it's a long drop down. As I make my way towards the front door, I can't help but wonder how much longer I can endure this. How much more of this charade can I put up with before the façade shatters?
2
CHAPTER 2
Damien
“You fucking did what?” I yell at Jackson, and he flinches at the anger in my voice.
I'm standing in the shadowed expanse of my office at Blackhart Enterprises, the lines of my face set hard as Jackson shifts uneasily before me. I only knew something was up when Victor, my right-hand man, called with a tone of irritation whispering through his usual calm. He told me murmurs were circling. Talk of a problem, a serious one, with Jackson's name at its center.
I don’t like bringing in the dirty side of the family business here. Blackhart Enterprises is a legitimate business. A business that handles investments in various sectors, including stocks, bonds, and perhaps venture capital funding. In this field, we can’t afford to look like we’re doing shady shit, or the SEC and police will cause all kinds of Hell for us. Yet, the tone in Victor’s voice caused me to call Jackson here right away.
So, here we are. I called Jackson in and demanded straight answers because, in this game, a whisper can mean a mountain of trouble. Now, as he spills the story, I feel the weight of a colossal fuck up settling on my shoulders. A mess I never foresaw. Jackson's words are a flame licking at the edges of my hard-earned empire.
"I oversaw the shipment like I was supposed to," Jackson says with a defiant lift to his chin. "Chico disrespected me in front of everyone. So, I chopped off his head."
My teeth grind in anger at his brazen disregard for the delicacy our operations require.
"That was uncalled for, and you know it," I growl, feeling the weight of responsibility choking me.
Jackson narrows his eyes, and his voice is laced with a challenge. "You would have done the same, and no one would have batted a fucking eye," he snaps back. "Why is it wrong when I do it?"
The fury pounds in my temples, and I slam my fist down on the desk. "I am the head of the fucking family! I run this company and our family business. Not you." My voice is a whip, each word striking with intent. "You cause nothing but fucking problems, Jackson."
The air between us is thick with the unspoken threat that he's veered too far from the line. He knows it, too. I can see it in the way his bravado starts to crack, just a fraction.
As I stand rigidly, the fury within me simmers, a seething cauldron threatening to spill over. Reflecting on Jackson's reckless string of stunts, I am infuriated by the chaos he effortlessly brings into my carefully structured world. For years, I've played the firefighter, extinguishing the fires he lights with a carelessness that borders on arrogance. His audacity to disrupt the balance of our operations with his impulsive whims has quickly become a grim and tiresome cycle. One I'm forced to navigate meticulously.
Every time he strays, it is I who must steady the ship, righting wrongs and smoothing ruffled feathers. Now, as we stand in the aftermath of his latest fiasco, it's clear I'm condemned to repair the bridge he gleefully burns, all while containing the anger lashing against my calm exterior. I can feel it burning through my veins, a reminder of the inconvenient burden his impulses continue to cast upon my shoulders.
"First, you're spending more money than usual," I tell him, my voice cold and even. A shadow flits across his eyes, a hint of something deeper, but it vanishes before I can understand it. "Yes, I keep up with your spending habits," I continue, locking eyes with him.
"You think you know everything," he snaps with a veneer of defiance plastered across his face.
"It seems like I'm the only one in the fucking family that works," I tell him as I sit back down in my chair. "Then you go off and get married to a money-hungry socialite, and now you do this?"
A sneer curls his lip as if the accusations I hurl can erase his own failings.
His control snaps as his anger bubbles forward. "Stop treating me like a child!" he dares to tell me, his voice rising just a notch too high.
I'm on my feet in an instant, and the roar of my frustration echoes off the walls. "Stop acting like one, and I will!" My words slice through the tension between us, leaving no room for rebuttal.
The room falls deathly quiet. The only sound is our heavy breathing. The office becomes a battlefield of wills as we stand, locked in a silent standoff, each unwilling to bend. My voice comes low and steely as I fix Jackson with a withering gaze.
"Now, because of your damn stunt, I've gotta smooth things over with the Valdez family and fast. They aren't known for letting insults slide, and the last thing we need is a war on our hands. This isn't a game, Jackson. Your impulses could sink everything I’ve built."
Jackson, with that infuriating air of defiance still clinging to him, sneers right back. "What's wrong with you, Damien? You've gone soft."
The sharpness in my eyes sends a strong message. One that silences him more effectively than words ever could.
"Get the fuck out of my sight," I hiss, feeling the barely constrained rage coiling in my chest like a serpent. "Before I do something. Something I won't regret but will surely make Mother unhappy. Don’t fool yourself into thinking I've gone soft, brother. Test me again, and you’ll find out just how wrong you are."
His eyes meet mine one last time. There's a flicker of something, a challenge perhaps, or the beginning of understanding. It's hard to tell. Then, without another word, he turns on his heel and storms out, the door slamming shut behind him with a resounding echo. The silence that he leaves in his wake is deep, broken only by the steady pulse of my own heart beating a fierce rhythm of control and simmering fury.
