HIS BLOODY OATH

Chapter One: The Return of the Ghost

Ten years.

That's how long it took Ares Clinton to crawl back from the ashes of betrayal.

The city skyline bled gold under the setting sun as his black Bentley glided through the streets of Ravenport. Sleek, powerful, and silent just like him. As they neared the heart of the city, the view twisted into a mockery of what used to be home. Glass towers pierced the sky, bearing names he hadn't spoken in a decade. Names he had burned into memory like a curse.

One in particular: BLACKWOODS ENTERPRISES .

"They never saw you coming," Julian said from the driver's seat, smirking as he slowed at a red light. "You really are a ghost."

Ares didn't look at him. His jaw clenched, eyes locked on the towering structure ahead Blackwoods' headquarters. The building gleamed like justice wrapped in sin.

"Ghosts haunt the living," he replied, voice a quiet threat. "And I'm not here to scare them."

He was here to destroy them.

Every lie. Every name. Every bloodstained dollar. He would rip their empire apart brick by brick.

Julian slid a file across the console. "Here. Her name's Elena Blackwoods. Twenty-three. A Law student. Recently returned from Italy. Daddy's favorite. Smart, quiet, heavily protected. Her schedule's in there."

Ares finally looked down at the file, flipping it open.

There she was.

A candid photo. Hair dark as ink, eyes the color of stormy skies. She had the kind of beauty that could calm or kill soft lips, clever gaze, an elegance that didn't belong in the world she came from.

"She doesn't know anything," Julian added. "She was just a kid when it happened."

"She's still a Blackwoods," Ares said flatly.

But something twisted in his chest as he studied her picture. There was innocence in her gaze. And something else, something familiar. A strange pull he couldn't explain.

He shoved the file shut.

"She's the key," he murmured. "And the beginning of their end."

Elena Blackwoods tapped her fingers nervously against the armrest of the leather chair in her father's office. The floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the room in cold light, but it felt like a cage.

Something was wrong.

Her father had called her in without explanation. That alone was unusual. Harold Blackwoods didn't waste time on sentiment. And now, she waited like a schoolgirl, unsure of why her chest was tight and her thoughts restless.

The door opened.

A man stepped in. Tall. Broad shoulders. An Armani suit cut to perfection. Dark hair slicked back, a scar etched faintly near his jawline like a forgotten battle.

He didn't smile.

He didn't need to.

His presence was a weapon.

"Ah," her father said, standing. "Elena, this is Mr. Ares Clinton. He'll be consulting with us on the Whitmore project."

Her heart thudded.

Clinton?

The name rang in her mind like a bell.

But it was his eyes that stunned her.

They were sharp, glacial piercing through her like she was made of glass. There was something in them. Not just calculation, but... recognition?

Why did he feel familiar?

She stood slowly, offering her hand. "It's nice to meet you."

Ares's fingers brushed hers. Cold. Controlled.

"Pleasure," he said, voice low and unreadable.

Their touch lasted a second too long.

And in that second, something cracked beneath the surface. Heat. A flicker of something buried. Then gone.

Elena withdrew her hand, masking her confusion behind a polite smile.

Her father continued talking, droning on about numbers and mergers. But she barely heard him. All she could think about was that name.

Clinton.

She'd read it before. In old news articles. Whispers of a scandal that nearly ruined her family's empire. A name swallowed by silence.

And now it stood in front of her.

Breathing.

Alive.

Why now?

Later that evening, Ares leaned against the balcony of his penthouse suite, city lights flickering below like dying stars. He poured a glass of bourbon, but didn't drink.

His mind replayed the moment their hands touched.

Elena Blackwoods.

Sweet. Naive. With eyes too kind for the blood she carried in her veins.

He hated that she didn't flinch when she met him. That she didn't look guilty. That she reminded him of the world before everything burned.

"She's not what I expected," he muttered.

Julian, lounging on the couch behind him, raised a brow. "You're not going soft, are you?"

Ares shot him a look. "She's a pawn. Nothing more."

"Keep telling yourself that," Julian said with a shrug.

Ares looked back out over the city. His grip on the glass tightened until it cracked.

She felt like something more.

That made her dangerous.

The next morning...

Elena walked into Blackwoods HQ earlier than usual, hoping to clear her head. But as soon as she stepped into the elevator, her breath caught.

He was already there.

Ares stood near the back, arms folded, phone in hand. Impossibly composed.

"Miss Blackwoods," he greeted, as the doors closed behind her.

She nodded. "Mr. Clinton."

Silence stretched between them.

The elevator hummed as it ascended. Thirty floors of tension.

She glanced at him.

His jaw clenched. His eyes forward. But she could feel his awareness of her.

"I did some reading last night," she said finally.

He turned slightly, one brow raised.

"About your family. The Clintons. My father never mentioned he knew them."

Ares didn't blink. "Did he mention why he stopped?"

She faltered. "No. Just silence."

"Silence is often guilt in disguise," he replied.

The elevator dinged.

Before she could respond, the doors opened and he was gone, his footsteps vanishing down the marble hallway.

