Chapter 3 Collision of wills

The sharp click of his leather shoes echoed through the quiet halls of the estate as Damian made his way to the study. He was restless-a rare state for a man who prided himself on his iron control. But something about Elena Carter had stirred a part of him he thought long buried.

He leaned against the desk, swirling the glass of whiskey in his hand as he stared out at the snow-covered grounds. She was stubborn, no doubt about that. Fiercely determined, too. Qualities he might have admired if they weren't aimed at defying him.

Damian wasn't used to being challenged. People either feared him, respected him, or both. But Elena... she was different. She met his gaze without flinching, fired back with a confidence that bordered on reckless. It was infuriating. And strangely... intriguing.

He took a sip of whiskey, the amber liquid burning down his throat. He told himself it didn't matter. She was just another project-a means to an end. If she succeeded, he'd gain a profitable new venture. If she failed, well, it wouldn't be the first time he'd crushed someone who overestimated their abilities.

But as much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, he couldn't shake the memory of her in the study earlier. The way her eyes had flashed with defiance. The way she'd stood her ground, refusing to let him intimidate her.

Damian shook his head, setting the glass down with a sharp clink. He didn't have time for distractions. And Elena Carter was the most dangerous distraction of all.

Elena woke the next morning to the soft glow of winter sunlight streaming through the heavy curtains. For a brief moment, she forgot where she was, her mind still caught in the haze of sleep. But then reality hit her like a freight train. The Blackwood Estate. Damian Blackwood. Her impossible two-week deadline.

With a groan, she rolled out of bed and made her way to the bathroom, where she splashed cold water on her face in an attempt to shake off her nerves. She didn't have the luxury of panic-not now. If she wanted to save her company, she needed to hit the ground running.

By the time she made her way downstairs, laptop and notes in hand, the mansion was already a flurry of activity. Staff bustled about, carrying trays and arranging flowers, their movements efficient and silent.

"Elena."

She turned to find Damian standing in the doorway, his dark eyes locking onto hers. He was impeccably dressed as always, the casual elegance of his attire doing nothing to soften the intensity of his gaze.

"Good morning," she said, forcing her voice to sound calm.

He nodded, gesturing for her to follow him. "We'll start in the west wing. I want you to see the space you'll be working with."

As they walked through the mansion, Elena couldn't help but be struck by the sheer scale of it all. The west wing was even more opulent than the rest of the estate, with high ceilings, grand chandeliers, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered stunning views of the grounds.

"This will be the centerpiece of the retreat," Damian said, his voice cool and professional. "Guests will pay for exclusivity, privacy, and the sense of escape this estate provides. Your job is to make them believe it's worth every penny."

Elena stopped, turning to face him. "You keep saying 'escape.' What exactly are they escaping from?"

He paused, his expression unreadable. "The same thing we all are."

Something in his tone gave her pause, a flicker of vulnerability that vanished as quickly as it appeared. She wanted to ask more, but the look in his eyes warned her not to push.

Instead, she shifted her focus to the task at hand. "I'll need full access to the estate-photos, floor plans, the works. And I'll need to understand the target demographic. Who exactly are we marketing this to?"

Damian's lips quirked in a faint smile. "You ask a lot of questions, Miss Carter."

"It's called doing my job, Mr. Blackwood."

His smile widened, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Very well. You'll have everything you need. But be warned-the clock is ticking. Two weeks isn't much time."

"I'm aware," she said, her voice firm. "But I don't intend to waste a single second."

A Tense Moment

Later that day, Elena found herself in one of the estate's smaller lounges, poring over her notes and brainstorming ideas. The room was quiet, the only sound the crackle of the fire and the occasional scratch of her pen against paper.

She was so absorbed in her work that she didn't hear Damian enter until he spoke.

"You're working hard," he said, his voice low and smooth.

She looked up, startled to find him standing in the doorway. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

His lips curved into that infuriating half-smile again. "It is. But don't forget to eat. You'll be no use to me if you burn out halfway through."

The way he said "to me" sent a strange shiver down her spine, but she forced herself to focus. "I'll take a break when I've made some progress."

He stepped closer, his presence filling the room. "Progress can't come at the expense of your health, Elena. Even the strongest engines need fuel."

There was something in the way he said her name, something that made her heart skip a beat despite herself. She hated how he could unsettle her so easily, how his mere proximity made her pulse race.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said, her voice clipped.

He studied her for a moment longer, then nodded. "Good. Dinner is at seven. Don't be late."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her alone with her thoughts-and the unsettling realization that she was in far deeper than she'd expected.