Chapter 3 The Dark Game

# Chapter 3: The Dark Game

The morning after our encounter in the library, I avoided Gideon. Every time I turned a corner or entered a room, I feared seeing him—not because I was afraid of him, but because I was afraid of myself, of the way my body had responded to his touch.

I was losing focus, and in my line of work, that could be fatal.

By midday, I'd gathered my composure enough to resume my investigation. Margot had left for a business trip to Tokyo, which gave me the perfect opportunity to explore areas of the mansion that were normally off-limits.

Mrs. Peterson caught me dusting in the east wing, an area I hadn't been assigned to clean.

"Harper, dear," she said, her eyes narrowing slightly, "this isn't your section today."

I feigned confusion. "Oh! I'm sorry. I thought Eliza mentioned the east wing needed attention before Mrs. Blackwood returns."

"Eliza wouldn't have said that," Mrs. Peterson replied, her tone gentle but firm. "Mrs. Blackwood's private quarters are strictly off-limits when she's away."

I nodded apologetically. "I must have misunderstood. It won't happen again."

As she walked away, I noticed a slight stiffness in her posture. Mrs. Peterson was more observant than I'd given her credit for. I'd need to be more careful.

Later that afternoon, while polishing silver in the kitchen, Eliza shared some interesting gossip.

"Did you hear about the argument?" she asked, vigorously kneading bread dough.

"What argument?" I kept my tone casual, though my interest was immediately piqued.

"Between the young master and his mother, just before she left." Eliza lowered her voice, though we were alone in the kitchen. "James—that's the chauffeur—said they were shouting about some research project. Said the young master called it 'unconscionable.' Strong words, especially from him. He's usually so controlled."

"Do you know what research they were arguing about?" I pressed gently.

Eliza shrugged. "Something about clinical trials. The mistress's pharmaceutical division is always testing new drugs." She glanced at me meaningfully. "Between us, I think there's more going on than simple medical research. The security in this house—it's excessive, even for people of their wealth."

Her words confirmed what Gideon had told me about illegal trials. I needed to find concrete evidence.

As evening approached, I received a text message from an unknown number: "Basement. 11 PM. Come alone."

I knew it was from Gideon. My pulse quickened at the thought of seeing him again, but I reminded myself to stay professional. This was about the mission, nothing more.

At exactly 11 PM, I made my way to the basement, careful to avoid the security cameras I'd mapped out earlier. The basement was a labyrinth of storage rooms and old wine cellars, dimly lit and smelling of earth and age.

"You came." Gideon's voice emerged from the shadows, making me jump. He stepped into the light, dressed casually in a black sweater and dark jeans.

"You didn't give me much choice," I replied, trying to ignore how the casual attire somehow made him even more attractive.

A hint of a smile touched his lips. "There's always a choice, Harper." He gestured for me to follow him deeper into the basement. "I want to show you something."

We walked in silence through a series of corridors until we reached what appeared to be a dead end. Gideon pressed his palm against a seemingly ordinary section of wall, and a hidden panel slid open, revealing a state-of-the-art security system.

After entering a complex code and submitting to a retinal scan, the wall itself receded, revealing a hidden room.

"Welcome to my sanctuary," he said, ushering me inside.

The room was unexpected—part high-tech office, part living space. Multiple computer screens lined one wall, displaying various data streams and security feeds. A comfortable sofa and coffee table occupied another corner, alongside a small kitchenette.

"You live down here?" I asked, taking it all in.

"Sometimes. When I need to work without prying eyes." His gaze fixed on me. "Including my mother's."

I moved to the computer screens, scanning the information displayed. "This is what you wanted to show me? Your secret man cave?"

He laughed, a genuine sound that transformed his face. "Not exactly." He approached a bookshelf and pulled out a specific volume, revealing another hidden compartment containing a single external hard drive.

"This," he said, holding up the drive, "is what I wanted to show you. Everything I've gathered on my mother's illegal operations over the past three years."

My heart raced. This was exactly what I needed—concrete evidence of Margot's activities.

"Why are you showing me this?" I asked, though I suspected I knew the answer.

"Because I need to know if I can trust you." His eyes searched mine. "And the only way to know is to take a risk."

He inserted the drive into one of the computers, and the screen filled with documents—financial records, emails, medical reports, all pointing to systematic testing of experimental drugs on uninformed patients in developing countries.

"My God," I whispered, scrolling through the files. "These people had no idea what they were being given."