Elena stood frozen.

What did he mean by that?

That night...

Ares walked through the rusted gates of the Clinton family estate. Overgrown vines wrapped around the columns, and shattered windows stared like hollow eyes. The mansion had been left to rot.

Just like them.

Inside, he lit a single candle and walked to the old study. Dust coated the bookshelves, but he knew exactly where to look.

Behind a row of books, he pulled out an aged, bloodstained envelope.

He opened it.

Inside was a photo.

His father, smiling. His mother, radiant.

And a man in the background Harold Blackwoods.

Standing behind them with a glass raised.

Smiling like a friend.

Ares crushed the photo in his hand.

This wasn't revenge.

This was justice.

Elena sat in her bedroom, flipping through an old album when a torn photograph slipped from between the pages.

It was faded, almost unreadable.

But there, tucked in the corner, was a boy.

Dark hair. Familiar eyes.

Ares?

Her heart pounded.

Why would his photo be in her family album?

The night was thick with fog as Ares Clinton stepped out of his car, the city lights barely piercing the mist that clung to the streets. Ravenport was never silent, but tonight it whispered only to him.

He wasn't here for noise.

He was here to draw first blood.

The nightclub was tucked between a shuttered casino and an abandoned hotel, neutral ground for the city's elite and corrupt. Inside, music pounded like a war drum, and shadows moved like secrets across the floor. But Ares wasn't here to dance.

He was here for Dominic Vance Blackwoods' fixer.

A man who buried bodies and burned truth for a price.

Julian, already waiting at the bar, gave a small nod toward the VIP lounge. "He's here. Two bodyguards. Armed. You sure you don't want to wait?"

"No." Ares adjusted his cuffs, each movement calm, deliberate. "This starts now."

He moved through the crowd like phantom eyes tracking him, but no one dared to stop him. When he reached the velvet curtain of the lounge, the guards stood immediately.

"We're closed for the night," one of them said.

Ares smiled barely. "Tell Dominic Vance that the ghost he buried came back for a drink."

The guard frowned. "What the hell does that"

Before he could finish, Ares stepped forward and grabbed his arm in a swift, brutal twist. The man gasped, collapsing to his knees. The other guard reached for his weapon too slowly.

Julian was already behind him, gun pressed to his spine.

"Try again," Ares said, brushing past them and entering the lounge.

Dominic Vance looked up from his glass, surprised but not frightened.

He was older now. Grey at the temples. But his arrogance hadn't aged a day.

"Well, well," he said with a slow grin. "I'll be damned. Ares Clinton. I thought you were dead."

"Most people like you should pray I was."

Dominic chuckled, but it lacked warmth. "If you came here to make threats, you're ten years too late."

"No," Ares said, taking a seat across from him. "I came to offer a deal."

That got Dominic's attention.

"I want you to betray Harold Blackwoods," Ares said smoothly. "Publicly. Irreversibly."

Dominic scoffed. "You think I'd go against the man who made me? Protect me?"

"I think you're a survivor," Ares replied. "And you know what happens when ships go down with their captains."

He slid a flash drive across the table.

Dominic hesitated before picking it up.

"What's this?"

"Proof of your offshore accounts. The ones Blackwoods doesn't know about. The ones you've been funneling money into since 2017."

Dominic's eyes darkened.

"You've been watching me?"

"I never stopped," Ares said coldly. "You help me take Blackwoods down, and I'll let you disappear. Quietly. You refuse... and I leak everything to the FBI and your enemies."

Dominic's fingers clenched around the flash drive. "You bastard."

"No," Ares said, standing. "I'm your reckoning."

Back at his penthouse, Ares stood alone in the dark.

One piece down.

Many more to go.

But his mind against his will kept drifting back to her.

Elena.

He'd seen it in her eyes today. The doubt. The spark. She was starting to sense that he wasn't who he claimed to be.

That was dangerous.

She wasn't ready to know.

Not yet.

He walked into his study, where the photo still lay on the desk, the one with Harold Blackwoods in the background, toasting to his parents' deaths.

Ares lit a match and held it to the edge.

The fire licked up the photo, curling the faces into ash.

"Your time's running out, Blackwoods," he murmured. "Tick. Tock."

Meanwhile...

Elena sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the photograph she found.

It had to be him.

The boy in the background has the same eyes, same jaw, same scar by the temple. But what was he doing in an old family album?

She pulled out her laptop and searched again.

Clinton Family Scandal.

Clinton Enterprises Collapse.

Mother Murdered. Father Imprisoned.

Surviving Son: Ares Clinton Presumed Dead.

Her chest tightened.

It was him.

And her father had lied. Again.

She looked at her phone. Her finger hovered over the call button. Should she confront him?

No.

Not yet.

She needed to know more about Ares. Why was he back? Why now?

And why, despite everything... he made her heart race.

The next day...

Ares stood in the boardroom of Blackwoods Enterprises, the city stretching out behind him in endless glass and steel.

