The Dark Billionaire Trilogy (E-Book)

The Dark Billionaire Trilogy (Jasper Blackstone)

1 - Intrigued

2 - Desire

3 - Claimed

The Boss Billionaire (Spencer Blackstone)

1 - Tempting

2. Impulse

3. Bliss

4. Exposed (Bonus Book)

The Secret Billionaire (Asher Blackstone)

1. Seduction

2. Embrace

Bryn Blackstone's Story

Destined

Intrigued (Book 1)
Chapter One

December 21st

This holiday season, I refuse to be lonely. I’m finally admitting to myself just how much that matters, even if the family I'm spending the week with is far from perfect. They’re the Blackstones—infamous for keeping their dark secrets hidden, and if the rumors are true, they have many. But I’ve decided to let that go, at least for now.

The real kicker—the one that keeps me bubbling with worry—is that I’ve been invited under mysterious circumstances. My old college roommate offered me a two-in-one deal: spend the week before Christmas with her family, enjoying all the exclusive perks of their private estate, and take on a project to pay off the debt I owe them. The only catch? I have no idea what the task involves.

The not knowing had given me pause. My debt is one I’ve imposed on myself. Bryn Blackstone was my college roommate during my freshman year. She and I shared the swankiest dorm suite on campus, one I continued to live in even though she never returned after her first year. However, I later learned that the fact that I lived in such luxurious accommodations wasn’t cheap or by accident. During welcome orientation, two weeks before classes started, Bryn handpicked me to be her roommate. You see, I’m the daughter of a career criminal and a mother who succumbed to chronic depression. I’m not exactly from her world of wealth and privilege. There was no risk that her secrets, sins, or comings and goings would ever find their way back to her blue-blooded circles through me.

After graduation, I was stunned to receive a handwritten card from Bryn that read, 'Don’t worry about paying us back for the dorm. You deserved it.' I had always assumed my scholarship covered my room and board, but it turned out Blackstone Family Enterprises had been footing the bill. The revelation astonished me, and I couldn’t accept such generosity without repaying them.

As soon as I secured my first job as a reporter, I reached out to the estate to arrange a repayment plan. For the past three years, I’ve been consistently paying eight hundred dollars a month, working hard to settle my debt. But, truth be told, it would be nice to have that extra money in my wallet. The cost of living is sky-high, and sometimes I feel ridiculous for being so proud of sending money I desperately need to a family that will never even notice it.

It would be a relief to finally rid myself of this financial burden. But I can't shake the worry that Bryn's proposition might not only put me at odds with her dangerous father and older brother, but also compromise my integrity.

“Is it even legal?” I asked during our phone call, feeling a bit irritated by her whispering. It was one of her habits that always got under my skin—her incessant need to seem mysterious.

“Yes, it’s legal,” Bryn whispered, her tone carrying a trace of offense at my question.

“Okay, then just tell me what you want from me,” I pressed, eager for answers.

“I can’t. Not over the phone.”

“Why not?”

“Holly, please don’t make this more difficult than it has to be. Trust me, you’re going to have a lovely time. I promise your stay will be worth it,” she whispered even softer, almost conspiratorially.

I had at least a dozen more questions about her vague proposition, but I couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to explore their ancient ancestral home, be catered to by house staff, and indulge in whatever luxuries their estate offered. And, after all, I was going to spend the holidays with a real family. How long had it been since I’d done that? Way too long.

Now, here I am, having accepted her invitation and driven four long hours from Philadelphia to Newport, Rhode Island. I sit in the driver's seat of my modest car, facing the grand entrance of the Blackstone mansion estate. The massive iron gates, adorned with pointy spears and the family crest, slowly open wide, inviting me into their famous and exclusive property.

Nerves flutter in my stomach as I carefully drive past pine trees adorned with glistening fresh snow and expansive, pristine lawns, approaching the rustic red stone mansion. It's a sight to behold, with its high, pointy gables that resemble an old church and picture windows radiating a warm glow across the brick facade. Several chimneys peak beyond the roof like narrow spires, sending smoke billowing into the opaque white sky. Despite the harrowing rumors surrounding the Blackstone family mansion, it exudes warmth and life.

Finally, I reach a fork in the drive and decide to curve towards the front of the manor. Bryn hadn't given me specific instructions on where to park or what to do upon my arrival. The rush to finish all my assignments before the holidays made me forget to call and confirm the details. All I have is the address and the family gate code. However, we agreed I’d arrive between 3:00 p.m. and 5:00 p.m. I glance at the time on the console—it's 3:17 p.m. I park the car in front of a long walkway and peer past the black iron gates that enclose a quaint patio. The front doors remind me of ancient bronze castle gates, looking like they haven't been opened in centuries.

