Intrigued: The Dark Billionaire, #1

By Z.L. Arkadie

CRUCIAL NOTE TO SELF:

I, Holly Henderson, with a mind still sound, must document this before I lose every ounce of judgment and reality.

Indeed, I received an exclusive invitation to Blackstone Manor from a mysterious college roommate who vanished from my life many years ago. 

Indeed, upon arrival, I was met with the cold indifference of her older brother, Jasper. 

Indeed, with just one look, an undeniable magnetic spark ignited between us—a temptation I know I should and will ignore.

Yet, within the dark walls of the manor, secrets lurk around every corner. The servants divert their eyes, and the very shadows seem to whisper of hidden truths. And then there are Jasper's brothers, enigmatic figures whose piercing gazes silently warn me to maintain my distance.

But...

Forgive me, for I have not been the same since last night. In the darkness, he called my name, and I let him into my bed. However, if he believes this will deter me from uncovering the dark secrets that are kept within Blackstone Manor, he is gravely mistaken.

 

"Intrigued" is a scintillating, suspenseful billionaire romance skillfully woven with heart-pounding twists, unyielding desire, and a mansion concealing more secrets than guests. Immerse yourself in a world where each turn of the page reveals fresh betrayals, hidden truths, and a love so intense it could either make or break everything.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Flaming Hearts Press LLC
• Release date: May 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9781942857471

Z.L. Arkadie

Z.L. Arkadie was born and raised in Southern California. She has a BA in Broadcast Journalism and an MA in Communications Studies from California State University, Los Angeles.  She considers herself a sensual and emotional writer, striving to make the reader feel what’s on the page. She absolutely loves pretty dresses just as much as the perfect sunset.

Book preview

ONE

ARRIVAL

HOLLY HENDERSON

DECEMBER 21ST

I can't believe my luck! That's what I’ve been telling myself since I accepted Bronwyn Henrietta Blackstone’s invitation. She offered me a two-in-one deal: to spend the week before Christmas with her family and take on a project to pay off the debt I owe them. The only catch is that I have no idea what the job entails.

Is it even legal? I asked during our call, feeling a bit annoyed because she seemed to be whispering.

Ever since I first met Bronwyn, it's clear she enjoys being mysterious. Even the way we became roommates at Redmond College remains half-shrouded in secrecy. Redmond, an exclusive all-girls college on the East Coast, is where the wealthy and privileged send their daughters to carry on their blue-blooded family legacies. In stark contrast, I come from humble beginnings. My family's financial struggles were never a secret—I'm the daughter of a con man and a perpetually depressed woman who passed away too soon. But despite all that, school has always been my sanctuary. I have a passion for learning and graduated at the top of my class, which earned me a full academic scholarship to Redmond College.

Yes, it's legal, Bronwyn whispered, and her response held a hint of offense at my question.

Okay, then just tell me what you want from me, I insisted, eager for answers.

I can't. Not over the phone.

Why not?

Holly, please don't make this more difficult than necessary. Trust me, you're going to have a lovely time. Besides, what I need from you aligns perfectly with your expertise.

I frowned, feeling puzzled. My expertise?

Investigative reporting, she revealed.

My eyes widened, and I sat up straight in my chair. Oh. Okay...

I also know that you're an independent reporter. I've read both of your books, 'The Howsley Project' and 'In Defense of Bad Air.'

You did? I asked in astonishment, my voice hitting a higher pitch. I glanced absentmindedly at the large downtown building on the opposite side of the bustling avenue. Bronwyn had done her homework, which wasn't like her unless it served a significant purpose for her.

Yes, I did, Bronwyn confirmed.

I had sold many copies of my books, but hearing that she, someone from my early days, had read them felt strange and incredibly gratifying.

I promise it will be worth your while, she whispered even softer than before, piquing my curiosity even more.

