Page 2 of Blackwell Manor: A Lesson in Submission

She moved closer, too close, until Isabella could catch the faintest hint of jasmine and something sweet, like vanilla and sin.

Elias watched from the shadows. Silent. Unmoving.

Isabella’s pulse thumped violently in her throat.

What the hell was she getting herself into?

Chapter 2 – The First Temptation

Isabella was a professional.

She had worked for wealthy families before. She had tutored difficult children, dealt with impossible parents, and never, ever crossed a line.

But nothing had prepared her for the Blackwells.

________________________________________

A Classroom Unlike Any Other

The morning sun spilled through the tall windows of Blackwell Manor’s library, casting golden streaks across the mahogany bookshelves and the velvet armchairs that lined the walls. The room was breathtaking—rich, elegant, soaked in wealth and old money, the scent of aged paper and polished wood filling the air.

Isabella sat at the grand oak desk, her hands folded neatly, her expression calm, controlled, unaffected.

Across from her, Emily Blackwell, the eleven-year-old heiress to the Blackwell fortune, sat with her chin propped in her hand, sighing dramatically as she stared at her unfinished arithmetic worksheet.

“Math is boring,” Emily whined.

Isabella arched a brow, lips curving slightly. “That doesn’t make it optional.”

Emily groaned. “Mrs. Townsend never made me do so much work.”

“That’s because Mrs. Townsend retired early,” Isabella said dryly, tapping the worksheet. “Let’s focus. One more problem.”

Emily huffed but obeyed, scribbling halfheartedly. Isabella sighed, glancing at the clock. It was barely 10 a.m., and already the day felt heavy.

Not because of Emily.

Because of them.

Because of Elias Blackwell. Because of Lillian Blackwell.

________________________________________

Lillian’s Dangerous Play

Isabella had felt it from the moment she stepped into this house—the weight of something unspoken, thick in the air like smoke. She had felt it last night, when Lillian greeted her with that wicked smile, and again this morning, when Elias walked past her in the hallway, his gaze dark, unreadable, suffocating.

She felt it now.

Because Lillian was in the room with them, seated gracefully on a velvet chaise by the window, a book in hand—but she wasn’t reading.

She was watching.

And Isabella knew it.

The older woman wasn’t subtle.

Every time Isabella looked up, she found those dark, knowing eyes locked onto her, studying her like she was something to unwrap, to savor, to break apart piece by piece.

---