I sigh heavily as I sink deeper into the driver's seat. I should've planned my arrival better. But amidst my worries, a question lingers: would I even recognize Bronwyn today? It's been so long since we last saw each other. 

My gaze is still locked on the grand entrance of Blackstone Manor. Knowing that I'll soon come face-to-face with my old friend feels both thrilling and unnerving. I wonder if she's changed much over the years. There are no photos of her on the Internet whatsoever. Last night, I spent hours searching and couldn’t find even one photograph. Although I’m very skilled at finding what I’m looking for. Given a few more weeks, I would’ve definitely discovered some sort of image of Bryn Blackstone. That I know for sure. 

However, my old friend hasn't occupied my thoughts in a long time. Occasionally, her older brother Jasper’s name slides through my professional circles, but everyone knows better than to linger on him too long. Well, almost everyone—a colleague of mine is obsessed with uncovering the dirt she’s confident the Blackstones are hiding. Regardless, I remember Bryn as a stunning beauty in college; I doubt that has changed.

"Here goes nothing," I mutter with a sigh. I twist my body and reach into the back seat, wrangling my thick, long wool coat off the floor. Then, I dig under the passenger side seat until I feel my purse. "Got it," I whisper triumphantly. The effort it took to retrieve both items prompts me to stretch the kinks out of my right arm until... Yikes!

My heart races as I press a hand against my chest, leaning closer to the car window for a better view of the man standing on the opposite side. Our eyes meet, and his intense gaze seems to pierce right through me. In that moment, time appears to slow as I take in the rest of his features. He's a masterpiece, composed of striking angles and the most captivating lips I've ever seen. His entire face is simply... breathtaking. The longer I gaze at him, the more speechless and immobilized I become. It's as if his presence hypnotizes me, akin to a medallion swaying back and forth, enchanting me completely.

Finally, the man steps back so we can see each other much better. His commanding voice shatters the spellbinding silence when he says, "Roll down the window," while gesturing for me to do so. I take a deep breath to steady myself and press the button on the armrest, lowering the window.

He stands with his arms crossed, exuding a commanding presence reminiscent of a highway patrolman about to issue a speeding ticket. "Who are you, and how did you get through my gates?" he inquires.

I tap my chest lightly and offer a warm smile. "I'm Holly Henderson." I wait, expecting some sign of recognition at the mention of my name—assuming Bryn had spoken of me—but his stern expression remains unchanged. So, I add, "Bryn invited me for the holiday, and..." It's then that realization hits me like a flash of lightning. I'm face-to-face with one of Bryn's brothers—and I instantly know exactly which one.

The strikingly handsome man standing outside my car is Jasper Walker Blackstone, the eldest brother and a potential presidential candidate. My mind races. Is this the reason I'm here? Does Bryn want me to interview her brother? Known for my ability to unveil the truth about powerful, often dubious characters, a positive interview from me could cast him in a pristine light. This realization fills me with hesitation about the role I'm potentially being asked to play.

"You're Bryn's friend?" he asks, his tone edged with suspicion.

"Yes," I manage to reply, striving to maintain my calm despite the surge of adrenaline. "And you're Jasper Blackstone."

His eyes narrow, and though I can't decipher his thoughts, the vibe he emits is far from welcoming. "She didn't tell me we were having guests," he states, his tone icy and guarded.

I press my lips together, tempted to comply with that look on his face, and turn my car around and head back to Philly. But instead, I remain silent, curious to see how this encounter will unfold. There's something intriguing about Jasper, something that piques my journalistic instincts even as I tread cautiously. But what a prick.

"Well, you can't park here," he grumbles, his annoyance evident. His gaze shifts towards the fork in the drive, the very spot where I had stopped earlier. "Turn around, go back to the split in the driveway, make a left, and then take another left at the first driveway you see. From there, I'll guide you to the garage."

Before I can even thank him for his rather brusque assistance, he walks away, leaving me slightly taken aback. It seems being hospitable isn't one of his strong suits. As he passes the iron gates, they open automatically for him, further reinforcing the impression that he carries himself like a man who believes he owns the world. And perhaps he does. Yet, I can't deny that he looks very attractive in his well-fitted casual dress pants and a thick black winter coat. I catch myself wondering how he smells; I'm certain guys like him always have an enticing scent.

"Get a grip, Holls," I whisper to myself, trying to quell the unexplained emotions that are stirring within me. My slightly trembling hands clench the steering wheel as I execute a three-point turn to follow his instructions. What's wrong with me? I've encountered men who are just as handsome and intimidating as Jasper in the past. But there's something about him that affects me differently, an odd effect I can't quite explain.