đź“– The Billionaire's Dark Secret
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Chapter Two – The Gathering
The first thing Zoey noticed was the silence.
Not the absence of sound — there was the low hum of music somewhere deeper in the manor, the faint clink of glasses, the murmur of distant voices — but the silence of a house that watched. The air seemed too still, as though the walls themselves held their breath.
The foyer stretched high above her, a cathedral of shadow and gold. Chandeliers hung like jeweled constellations, their crystals scattering fractured light across the black marble floor. Twin staircases curled upward, meeting on a balcony draped in velvet. Every surface gleamed with wealth, every corner whispered of secrets.
Zoey tightened her grip on her purse.
Damian Blackwell moved beside her with effortless command, as though the house bent to his presence. "You'll find most of our guests in the east wing," he said, his tone smooth, detached, unreadable. "But first, I want you to see something."
Her heart stumbled. "Something?"
His silver-gray eyes slid to hers, sharp and assessing. "You came here for a story, didn't you? Consider this… your opening chapter."
Before she could reply, he was already walking toward a set of carved wooden doors.
Zoey followed, her heels clicking softly on the marble. She told herself she was here as a reporter, here to observe. But every step into the manor felt like stepping deeper into a world that did not want to be written about — and Damian, with his unsettling calm, was the keeper of its secrets.
The doors opened to a hall that looked like it had been plucked from another century. Guests milled about in glittering gowns and sharp tuxedos, their laughter echoing off the vaulted ceiling. Waiters in black and gold livery moved silently among them with trays of champagne.
But Zoey's reporter's eye caught something else: the way some of the guests glanced over their shoulders as if expecting shadows to move, the way a few flinched at the brush of cold air that swept through the room, the way their smiles didn't quite reach their eyes.
This was no ordinary gathering.
"Blackwell!" a man boomed, striding forward with a grin too wide to be genuine. He clasped Damian's hand firmly, though Zoey noticed the tension in his jaw. "Didn't think we'd see you tonight."
"Mr. Vance," Damian said smoothly, his voice polite but distant. His gaze flicked to Zoey. "This is Miss Zoey Hart. She's… a guest of mine."
The man's eyes sharpened. Not unkind, but curious. Too curious.
Zoey forced a smile, extending her hand. "Nice to meet you."
Vance shook it, but his glance slid back to Damian quickly, as though Zoey were a puzzle piece that didn't fit. "A guest," he repeated, his voice low.
Damian's lips curved in a faint, warning smile. "Yes. My guest."
The weight of the words was not lost on Zoey.
As the night stretched on, she mingled among the crowd, notebook hidden in her clutch, observing. Conversations hushed when Damian passed, laughter grew strained when he lingered. Everyone here owed him something — fear, respect, perhaps both.
But it wasn't just his wealth or his power. There was something else beneath it, something that prickled against her skin when his gaze swept the room.
Zoey was sipping champagne, trying to steady her nerves, when she caught sight of a woman near the balcony. Pale, trembling, clutching the railing as though her knees would give way. Zoey's instincts flared. She set her glass down and made her way over.
"Are you okay?" Zoey asked softly.
The woman's eyes darted up — wide, almost wild. "You shouldn't be here."
Zoey froze. "What do you mean?"
The woman's breath hitched. Her lips parted as if to speak — but then Damian was there, his presence swallowing the space between them.
"Zoey," he said, his voice smooth as silk but edged with steel. "There you are. I've been looking for you."
The woman shrank back instantly, her face pale as marble. She disappeared into the crowd without another word.
Zoey's pulse thundered in her ears. "Who was she?"
Damian's expression didn't waver. "A guest. Nothing more."
"But she—"
"Miss Hart." His eyes caught hers, pulling her into a gaze so piercing it was almost painful. "Some truths are not meant for tonight."
Her breath caught, the words sticking in her throat. Because as much as she wanted to argue, as much as she wanted to demand answers… part of her was terrified of what those answers might be.
Damian offered his arm. "Come. There's something I want to show you."
Zoey hesitated, every instinct warning her to keep her distance.
But her hand lifted anyway, her fingers brushing against the warmth of his sleeve. And in that moment, one thing became terrifyingly clear:
She wasn't sure if Damian Blackwell was her greatest story… or her greatest mistake.
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