Chapter 4 - The Rules of Blackwood
They assigned me a room adjacent to Mikey’s in the east wing of the manor. While Mikey’s room was a vast expanse of high-tech toys, a king-sized bed, and bookshelves filled with classical literature, my room was stark and functional. It felt like a guest room in a hotel that didn't want you to stay too long.
By evening, a maid had brought me a selection of clothes that actually fit—simple, elegant dresses and trousers that looked far too expensive for my taste.
“Mr. Vance expects you in the dining room at eight o'clock sharp,” the maid said before slipping out of the room.
When eight o'clock arrived, I walked down the long, silent corridors to the dining room. The table was long enough to seat twenty people, but only three places were set. Julian sat at the head, reading through a thick leather-bound folder. Mikey sat to his right, looking tiny and miserable. I took the seat opposite Mikey.
The meal was served in absolute silence. Silver platters of roasted meats and delicate vegetables were placed before us by silent staff.
“Miss Carter,” Julian spoke suddenly, not looking up from his folder. “Tomorrow, a legal team will arrive. You will sign a non-disclosure agreement. If a single word of what you see in this house leaves your mouth, the consequences will extend far beyond financial ruin.”
“I don’t care about your money, Mr. Vance,” I said, setting my fork down. The silver clinked loudly against the china. “I care about why a eight-year-old boy is so terrified of his own father that he’d rather sleep in a damp storage room with rats.”
The entire room seemed to drop ten degrees. Mikey gasped softly. From the corner of the room, Marco shifted his stance.
Julian slowly closed the folder. He leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes boring into mine. “You are bold, Miss Carter. Or incredibly foolish. You think because you showed my son a shred of common charity, you have earned the right to judge how I raise him?”
“I’m judging what I see,” I said, refusing to back down. “He’s a child, not a prisoner. He needs a father, not a warden.”
“He is the sole heir to the Vance corporate empire and everything else that comes with it,” Julian said, his voice dangerously calm. “His mother passed away six months ago. Since then, there have been three separate kidnapping attempts on his life by rival factions who wish to use him as leverage against me. He was not running away from me, Miss Carter. He was running from the pressure of staying alive.”
I looked at Mikey. The boy lowered his eyes, staring at his untouched food.
“Is that true, Mikey?” I asked softly.
“They always watch me,” Mikey whispered. “The guards, the tutors... everyone looks at me like I’m a target. I just wanted to be normal for one day. I just wanted to go somewhere where nobody knew who my dad was.”
A wave of understanding washed over me. Julian Vance wasn’t just a tyrant; he was a man suffocating his son in a desperate attempt to protect him. But his protection felt exactly like a cage.
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“There are better ways to protect someone than locking them in a golden box, Mr. Vance,” I said, looking directly at the billionaire.
Julian stared at me for a long time, the tension in the room thick enough to cut. Finally, he stood up, smoothing his jacket. “We shall see, Miss Carter. You have two weeks until the legal hearings for his mother’s estate are finalized. Until then, you are his companion. Let us see if your 'common sense' keeps him safer than my guards.”
