Leaving the Vance Estate in Darius Blackwood's armored Maybach felt like crossing into another dimension.
The soundproof glass shut out the chaotic flashes of the paparazzi who were desperately trying to figure out why the newly revealed Vance Heiress was leaving with the city's most dangerous man.
Inside the spacious back seat, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension.
Darius sat far too close to me. His massive frame seemed to absorb all the oxygen in the car. He had unbuttoned the top of his collar, looking less like a formal guest and more like the apex predator he truly was.
"My grandfather is going to send a private army to your estate by tomorrow morning to 'supervise' my safety," I said, breaking the silence, my eyes fixed on the city lights blurring past the window.
"Let them come," Darius chuckled, pouring two glasses of scotch from the car's mini-bar. He handed me one. "But they'll stay at the outer perimeter. The inner sanctum of Blackwood Manor is for my people only. And now, that includes you."
I took the glass but didn't drink. "Let's get the rules straight, Darius. I agreed to this contract marriage for mutual protection and convenience. I am not your subordinate. I don't take orders, and I don't ask for permission."
Darius turned his head, his dark eyes trailing over my face with a slow, scorching intensity. He leaned in, the scent of mint, tobacco, and danger wrapping around me.
"Rule number one, Elara," he whispered, his deep voice vibrating in the confined space. "I would never insult you by treating you like a subordinate. In my empire, you are an equal. But make no mistake—you are my wife now. Which means if anyone disrespects you, I kill them. And if anyone tries to touch you... I burn their entire bloodline to ashes."
The sheer possession in his voice made my pulse jump, though I fought to keep my face perfectly composed.
Before I could formulate a witty reply, the car slowed to a halt.
We had arrived at Blackwood Manor. It wasn't just a mansion; it was a modern fortress built into the cliffs, surrounded by high walls, security cameras, and heavily armed guards patrolling the grounds.
The moment Darius opened the door and helped me out, the chaotic shouting of men shattered the quiet night.
"Boss! We have a situation!"
A man in a blood-soaked suit came sprinting toward us from the manor's massive double doors. "It's Silas. We got ambushed at the docks by the Vipera cartel. He took a sniper round to the chest. The syndicate doctor is panicking—he says the bullet is too close to the lung, he can't extract it without killing him!"
Darius's expression instantly shifted into terrifying coldness. "Take me to him."
I kicked off my ruby heels, leaving them on the driveway, and grabbed the hem of my heavy crimson gown, tearing a slit up the side so I could run.
"Lead the way," I ordered, running past Darius.
The guards looked at me in shock—a billionaire heiress in a torn haute-couture dress, sprinting toward a bloody medical emergency. But Darius just smirked proudly and followed right behind me.
We burst into the underground medical bay. Silas, one of Darius's top lieutenants, was thrashing on the surgical table, choking on his own blood. The syndicate doctor was trembling, his scalpel shaking in the air.
"I... I can't, Boss!" the doctor stammered as Darius entered. "The bullet shattered the rib. If I pull it out, the lung collapses!"
"Step aside," I commanded, my voice slicing through the panic like a blade.
I didn't wait for permission. I grabbed a pair of sterile gloves, snapping them onto my hands. "Get me a pair of forceps, a retractor, and prep a chest tube. Now!"
The doctor froze, staring at me like I was insane. "Who are you?! You can't just—"
"Do exactly as she says," Darius's voice boomed, freezing everyone in the room. "She is your new mistress. And she knows more about cheating death than God himself."
The room snapped into action.
I didn't hesitate. My hands, steady as stone, dove into the bloody wound. The monitors were screaming, Silas's heart rate plummeting. To the ordinary eye, it was a mess of flesh and blood. To me, it was a simple puzzle I had solved a thousand times.
"Clamp," I ordered. A nurse slapped the tool into my hand.
I bypassed the shattered bone, sliding the forceps in at a forty-five-degree angle. With a sharp, precise twist, I clamped the severed artery to stop the flooding, then smoothly extracted the crushed sniper bullet.
Clink. I dropped the bloody bullet into the metal tray. "Insert the chest tube to reinflate the lung. Suture the artery. He's stable."
The entire surgery had taken less than four minutes.
The medical bay was dead silent, save for the steady, normal beeping of the heart monitor. The syndicate doctor's jaw was practically on the floor. The hardened mafia guards stared at me with wide, reverent eyes.
I pulled off my bloody gloves and threw them in the trash, turning around to face the room.
Darius was leaning against the doorframe. He wasn't looking at the saved lieutenant. He was looking only at me, his eyes burning with a dark, ravenous hunger that made the air in the room feel scorching hot.
"Gentlemen," Darius said softly, though his voice commanded absolute attention. "Say hello to your new Queen."
Every single heavily armed man in the room dropped to one knee, bowing their heads in unison.
"Welcome home, Madam."