Carlos Pov
She walks out of the boardroom like a queen who just burned down her enemies. Chin high, eyes sharp, every step perfectly measured. To anyone else, she looks unshakable. Untouchable. But I've made a career out of spotting the cracks.
Her fingers tighten just a fraction too long around her clutch. Her breath catches for half a second before she steadies it. Her shoulders are stiff, not proud — braced. Something rattled her.
By the time I fall into step a pace behind her, she's already pulled her phone out. I catch the flicker of her eyes across the screen — too fast, too sharp, not the kind of look you give a calendar reminder.
Whatever she read, it shook her. And yet… she doesn't stop walking. Doesn't stumble. Doesn't show it to me, or anyone. She just slides the phone back into her clutch and keeps moving, mask perfectly in place.
The board thinks she's green, unprepared. They're wrong. She's dangerous, because she's learning fast. Still… that message. I can't help but wonder what it said. And who sent it.
Richard Sterling didn't pick me because I was loyal. He picked me because I wasn't. Loyalty is a leash. Richard hated leashes. He didn't want a guard dog — he wanted a wolf. And that's what I gave him.
Ten years ago, I wasn't in boardrooms. I was in basements. Back rooms of strip clubs, smoke-choked poker dens, warehouses where men screamed when they didn't pay up. My reputation wasn't polished — it was whispered. If something was broken, I fixed it. If someone needed to disappear, I made it happen.
That's when Richard found me. Not with an offer but with a test.
He threw me into a fire — a corporate mess tied up with blackmail, a CFO who thought he could walk off with a hundred million. By the end of the week, the money was back, the man was gone, and the only thing anyone knew was that Carlos Blackwood had handled it. Quietly.
Richard didn't just hire me. He kept me. Kept me close and somewhere along the way, I became indispensable. Not to the family. Never to Vivian or Adrian. They hate me because they can't control me.
Richard understood. He knew that when the knives came out — and they always do — he'd need someone like me. Which makes one thing very clear.
If he left the company in her hands with me at her side, he saw something in Isabella. Something I haven't yet. But I will.
Her new office smells like fresh paint and old money. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls, a desk that looks like it weighs a ton, a skyline view that could swallow a person whole.
She doesn't look impressed. She paces behind the desk, clutch in one hand, phone tossed carelessly onto the polished wood. Her heels click sharp against the marble.
Finally, she spins on me.
"Let's get one thing straight," she snaps. "You don't speak for me. Not to the board. Not to the press. Not to anyone. Got it?"
I lean against the wall, arms crossed. "If I hadn't, you'd be headline roadkill already."
Her eyes flash. "I don't care. I'd rather crash on my own than have you babysit me like I'm some fragile ornament."
I allow myself the smallest smile. Not enough for her to call it out. Just enough to feel it. "Fragile isn't the word I'd use for you."
"Then what's the word?" she fires back instantly, stepping closer, chin tilted up.
Dangerous. Beautiful. Fire. None of which I'll ever say.
"Reckless," I answer instead.
Her laugh is sharp, humorless. "Better reckless than controlled. Which is what you're trying to do, isn't it? Control me. The puppet master Richard left behind."
I push off the wall, close the distance between us until I'm just a breath away. She stiffens, but she doesn't back up.
"I don't control people," I say evenly. "I protect them. Whether they like it or not."
Her lips curve into a cold smile. "Then stop protecting me. I don't want it."
For a moment, we just stand there — her fury sparking like electricity, my pulse heavier than I'll ever admit.
I can feel it — the tension. Attraction is too soft a word for it. This is something sharper. Something dangerous. When I finally step back, I make my face unreadable. Calm. Detached. The way I always am.
Because the moment I let her see otherwise… That's when I lose.
She doesn't dismiss me. Doesn't ask me to leave. Instead, she turns her back and drops into the leather chair behind her desk, like she's already exhausted from holding the world up on her shoulders.
I should go. Give her space. That's what most people would do. But I don't move.
From where I stand, I see her reach for her clutch. Slow, deliberate. She pulls out her phone, shields the screen with her hand.
Her face doesn't change — still the same cool, untouchable mask she wore in the boardroom. But her fingers… they tremble. Barely. Just enough for me to notice.
Whatever was on that screen earlier, it's back. And it's eating at her.
She scrolls once. Twice. Then locks the phone and tucks it away like nothing happened. When she looks up at me, her expression is sharp again, steel wrapped in silk.
"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" she asks flatly.
I study her for a moment, long enough to let the silence stretch. Then I nod once and head for the door. But as I walk out, I know one thing for certain. She's hiding something. And in this family, secrets don't stay buried. Not for long.