Vows of Vengeance: The Blackwoods Bargain

The silk of my wedding dress melted like sugar in the parking lot bonfire, the pearls popping like gunshots. I hoped Daniel heard them from the chapel where he'd just married my best friend.

I stood barefoot on asphalt, heels discarded and forgotten. The lace hem of the dress curled into ash, blackened smoke tangling with my veil like a ghost that refused to let go. My mascara ran freely-black rivers of rage and ruin-mixing with the champagne I swigged straight from the bottle someone had dropped outside the reception tent.

Security yelled something. Maybe it was about fire codes. Maybe about trespassing. I couldn't hear them over the thunder in my chest.

"Miss, you can't-"

I held up a finger, then another, then flipped them off entirely.

"Watch me."

They didn't get closer. No one ever does when a woman is unhinged in white.

And then-

A shadow cut through the smoke.

Tall. Precise. Unbothered. Like the fire couldn't touch him.

He wore a charcoal suit that cost more than my canceled wedding did, sleeves rolled casually to the elbows. His tie was undone, shirt open at the throat, as if this chaos were just another boardroom meeting he could dominate with a glance.

Damien Blackwood.

The older, exiled brother. The one with the reputation.

A cigarette dangled from his lips. He didn't light it. Just watched the flames consume the last threads of my dignity with a gaze sharp enough to gut me.

"If you're done with theatrics," he said smoothly, "I have a business proposal."

I turned to him slowly, mascara streaked and bottle still clutched like a weapon. "I'm not interested in selling my sanity. I'm wearing it."

He looked down at the flaming dress, then at the smudged mess I'd become.

"And yet, here you are. Free. Unattached. Very...public."

"Is this where you call me pathetic?"

"No," he said, tossing the unlit cigarette into the fire. "This is where I offer to help you destroy my brother."

The world slowed.

Damien walked forward until we stood on opposite sides of the flames. His face flickered gold in the firelight, shadowed by something dangerous.

"I don't want your pity," I hissed.

He arched an eyebrow. "Good. I don't give it. I want the Blackwood name back, and Daniel took that from me. He took your startup, too, didn't he?"

My throat locked.

He knew.

"The patent for CarterCloud was registered under Daniel's name two days before your wedding," he continued. "I could let that slide. Or I could help you take it back."

I stared, heart pounding, head reeling.

"Why me?" I asked.

"Because you're angry enough to burn down your wedding dress. And I like women who don't flinch at fire."

He stepped forward and peeled off his suit jacket, slow and deliberate. Then, with a flick, he tossed it into the flames beside my ruined gown.

"I want you to pretend to love me," he said. "In front of Daniel. In front of the world. Make him bleed from the inside out. And in return, I'll bankroll your revenge."

I laughed, raw and wild.

"You want me to what-flirt my way through your boardrooms and gala dinners?"

"I want you to look Daniel in the eye while you sit on my lap and call me 'darling.' I want you to be the woman he lost-and can never touch again."

He extended his hand.

It smelled like cedar and smoke and something darker.

I didn't take it. Not yet.

Instead, I looked at the fire one last time.

Then I spat into it. "I'll screw you over too, Blackwood."

His smile sharpened.

"I'm counting on it."

The car ride was silent-except for the engine's purr and the low thrum of bass from Damien's Bluetooth playlist, some ambient instrumental that made my nerves feel exposed. I sat in the back of his matte-black Maybach, wrapped in a spare coat he'd pulled from the trunk. It swallowed me whole.

The coat smelled like him-like smoked leather and some expensive, infuriating cologne I couldn't name.

I didn't speak, not until the champagne wore off and the cold shock of reality began to claw through the haze.

"You didn't have to save me back there," I muttered, curling my fingers around the coat sleeves. "I was doing just fine embarrassing myself."

Damien didn't turn around. He drove like he did everything else-smooth, controlled, calculated.

"You weren't embarrassing yourself," he said. "You were branding yourself. As angry. Untouchable. And free."

I rolled my eyes at the window. "And you thought, 'Hey, what a great time to recruit a new fake girlfriend.'"

His voice was almost amused. "You weren't my first choice."

"Charming."

"But you are the most motivated," he added. "And the one person Daniel will never be able to look at without remembering what he did."

The way he said Daniel-detached, acidic-made it sound like a curse.

I finally asked the question I'd been chewing on since the flames back in the parking lot.

"Why did he do it?"

Damien didn't answer immediately. The silence stretched until I started to think he'd ignore me altogether.

Then: "Because he could."

I stared at his reflection in the mirror. His jaw was tense. Cold.

