The Blackwoods estate was less of a home, and more of a monument. Its stone walls, marble floors and private gardens screamed of legacy carved in granite. Damian hated it,every corridor smelled of discipline, of the cold man who had fathered and raised him inside these walls.
Gregory Blackwood was waiting in the study. The fire from the furnace burned low, casting shadows across the vast shelves of leather-bound books. His father sat in a high-backed black leather chair, a glass of wine carefully balanced between his veined fingers. Age has not softened him, the lines on his face which had always been there as back as Damian could remember had deepened like cracks in iron, his gray hair trimmed with military precision.
"You came.'' Gregory said without giving Damian a glance, his voice even, measured. "Good."
Damian loosened his tie as he stepped farther into the room, shutting the door behind him. "Your message wasn't exactly optional."
Gregory lifted his gaze from the book he was reading to Damian. His son's sharp features, the steel-gray eyes so much like his own, met his without flinching. For a moment, something like pride flickered in his stare. It didn't last.
"You're thirty-four,'' Gregory said. "And still no heir."
The bluntness didn't surprise Damian, his father had always been one to go straight to the point, and not beat around the bush. "We've had this conversation before," he said coldly.
"Not like this," Gregory's voice hardened, "I'm done waiting and giving you chances. The terms are simple: no heir, no inheritance. If you want Blackwood Enterprises, if you want what I've built, you will source a child before your thirty-fifth birthday."
Damian's jaw tightened. He crossed to the liquor cart, poured himself a glass of whiskey and the room went silent, pin drop silent. The amber liquor swirled as Damian stared into it, unwilling to give Gregory the satisfaction of a reaction, I mean,he learnt from the best.
"And if I don't ?" Damian asked.
Gregory leaned forward, wine untouched. "Then the company passed to the board. You'll still be wealthy, but the empire wouldn't be yours again. Without the name. You'll be just another rich man in a city full of them."
The words made Damian's skin crawl, not because he feared poverty, but because his father was right. Blackwood wasn't just money. It was legacy, control, power carved over decades. It was the only thing Damian has been raised never to lose.
"I'm not interested in marriage,and you know that," Damian said finally,his voice even. "I have no use for love, and I won't pretend otherwise."
Gregory's face remained the same, expressionless. "I didn't say marriage. I said heir. A child is all that matters."
Damian's eyes narrowed. "And how do you propose I produce one? Pull a stranger off the street?"
Gregory's lips twitched into a half smile. "There are options, and more so, you've been with Vanessa for the longest. I was thinking you'd have pulled something like this on her."
"Vanessa is nothing but a whore, she's not fit for this, I can't have her birth my child." Damian said. "What are the other options?"
Gregory, visibly surprised, said "You don't need a wife to secure your bloodline. You need a woman. Temporary. Replaceable."
A flicker of disgust twisted in Damian's chest, though he buried it quickly. His father's pragmatism was brutal, but not surprising.
"And if I refuse?"
Gregory's gaze was hard, looking straight into Damian. "You won't. You know what's at stake."
For a long moment, the room went silent, with the only noise coming from the crackling of the fire from the furnace. Damian lifted his glass, swallowed the burn, and set it down harder than necessary.
"This is insanity," he muttered. "You'd sell a child's life to a legacy?"
"No," Gregory answered, voice a few times down. "I would ensure legacy through a child. There's a difference. You'll understand someday, probably when you're older."
Damian scuffed, didn't give a reply. He turned toward the window, his reflection in the glass a mirror of everything Gregory had forced him to be, controlled, detached, chained to duty and rules.
But something in him resisted.
He wouldn't be manipulated. Not again.
Evelyn's POV
Across the city, Evelyn Carter wiped her hands on her apron and sighed.
The dinner rush has slowed at the restaurant, half-empty plates and notes littered on the tables. Her feet ached inside the cheap flats she had on, her back screamed from hours on her feet and the tips she'd collected so far barely covered rent.
Still, she smiled, like she had always done, going to the older couples at table five as she cleared their plates. "Did you enjoy the meal?"
The woman patted her hand kindly. " You're a sweet girl. I hope they're paying you well here."
Evelyn laughed, her laughter light and soft but tired. "They're paying me something."
When she carried the dishes back to the kitchen, Carmen Lopez was waiting near the sink, tying her curls into a bun and ready to get to work. "Girl you look dead on your feet. Double shift again?"
"Rent's due," Evelyn said simply. She stacked plates, ignoring the ache in her arms. "And, the loan collector doesn't care if I'm tired. Heck, even if I'm dying he'll still not care."
Carmen's heart faltered. She knew Evelyn's story, literally everyone knew. Orphaned young, parents died early and young, debts left like chains around her ankles. Evelyn has clawed her way through every month since, working multiple shifts, saving and barely breathing.
"You can't keep this up forever," Carmen said. "There are other ways."
Evelyn raised an eyebrow, encouraging her to say more. "Other ways like what? Robbing banks?"
Carmen leaned closer, lowering her voice. " Like the agency I told you about. The one that pays women to —"
"I know," Evelyn cut Carmen short of any more explanation, shaking her head. "Surrogacy. Carrying a stranger's child." She tried to laugh it off, but the thought had been haunting her since Carmen informed her weeks ago.
Carmen's gaze softened. "It's not as crazy as you think. You're healthy, smart. You could make more in nine months than you'd ever make here in five years. Pay off all your debts and have lots of money to save. Then, start fresh."
Evelyn didn't answer. She concentrated on the counter she was wiping, but her hands trembled. The idea has been in her mind, unwelcome but relentless.
Could she? Carry a child that wasn't hers for money?
Her parents' faces flashes in her mind. Warm smiles, gentle hands and crushing weight of their debts.
Maybe it wasn't about her. Maybe it was about survival.
Carmen nudged her, "Just think about it. You deserve better than this."
Evelyn forced a smile, but when she turned away, her chest aches with the truth. She was already contemplating it.
Damian's POV
Night had fallen when Damian left the estate. The city glowed and everywhere was calm, peaceful and he wished his life was the same. His father's words echoed louder than the hum of the engine.
No heir, no inheritance.
He gripped the wheel tightly. He wouldn't bow to Gregory's control, not again. The man was trying to destroy him in every way possible. But beneath the fury Damian felt, a whisper lingered.
What if his father was right?
The Blackwood empire was more than him. More than money. It was a legacy. And legacy requires blood.
He shoved the thought away, jaw clenching.
But the ultimatum hung over him like a storm cloud he couldn't shake.
Across the city, Evelyn couldn't sleep, laying awake in her tiny shared apartment, staring at the ceiling. Her savings were gone, every bit of it. The debts were endless. And Carmen's words echoed louder in her head, "You deserve better than this."
At the same hour, Damian poured another glass of whiskey in his penthouse, Gregory's words ringing in his ears, "No heir, no inheritance."