The Disappearing Act
The meeting room at the top of Blackwood Tower felt like a battlefield.
The long glass table between Ethan Blackwood and Damien Vale shimmered under the lights — a transparent line of war.
"Your proposal is laughable," Ethan said flatly, closing the folder in front of him. "You're not buying into Blackwood Global, Vale. Not now, not ever."
Damien leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Careful, Ethan. The last man who told me 'never' had to sell his company for scraps."
Their eyes locked — two wolves circling, both too proud to back down.
"You're still bitter about losing the contract to us, aren't you?" Ethan asked, voice cool.
Damien's smile didn't fade. "Bitter? No. Amused? Absolutely. You think you won because of skill, but let's be honest — you only win because you don't play fair."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "Business isn't about fairness. It's about precision."
Damien chuckled, standing and adjusting his cufflinks. "And here I thought it was about power. Funny how those who already have it pretend it's something else."
He took a slow step forward, lowering his voice. "But tell me something, Blackwood — how long do you think you can keep your empire standing without emotion? Without anyone to trust?"
Ethan didn't answer. He didn't need to. The silence between them spoke louder than words.
Damien smirked. "Right. I forgot. You don't trust. You own."
Ethan rose from his seat, every inch of him composed but deadly. "And you destroy. We all have our talents."
For a moment, the air crackled — the rivalry between them palpable, sharp enough to cut.
Then Damien's gaze shifted slightly, his expression softening just enough to be dangerous. "Tell me something, Ethan. How's Clara?"
Ethan's hand stilled.
Damien's grin widened, seeing the reaction. "You don't like hearing her name from me, do you? Shame. She's… fascinating. Sweet, sharp-tongued, beautiful. A woman like that doesn't belong in your world."
Ethan's voice was low, icy. "Don't talk about her."
"Why not?" Damien stepped closer, testing the edge. "She deserves someone who sees her, not someone who treats her like a liability."
Before Damien could blink, Ethan grabbed his collar and slammed him back against the table. Coffee spilled, files scattered, but neither man flinched.
"Touch her," Ethan hissed, "and I'll bury you myself."
Damien laughed softly, even as Ethan's grip tightened. "You already have, my friend. You just don't know it yet."
For a few tense seconds, neither moved. Then Ethan released him, eyes burning. Damien straightened his jacket, his usual smirk returning — though his gaze was sharper now, almost predatory.
"I'll take that as a yes," Damien said lightly, turning for the door. "Always a pleasure, Blackwood."
He left the room with the same smug grace he'd entered — leaving behind silence, tension, and the faint scent of arrogance.
Ethan exhaled slowly, forcing his hands to unclench. His pulse was still racing, though he didn't know if it was from anger… or the mention of Clara.
---
An hour later, the anger had dulled — replaced by unease.
Ethan's phone buzzed for the third time that hour. Still no message from Clara.
At first, he brushed it off. Clara often went silent when she was mad. But when her phone went straight to voicemail, his stomach turned to ice.
He tried again. Still nothing.
He slammed his laptop shut. The sound echoed through his office.
A knock sounded at the door. Without waiting for permission, Damien stepped in — holding two coffees like nothing had happened.
"What do you want?" Ethan snapped.
"Relax. I'm not here to fight." Damien's eyes glinted with amusement. "Not physically, anyway. Thought you could use caffeine. Or an apology."
Ethan didn't believe either. "Say what you came to say."
Damien shrugged, setting a cup on the table. "You've been blowing up your phone for ten minutes. Problem?"
Ethan hesitated, then muttered, "Clara's not answering."
That got Damien's attention. His smirk faltered. "How long?"
"Over an hour. She was supposed to meet her friend. Never showed up."
A tense silence filled the room. Then Damien's phone buzzed. He frowned. "Huh… that's strange. One of my security teams just sent me footage."
He tapped his screen, then turned it toward Ethan.
The video showed Clara's car parked on a quiet street. A man in black approached, looked around once, then slid into the driver's seat and drove away.
Ethan's pulse spiked. "Where was this?"
"East district," Damien said, his voice low now. "No sign of her."
Ethan's expression hardened. "Trace that plate. Now."
Damien nodded. "Already on it."
For the first time, their rivalry faded — replaced by something colder, sharper.
Because for all their hatred, there was one thing Damien knew better than anyone: Ethan Blackwood was dangerous when calm…but he was lethal when afraid.