"Daniel's never been told no," Damien continued. "He doesn't value what he doesn't have to fight for. And you - you were... too easy."

I flinched.

"Not like that," he added quickly. "You're brilliant. Beautiful. He didn't deserve you. But you handed him your loyalty without asking what it was worth. That made you a toy, not a threat."

"And you think you're different?"

"I know I am."

The car pulled into a private parking garage beneath a downtown high-rise. I recognized it immediately. Blackwood Holdings Headquarters.

He threw the car into park, then turned in his seat to look at me fully for the first time since the flames.

"This is where it begins," he said. "Where we make him watch."

I frowned. "Watch what?"

"You and me. Together. Publicly. Intimately. Strategically."

I narrowed my eyes. "Are we sleeping together in this little revenge fantasy of yours?"

His gaze didn't waver. "Not unless you want to."

I scoffed, but there was heat rising in my neck.

He opened the door. "Come upstairs. Let's set the terms."

-

The office wasn't an office. It was an empire in glass and marble and obsidian chrome. Damien led me into his penthouse suite at the top of the building, the floor-to-ceiling windows reflecting a city drunk on power.

A bar sat to the left, fully stocked with liquors I couldn't afford and didn't recognize. A fireplace glowed low beneath a massive abstract painting that probably cost more than my apartment.

I hovered by the entrance while he poured two glasses of something dark and smooth.

"This isn't a normal fake relationship," he said, handing me a tumbler.

I didn't take it. "Define 'normal' for me, Mr. Blackwood."

He shrugged, setting both glasses down. "This isn't about making Daniel jealous. It's about making him sweat. Break. Watch everything he stole become yours."

That caught my attention.

"You said I could get CarterCloud back."

"I didn't say it would be easy. But yes. With the right exposure, the right evidence, the right... narrative, we can force the board to audit everything Daniel touched. And if you're by my side when that happens, as my partner-romantic and professional-we'll have leverage."

"You want me to work here?"

"I want you to run a division here."

I choked. "You're out of your mind."

"I'm giving you a war chest, Lena. Not just money-access. Resources. A stage. If we do this right, we won't just hurt Daniel. We'll erase him."

He walked to a sleek black desk and pulled out a contract.

"Three months," he said. "Public appearances. Co-leadership of a new Blackwood Innovations tech branch-yours in name, mine in funding. We'll attend events. Kiss for cameras. Sleep in the same suite when necessary."

I blinked. "You want me to live here?"

"It'll sell the illusion."

I folded my arms. "And what do you get out of it?"

His gaze sharpened. "My name back. My seat on the board. And the satisfaction of watching Daniel self-destruct."

I studied the document.

There were clauses for compensation-very generous. Privacy protections. Performance expectations.

And one line that made me freeze:

Clause 17.3: Under no circumstances may either party develop romantic feelings during the contracted period.

I pointed to it. "This is ridiculous. You can't legislate feelings."

"I can try. We're not doing hearts and flowers, Lena. This is mutually-assured destruction."

"And when it ends?"

He leaned in, his voice low and knife-edged. "Then we walk away. You get your life back. I get my company. And Daniel gets nothing."

Something in me-bitter, broken, bold-wanted to say yes.

But I'd been someone's pawn before.

So I raised my chin and said, "Fine. But I want to add my own clause."

He raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

"If I decide you're lying to me-or using me beyond the scope of this agreement-I walk. No penalties. No strings."

A slow smile tugged at his mouth.

"Done."

He extended a pen.

And just like that, I signed my soul to the devil's older, darker brother.

If my old life had a soundtrack, it would've been soft jazz and the click of keyboard keys in a sunlit coworking space. This new life-this war masquerading as romance-had a different rhythm entirely.

By the next morning, I had an entire wardrobe delivered to Damien's penthouse. Designer labels still in plastic. Shoes in red-bottomed boxes. A stranger's reflection stared back at me in the full-length mirror.

She wore power. Lipstick like blood. Heels made to crush something.

"Do I look like someone who could ruin a man?" I asked.

Damien stood behind me, arms folded. He didn't look away from my reflection.

"You look like someone who already has."

A knock came at the door.

"Security team," his assistant called. "And hair and makeup."

I blinked. "For what?"

He turned and walked away. "Your first public appearance. Blackwood's Fall Gala is tonight."

Of course.

The annual gala, a press-heavy soirée dripping in wealth, stock rumors, and diamond-cut vendettas. Everyone who mattered would be there. Including Daniel. Including her-my ex–best friend, now Blackwood-by-marriage.

