Chapter 1 The Contract of Assassination

# Chapter 1: The Contract of Assassination

The Blackwood mansion loomed before me, its gothic architecture a testament to old money and even older secrets. As I adjusted my modest maid's uniform, I reminded myself why I was here: this wasn't just another infiltration job; this was personal.

"Remember, Harper, one month." Margot Blackwood's voice echoed in my memory, cold as the steel in her eyes when we'd met three days ago in her downtown office. "Monitor my son's every move, every secret, every... indiscretion. I want detailed reports. Weekly."

I'd studied her as she spoke—this woman of immense power who commanded an empire from the shadows. Margot Blackwood: widow, business magnate, and rumored kingmaker in political circles. Her silver-streaked dark hair was pulled into a severe bun, her tailored suit worth more than what most people made in months.

"And if I refuse?" I'd asked, though I already knew the answer.

Her red-painted lips had curved into what might have passed for a smile if it reached her eyes. "You misunderstand. This isn't a negotiation. You owe me, and I'm collecting." She slid a manila envelope across her mahogany desk. "Your new identity. Learn it well."

Now, standing at the servants' entrance, I took a deep breath. The Blackwood fortune was built on technology and pharmaceuticals officially, but whispers suggested darker ventures. Ventures I needed to uncover.

"You must be Harper." A plump woman in her fifties opened the door, her kind face a stark contrast to the cold mansion. "I'm Mrs. Peterson, the housekeeper. Come in before you catch your death."

The interior was even more impressive than the exterior—marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and artwork that belonged in museums rather than private residences.

"The staff quarters are this way," Mrs. Peterson continued, leading me through a maze of hallways. "Mr. Gideon is very particular about his space and privacy. Best to stay invisible unless called upon."

"What's he like?" I asked, feigning innocence.

Mrs. Peterson hesitated. "Brilliant. Demanding. Not unkind, exactly, but..." She lowered her voice. "He and his mother have a... complicated relationship. You'll understand soon enough."

My room was small but comfortable—a twin bed, a dresser, and a window overlooking the vast gardens. I unpacked quickly, hiding my specialized equipment in a false bottom of my suitcase. Years of working as a private investigator had taught me to come prepared.

"Harper!" Mrs. Peterson called from the hallway. "Mr. Gideon wants to see all new staff immediately."

This was it—my first encounter with my target.

I followed her to Gideon's study, my heart racing despite my years of training. The door opened to reveal a spacious room lined with bookshelves. A large desk dominated the space, behind which sat a man whose presence commanded attention.

Gideon Blackwood looked up from his computer, and I felt a jolt of electricity run through me. The dossier hadn't done him justice. Thirty-two years old, with sharp features that seemed carved from marble—high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and piercing blue eyes that seemed to strip away pretense. His dark hair was meticulously styled, and his tailored shirt hinted at a physique that wasn't just for show.

"So you're the new maid." His voice was deep, cultured, with an edge that suggested he didn't suffer fools gladly.

"Yes, sir. Harper Wilson." I kept my eyes appropriately lowered, playing the part of the deferential servant while studying him through my lashes.

"Look at me when I address you," he commanded.

I raised my eyes to meet his, maintaining a neutral expression despite the intensity of his gaze. He was analyzing me, searching for something.

"Your references are impressive for someone so young." He leaned back slightly. "Princeton, then four years with the Hendersons, now here. Why leave such a prestigious position?"

I'd prepared for this. "The Hendersons moved abroad, sir. I preferred to stay in the country."

His eyes narrowed fractionally. "And of all the households in the city, you chose this one."

It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "Your family's reputation is well-known, Mr. Blackwood."

"Indeed." A cold smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Well, Mrs. Peterson will show you your duties. I expect discretion and efficiency above all else."

"Of course, sir."

I turned to leave, relief washing over me that the first encounter had gone smoothly, when his voice stopped me.

"One more thing, Harper."

I turned back. "Sir?"

He stood, and I realized how tall he was—at least six-foot-two, towering over my five-foot-seven frame. He walked around the desk with casual grace, stopping close enough that I could smell his expensive cologne.

"My mother may own this house," he said quietly, "but this wing is my domain. Remember that."

I nodded, maintaining my composure despite his proximity. "Understood, sir."

For three days, I played my role perfectly, cleaning rooms, serving meals, and strategically placing micro-cameras in key locations throughout the mansion. Gideon was often absent during the day, attending to business matters, but in the evenings, I would catch him watching me with that calculating gaze.

On the fourth night, I was retrieving data from a camera I'd hidden in the main living room when the lights suddenly flicked on.

"Working late, aren't we?" Gideon stood in the doorway, dressed in a black sweater and pants that seemed to absorb the shadows around him.

My heart raced, but years of training kicked in. "Just finishing up, sir. I noticed some dust on the mantelpiece."

"At midnight?" He stepped into the room, his movements reminiscent of a predator. "Curious time for housekeeping."

"I couldn't sleep," I offered weakly.

He moved closer, towering over me. "Do you know what I think, Harper Wilson—if that's even your real name?"

My breath caught. "Sir?"

His hand shot out, grasping my wrist firmly but not painfully. With deliberate slowness, he turned my palm upward, revealing the tiny data drive I'd been trying to conceal.

"I think," he said, his voice dangerously soft, "that you're not who you claim to be."

I tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron. "Mr. Blackwood, you're mistaken—"

"Save it." His eyes locked with mine, unrelenting. "I've known something was off about you since the moment you walked through my door. The question is, who sent you? A competitor? The press?" His eyes narrowed. "Or was it my dear mother?"

The last question hit too close to home, and something must have flashed across my face because his expression hardened.

"So that's it," he said, a humorless smile spreading across his face. "Mother's latest spy."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I insisted, though my racing pulse betrayed me.

In one fluid motion, he pulled me closer until we were inches apart. "Let me make something very clear," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. "This isn't the first time she's tried this, and it won't be the last. But you should know something that the others didn't."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes burning into mine with an intensity that made my knees weak.

"I know you're not an ordinary maid," Gideon continued, his voice a dangerous caress, "but tonight, you'll learn that I am the true hunter here." He released my wrist but didn't step back. "You can tell my mother that her little game has failed before it even began."

With that, he turned and walked toward the door, pausing only to look back over his shoulder. "Oh, and Harper? I'll be watching your every move from now on. Sleep well."

As he disappeared down the darkened hallway, I stood frozen, the data drive clutched in my trembling hand. The first confrontation had happened much sooner than I'd anticipated, and with far more intensity.

One thing was clear: Gideon Blackwood was not just another spoiled rich son. He was a formidable opponent—intelligent, observant, and dangerously perceptive.

And I had just become his prey.


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