But I do know one thing—I owe him. And whatever he wants in return, I’ll give it.
***
Richard Blackwood is nothing like I expected.
Despite his age, he carries himself like a king—powerful, untouchable.
He doesn’t speak much unless necessary, but when he does, his words cut through the air with an authority that demands attention.
Today, I sit across from him in his private study, a grand room filled with books, expensive whiskey, and the smell of old money.
"Eat." He nods at the untouched plate in front of me. "You look like a skeleton."
I hesitate, still unused to this kind of treatment. But when my stomach growls, I give in, picking up my fork.
"You remind me of someone," he says after a while, watching me closely.
I pause mid-bite. "Who?"
His lips press together. "Someone I lost. A long time ago."
I don’t push for details. He doesn’t look like the type to spill his emotions easily.
Instead, I set my fork down and meet his gaze. "Why are you helping me?"
His expression doesn’t change. "Because I can."
I frown. "That’s not an answer."