"Exactly." Gideon's voice was tight with controlled anger. "My father built this company to help people. After he died, my mother... changed. The profit margin became more important than ethics."

I turned to face him. "Why don't you go public with this?"

"It's not that simple." He ran a hand through his hair, a rare gesture of frustration. "The Blackwood name is attached to hospitals, research facilities, charitable foundations. If this comes out the wrong way, thousands of innocent employees lose their jobs, ongoing legitimate research gets defunded, and patients who depend on our medications suffer."

I understood his dilemma. "So what's your plan?"

"A controlled exposure. Replace the board of directors, isolate the illegal operations, make reparations to the victims, and preserve the legitimate parts of the company." He moved closer to me. "But to do that, I need allies. People on the inside."

Our eyes locked, and the air between us seemed to charge with electricity. I was acutely aware of his proximity, of the intensity in his gaze.

"And you think I'm that ally?" My voice was barely above a whisper.

"I think you could be." His hand reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture surprisingly tender. "There's something about you, Harper Bennett. Something genuine beneath the cover story."

I should have stepped back. I should have remembered my mission, my loyalty to Margot. Instead, I found myself drawn to him, to the passion in his voice when he spoke of justice.

"I need to know everything," I said. "No more secrets if we're going to work together."

A shadow crossed his face. "That goes both ways. Who are you really, Harper? Not just a private investigator my mother hired. There's more to it, isn't there?"

The moment of truth had arrived sooner than I'd anticipated. My cover was already compromised—perhaps honesty was the only path forward.

"I am a private investigator," I admitted. "But you're right, there's more. Your mother didn't just hire me. She... has leverage over me."

Gideon's expression darkened. "What kind of leverage?"

I took a deep breath. "Three years ago, my sister needed an experimental treatment for a rare form of cancer. Your mother's company provided it—at a price. Not money, but a debt of service. This is my payment."

Understanding dawned in his eyes. "And your sister?"

"She survived." A small smile touched my lips. "She's in remission now."

"So my mother saved her life, only to use that as a weapon against you." His jaw tightened. "Classic Margot."

"I owe her," I said simply.

"No." He stepped closer, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders. "You owed her the cost of the treatment, not your freedom. Not your loyalty."

The conviction in his voice made my chest tighten. For years, I'd felt bound by obligation, never questioning the nature of the debt.

"I've spent three years trying to undo my mother's damage," he continued. "Help me finish it, Harper."

In that moment, looking into his eyes, I made my decision. "Show me everything."

For the next hour, Gideon walked me through his evidence—the shell companies, the offshore accounts, the forged consent forms. As we worked, the professional distance between us dissolved. Our hands would brush as we reached for documents; our shoulders touched as we leaned over the same screen.

"There's more," he said finally, hesitation evident in his voice. "A secure room on the third floor. It contains physical evidence—the original research protocols, signed authorizations, prototype samples of the drugs themselves."

"We need to get in there," I said immediately.

"It's risky. The security is—"

"I can handle security systems," I interrupted with a confidence born of experience. "It's what I do."

He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Tonight, then. After midnight."

We finalized our plan, discussing entry points and security protocols. As we prepared to leave the sanctuary, Gideon suddenly caught my wrist, pulling me back to face him.

"There's something else you should know," he said, his voice low. "If we're caught, my mother won't hesitate to destroy us both. Are you prepared for that?"

The gravity of what we were undertaking hit me fully. "Why are you willing to risk so much to expose your own mother?"

Pain flashed across his features. "Because I loved my father, and she destroyed everything he stood for. Because every night, I see the faces of those patients in my dreams."

Without thinking, I reached up to touch his face, my palm against his cheek. "We'll do this together."

His hand covered mine, holding it in place. "Together," he echoed, and then pulled me closer, his lips finding mine in a kiss that was different from our first—not demanding, but seeking. A connection, an understanding.

When we separated, his forehead rested against mine. "No matter what my mother throws at us, we're going to survive this, Harper. Both of us."

In that hidden room, surrounded by evidence of darkness and corruption, we made our pact. Not just to expose the truth, but to protect each other. Two strangers brought together by circumstance, now bound by something deeper.

"No matter how strong she is," I whispered, "we'll fight. We'll win. We'll live through this."

His arms tightened around me, a silent promise. And for the first time since entering the Blackwood mansion, I felt something unexpected: hope.