Page 1 of Blackwell Manor: A Lesson in Submission

Blackwell Manor: A Lesson in Submission

Chapter 1 – Arrival at Blackwell Manor

The long, winding driveway leading to Blackwell Manor was lined with towering oaks, their branches stretching toward the sky like skeletal fingers. The evening air was thick with the scent of damp earth and fading sunlight, the last golden rays spilling over the mansion’s stone walls. It was beautiful, grand, and intimidating as hell.

Isabella gripped the steering wheel of her little car, her stomach tightening as she pulled up to the entrance. The estate was massive, more of a palace than a home, its arched windows flickering with a warm, golden glow. The structure itself was timeless—old money, untouched by modern vulgarity, filled with history and secrets. She had worked for wealthy families before, but this was different.

She had been hand-selected for this position, an opportunity wrapped in whispered praise and veiled warnings. Elias Blackwell wasn’t just wealthy—he was powerful, untouchable, the kind of man who commanded attention without speaking a word. His wife, Lillian Blackwell, was a socialite wrapped in mystery—a woman whose beauty was only outmatched by the dangerous amusement that flickered in her eyes whenever she looked at someone too long.

And now, Isabella was here.

She exhaled slowly and stepped out of the car, smoothing down her crisp white blouse and adjusting her pencil skirt. She had dressed conservatively—professional, respectable—but as she stared up at the mansion’s towering entrance, a strange unease curled deep in her belly. It wasn’t fear exactly. It was anticipation, a restless energy that made her pulse a little too fast.

She wasn’t sure why.

Before she could talk herself out of it, the heavy wooden doors swung open. A man stood in the doorway, framed by the glow of the chandelier-lit foyer.

Elias Blackwell.

The moment their eyes met, Isabella’s breath caught in her throat.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in dark slacks and a black dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, revealing just a hint of firm, golden skin. His jawline was sharp, his lips full and firm, and his eyes—God, his eyes—were like cold steel, piercing and unreadable.

A man who was used to being obeyed.

For a long, silent moment, he simply studied her, his gaze unapologetic, assessing, stripping her down to the bones without touching her.

Then, his deep, rich voice cut through the silence like velvet over steel.

“You’re late.”

Isabella swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

“I—I’m sorry. There was a delay—”

“I don’t care about your excuses,” he murmured, stepping aside with effortless grace. “Come in.”

She hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside, the warmth of the house closing around her like a trap. The grand entrance hall was a picture of old-world decadence—marble floors gleaming under the soft glow of chandeliers, a grand staircase winding up toward shadowed corridors, the scent of aged wood and something darker, muskier, lingering in the air.

And then, she saw her.

Lillian Blackwell.

Leaning against the stair railing, watching her.

Where Elias was imposing, demanding, a force of control, Lillian was temptation itself—effortless seduction wrapped in silk and mischief. She was dressed in a low-cut black gown, her bare shoulders catching the dim light, her raven-black hair falling in loose waves over her collarbones. And her lips—deep red, glossy—curved into the kind of smile that made men ruin themselves.

Isabella knew that smile.

It was a test. A challenge. A slow, delicious warning.

Welcome to our world.

“Isabella,” Lillian purred, her voice honeyed and slow. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Isabella ignored the heat creeping up her neck and forced a polite smile. “Mrs. Blackwell, it’s an honor to be here.”

Lillian tilted her head, her smile deepening. “Lillian, darling. No need to be so formal.”

---