Everyone in the city knew Julian Blackwood.
Not because he was kind.
Because he was terrifying.
At 41, the real-estate tycoon was infamous for his explosive temper—sharp suits, icy blue eyes, and a rage that erupted without warning. He didn’t just fire people. He destroyed them. Careers ended in minutes. Reputations vanished with a single phone call.
Six personal physicians quit in under three months.
The last one didn’t even finish his sentence.
“Your migraines may be stress-related,” Dr. Harlan suggested gently.
Julian hurled a crystal paperweight across the room. It missed the doctor’s head by inches.
“Get out of my house,” Julian roared. “Before I make sure you never work in this city again.”
The doctor fled.
The staff froze.
They all knew that tone.
It meant someone’s life—or livelihood—was about to collapse.
The moment the door slammed, Julian grabbed his desk as a blinding pain detonated behind his eyes. His vision blurred. The room spun. Fear clawed at his chest.
But Julian Blackwood didn’t admit weakness.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Not even death.
The Smallest Staff, the Biggest Secret
Downstairs, in the vast marble kitchen, two identical girls scrubbed dishes side by side.