"I thought we had more time to plan-"

"We don't. And that's the point."

-

Three hours later, I stood at the top of a sweeping staircase inside the ballroom of the Blackwood Plaza Hotel. A crystal chandelier shimmered above, refracting a thousand blinding truths.

Damien offered his arm. I took it.

The cameras turned as one.

Our descent was slow, deliberate. Calculated down to the synchronized breath. His touch was steady, warm at the crook of my elbow. It grounded me even as every step made my lungs seize.

I could feel eyes on us like laser sights. Whispers trailed behind.

Isn't that Lena Carter?

Wasn't she supposed to marry Daniel?

Isn't that Damien Blackwood?

The Blackwood Brothers-fighting over the same woman?

The press mobbed us near the bottom step. Flashbulbs exploded.

"Mr. Blackwood! Are you and Ms. Carter together?"

Damien gave them his signature half-smirk. "What do you think?"

He turned to me and kissed my temple.

It felt like fire where his lips brushed.

And then-

He angled my face toward his, slowly, deliberately.

"This is where we make it real," he murmured.

And he kissed me.

Not a polite, staged peck.

Not a whisper of something almost.

This was a full, open-mouth, no-hesitation kiss. One hand on my waist. One at the nape of my neck. Like he had a right to touch me. Like I belonged to him.

I should've pulled away.

Instead, I leaned in.

I kissed him back.

It was all wrong-too much teeth, too much history, too much him-but it left me breathless anyway. My knees nearly gave out.

When he pulled back, the crowd erupted into chaotic applause. Paparazzi snapped the moment from every angle. There would be headlines by midnight.

Damien Blackwood Debuts New Love-Daniel's Ex Fiancée.

Perfect.

We mingled, glasses of champagne constantly replaced before they could empty. Damien navigated the crowd like a panther in a cage he owned. He introduced me to CEOs and venture capitalists and influencers I'd once dreamed of pitching to.

"This is Lena Carter," he said again and again. "She'll be heading our newest innovation branch."

He made it sound effortless. Like I belonged here. Like I hadn't been crying over a burning wedding dress twenty-four hours ago.

Then I saw him.

Daniel.

He stood across the ballroom, frozen, his new wife draped over his arm like an accessory he hadn't read the instructions for. Her eyes widened when she saw me. She turned to whisper something-but Daniel didn't respond.

He was locked on me.

I didn't blink.

Damien leaned in. "Say something shocking."

"What?"

"To the press," he said. "Daniel's watching. Give him a reason to spiral."

I hesitated. Then I turned to the nearest reporter, a sharp-dressed vulture with a voice recorder.

"It wasn't hard to fall for Damien," I said sweetly. "Some men know how to stay committed."

The reporter grinned. "Are you in love, Ms. Carter?"

Damien didn't wait for me to answer.

"She's everything my brother never appreciated."

I didn't have to fake the smirk that curled my lips. Daniel's face darkened across the room.

Mission accomplished.

-

Later, alone on the rooftop garden where the music couldn't reach, I found a moment to breathe.

Damien appeared beside me with two drinks.

"Your hands are shaking," he observed.

I laughed bitterly. "I just publicly made out with the man who offered to weaponize me. Forgive me if I'm a little... off."

He handed me a glass.

"You were brilliant tonight."

"I was bait."

"You were both," he said. "And he took it. You saw the look on his face."

I sipped the drink. "He's not going to let it go."

"He's not supposed to."

We stood in silence, the wind tugging gently at my curls, the city glittering below like a trap full of teeth.

Then I asked the question that had been digging at me all night.

"What happens when this backfires?"

Damien looked over. "It won't."

"You sound certain."

"I don't gamble unless I've rigged the game."

I stared at him, studied the man beneath the armor.

"Did Daniel really take everything from you?"

His jaw flexed. "He didn't take it. Father gave it to him. After believing a lie."

"What lie?"

He turned away. "Does it matter?"

"It does to me."

Damien looked out at the skyline. His voice came quieter now.

"He blamed me for something Daniel did. Something that cost lives. I was disowned. Cut out of the company. Publicly disgraced."

"And Daniel got a promotion?"

"He got everything I built."

I swallowed hard. "Why tell me this?"

"Because I need you to understand something," Damien said, turning back to me. "This isn't just about revenge. It's about justice."

A silence settled between us-thick and dangerous.

Then, softly, I said, "You kissed me like you meant it."

Damien took a slow breath.

"I needed it to be believable."

"Was it?"

He didn't answer.

But he didn't look away, either.