The meeting had begun, full of men in suits pretending to be kings. Harold Blackwoods sat at the head of the table, smug and unaware of the noose tightening around his empire.

Elena entered late, her presence soft but commanding.

Ares watched her. Studied her.

She didn't meet his gaze.

But he could feel the shift.

She knew something.

"Let's begin," Harold said. "Ares, your insight on the Whitmore deal?"

Ares stepped forward, the weight of a thousand ghosts in every word.

"I propose we change the terms," he said. "Take full control of their overseas operations. Force a merger they can't refuse."

Harold leaned back, intrigued. "Bold."

Ares smiled darkly. "It's time we stopped asking for power and started taking it."

Elena's eyes flicked up.

And for a heartbeat, their gazes locked.

The storm was coming.

Neither of them could outrun it now.

That night, Elena returned to her father's office after hours. She needed answers.

She rummaged through the drawers, searching, heart pounding.

Finally, she found it a sealed file marked Clinton Estate – Closed Case.

She opened it.

And inside... was a report that changed everything.

Her father had testified against Ares's family.

Falsely.

To protect himself.

Behind her, the door creaked open.

She froze.

And a voice, low and lethal, said

"I warned you not to dig into the past."

She turned.

Ares stood in the doorway, eyes unreadable.

But his voice?

That was pure threat.

Elena froze, her fingers still clinging to the damning file she'd pulled from her father's drawer.

Clinton Estate – Closed Case.

False testimony.

Fabricated evidence.

Her world tilted.

And behind her, Ares Clinton stood in the doorway, a storm cloaked in shadows.

"I warned you not to dig into the past," he said, voice low and edged with steel.

She turned to face him, heart pounding so hard she swore he could hear it. But she didn't flinch. Not this time.

"I didn't know," she said quietly. "I didn't know what my father did to you."

Ares stepped inside and shut the door behind him with a soft, deliberate click.

"No," he said. "You didn't. But now you do."

His gaze dropped to the file in her hand. She instinctively clutched it tighter.

"So this was your plan?" she asked, her voice sharper now. "Get close to me. Make me trust you. Just so you could destroy my family?"

He didn't answer immediately. He took a slow step forward, then another, eyes never leaving hers.

"I didn't expect you," he said finally. "You were a complication I didn't plan for."

"Nice," she scoffed. "So what am I to you now? A pawn? A liability?"

He was standing just a breath away now. His presence filled the room, crackling with restrained violence and something else. Something unspoken.

"I haven't decided," he said, voice like thunder on the edge of breaking.

She stared at him, anger rising like a tide. "You used me."

"I warned you not to trust me."

"You made me trust you."

Ares stepped even closer. She could feel the heat of him now, smell the faint scent of smoke and cologne.

"I made you nothing," he said quietly. "You chose to let me in."

Her hand struck his chest before she realized what she was doing with an open-palmed shove, fueled by rage and betrayal.

He didn't move.

Instead, he reached up, caught her wrist, and held it between them.

His grip was firm, but not cruel.

"I should hate you," she whispered. "I do."

"Then why are you shaking?"

Because she was. Because he was close, and her world had cracked open, and she couldn't tell if she wanted to slap him again... or pull him closer.

"You're not who I thought you were," she said.

"No," he murmured. "But neither are you."

He released her wrist, and for a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

Then he turned and walked toward the door.

"You shouldn't have come here," he said without looking back. "Now you're in the middle of it."

"In the middle of what?"

He paused, hand on the doorknob. "War."

And with that, he vanished into the hall.

Elena collapsed into the chair behind her father's desk, her pulse still racing.

Her father had lied to her.

Her entire life, he'd painted the Clintons as unstable, criminal... guilty.

But the file told another story.

Her father hadn't just betrayed them.

He set them up.

And now Ares was back with every reason to tear their world apart.

She didn't know what scared her more: what he might do...

Or how much of her wanted to follow him into the dark.

Elsewhere, that same night...

Ares stood on the rooftop of the unfinished Clinton tower, his birthright turned into a hollow skeleton of steel and glass. The city sparkled below, oblivious to the reckoning creeping through its veins.

Julian appeared behind him.

"She confronted you?" he asked.

"She found the file."

Julian whistled low. "That didn't take long."

Ares's hands clenched the railing. "She knows now."

"Is that a problem?"

Ares was silent.

Julian frowned. "Ares... this girl, Elena, she's his daughter. Don't forget why you came back."

"I haven't."

"Then why haven't you cut her out already?"

Ares didn't answer.

He couldn't.

Because cutting her out wasn't as easy as it should've been.

And every time he looked into her eyes, he saw a future he'd buried with his mother's body.

The next morning...

Elena didn't sleep.

She sat by her window all night, watching the city shift from black to gold, trying to decide what to do.

She could run.

She could tell her father.

But neither option felt right.

She had to know more. About Ares. About her father. About what really happened ten years ago.

Because the truth wasn't finished.

And neither was Ares.

She dressed, grabbed her coat, and slipped the file into her bag.

She didn't know where she was going...

But she knew who she had to find.