Page 5 of Until She’s Mine

Lucian

The numbers glow red on the study clock, a reminder of the hours I’ve spent staring at the paper, replaying every second on that terrace.

Sleep is for men without obsessions.

I stalk to the floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan glittering like a spilled jewel box below. My reflection stares back—a black silk robe hanging open, eyes burning with an intensity that even the night cannot dim, and fingers stained with ink and want.

Charcoal sketches of Evelyn are scattered across the desk behind me, each one capturing a fragment of her I’ve committed to memory: her laugh, her eyes, her hands cradling a paintbrush, the curve of her neck as she tilts her head in thought.

I’ve drawn her so many times that my hands move without conscious thought, tracing her features as if they’re etched into my very soul.

And yet, it’s never enough.

Three years.

Three years of stolen moments, meticulously archived in leather portfolios lining the north wall. Each is labeled with dates, locations, and even weather conditions. The Evelyn Collection grows more comprehensive than our firm’s client archives.

The sketch I gave her tonight was not the first I’ve drawn of her, but it was from the first night she noticed me—the night she stepped into the Blackwood estate for the first time, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and trepidation.

She had been wearing a white silk dress, the kind that clung to her curves without trying too hard, and her hair had been pulled back into a loose knot that left tendrils framing her face.

Tobias had introduced her as his girlfriend, and two months later, she was wearing his ring.

But that night, as she stood in the foyer, her gaze had flickered to me, and I saw it.

The spark of recognition, the faintest tremor of something deeper.

It was gone in an instant, buried beneath her polite smile and Tobias’s possessive arm around her waist. But I saw it. And I’ve been chasing it ever since.

The sketch is from that moment. Her profile, caught in the soft glow of the chandelier, her lips parted as if she were about to speak. I’d drawn it hours after she left, my hands moving furiously across the paper, trying to capture her essence before it faded from my memory.

The sketches are a poor substitute for the real thing, but they’re all I have.

For now.

I turn away from the window and find the legal dossier on my tablet.

Tobias’s engagement contract is open. I’ve read it a hundred times, memorized every clause and loophole.

The prenuptial agreement is airtight. Tobias may be careless, but our family’s lawyers are not.

Despite that, a few standard clauses about infidelity and financial misconduct could dissolve the union within weeks. Of course, it may never come to that.

I still keep the proof of ‘irreconcilable differences’ neatly organized in a separate file: surveillance of Tobias’s Thursday night ‘poker games’ (actually $2,000/hour escorts), forensic accounting of his trust fund withdrawals, as well as hotel receipts, grainy security footage, and the damning text messages he thought he’d deleted.

They’ve been meticulously collected, waiting for the right moment.

My phone shrieks.

Richard Blackwood’s name flashes. My father never calls at this hour unless it’s urgent, or another test of my obedience.

I swipe to answer. “Father.”

“You’re taking the Windsor case.” No greeting. No preamble.

“Tobias is the lead on that.”

“Tobias lost the Lockheed merger playing golf when he should’ve been reviewing contracts.” Ice clinks in his glass. He’s been drinking. “You’ll depose their CEO on Thursday.”

Through the window, dawn bleeds across the skyline. Somewhere in that glittering maze, Evelyn sleeps in her cold bed while my brother is likely passed out in some penthouse suite with a stranger’s perfume clinging to his clothes.

Tobias hadn’t touched her for almost two years. Not since the engagement became official. I’ve had him followed. I know.

The last time was the night of their engagement party, when Tobias still thought he could make her his perfect doll. Even then, it was a clumsy make-out in the dark. He’d been drunk, and she’d been polite, her body stiff beneath his hands.

Now Tobias fucks his escorts and old college flings, leaving Evelyn untouched—at least until the wedding.

“Lucian.” Father’s voice sharpens. “This family’s reputation—”

“—is my priority.” The lie drips like honey. “Send the files.”

I end the call and stride to the whiskey decanter. The first sip of Yamazaki 18 burns away the last vestiges of sleep.

Windsor’s CEO is a bulldog with a fetish for breaking junior associates. The thought of the deposition is almost a welcome distraction. There’s something satisfying about dismantling a man like that—peeling back his layers of bluster and arrogance until he’s left raw and exposed.

Showing Tobias his inadequacy will be satisfying as well. After all, my father’s message is clear: Tobias’s failures are my opportunities. But they are only as valuable as the risks one is willing to take. And for Evelyn? I’d burn down cities.

I tap my investigator’s number. He’s paid to be on call 24/7, and he answers on the first ring. “Mr. Blackwood.”

“I need everything on the Windsor case on my desk by lunch. Focus on the CEO’s personal life. Weaknesses, vices, anything that his PR team can’t bury.”

The voice on the other end is calm and professional. “On it. I’ll have a full dossier by 10 a.m.”

“Good, and dig deeper into my brother.” My reflection grins back at me. “Tobias has been frequenting a new club downtown. Find out who he’s been meeting there. I want names, faces, and details. If he’s stepping out of line, even in the slightest, I need to know.”

Tobias’s carelessness is a gift, one I intend to exploit to its fullest. The Windsor case will remind my father who the true heir to the Blackwood empire is. And when Tobias inevitably falters, I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.

Evelyn… she’ll be the prize. The one thing I’ve wanted more than power, more than control, more than anything this gilded world can offer.

She’s the only thing I’ve ever truly coveted.

And now, with that sketch in her hands, she knows I’ve been waiting.

The game has shifted, and she’s no longer just a piece on the board—she’s the queen.

And I’ll move heaven and earth to claim her.

“Understood.”

I hang up the call as the sun rises over Manhattan.

Let the games begin.