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. We said goodbye after our first year of college, expecting to room together the following year. But she never showed up. I ended up in the same dorm room for my junior and senior years, but she was still nowhere to be found. I tried calling her several times, only reaching one of the family estate secretaries, who promised to relay my messages to her.

I lived in the most luxurious dorm during college, which I later discovered wasn't a coincidence. Lost in thought, I stare unfocused through my windshield, recalling the first time I met the stunning, wealthy heiress with her perfect ringlets and keen eyes. It was during our welcome orientation in the main sanctuary, two weeks before classes started.

Sitting alone in the buzzing auditorium, I couldn't shake off the feeling of being an outsider. The room buzzed with girls who had spent their summers in glamorous chateaus in the Alps or other fancy spots. They chatted about everything from the posh high schools they attended to gossip about friends who didn't get into Redmond because of their grades. It seemed like even money couldn't buy their way in when it came to certain things.

I felt a sting of hurt when a girl with dark hair and huge eyes glanced at me sharply after mentioning hobo yet again.

That's when it hit me: I was the hobo in their eyes. The label stung, marking me as an outsider who didn't fit in. I hadn't been born into wealth and privilege like the rest of them, and that, it seemed, made me an easy target for their judgment.

Still reeling from their hurtful and isolating comments, I was taken aback when a bold girl gusted down my row, plopped down in the seat beside me, and said, Don't mind them. They're stinky little bitches with bad breath and sour vaginas compliments of their cheating boyfriends.

I gasped in shock. While I appreciated her standing up for me, her language was quite coarse. Nonetheless, it seemed like her response had wounded the girls who had been mocking me, and I felt a glimmer of satisfaction.

She introduced herself with a newfound sense of camaraderie, I'm Bronwyn Blackstone, but the people I like call me Bryn.

One girl in the group cast a furtive glance our way, careful not to upset the girl who had just berated her. Clearly they weren't allowed to call Bronwyn Blackstone 'Bryn,’ which only cemented her status at the top of the social hierarchy.

I hesitated when Bryn asked my name before replying, Holly, Holly Henderson.

And where are you from, Holly Henderson?

I frowned slightly, answering, Pittsburgh, that's where I ended up.

Her interest piqued, she asked, And what does your father do?

Her straightforwardness took me by surprise. You're talking about his job?

Yes, she responded, her eyes eagerly awaiting my answer.

Thanks to the support of a compassionate principal, understanding guidance counselors, and dedicated teachers, I've come to realize that my father's choices don't define me. He doesn't do anything, I said, without a hint of shame.

She lifted an eyebrow in curiosity. He doesn’t do anything? What do you mean by that?

He's in prison—again, I explained, rolling my eyes with a hint of exhaustion.

Bryn's laughter rang out warmly, echoing around us as she threw her head back and declared, I like you. Shifting in her seat, she turned to face me, her expression radiating curiosity. And you don't know who I am?

I leaned back, surveying her with a thoughtful glance, and answered truthfully, Should I know who you are?

A smug smirk played on her lips as she replied, Maybe. Or maybe not.

Our exchange was abruptly interrupted as Dean Westerly emerged onto the stage, greeting all the newcomers at Redmond. Before I could utter another word, Bryn rose to her feet and gracefully exited the auditorium, exuding confidence as though she commanded the very air around her.

A week later, I walked into what felt like my version of heaven on earth—my new dorm room. It resembled a luxury apartment, complete with all the amenities one could imagine: two master bedrooms with attached bathrooms and even a jetted tub that left me in awe. I checked the tag attached to the key my student advisor had given me, confirming that this was indeed my assigned room despite the opulence that seemed beyond my expectations and pocketbook.

Hey, roomie, a familiar voice called out.

I turned around to find Bryn standing in my doorway, accompanied by a cute guy with floppy hair and a bad-boy smirk—I later learned his name was Dale Rumor.

With a smile more self-assured than warm, Bryn declared, I needed a roommate, so I chose you.

It didn't take long for me to realize that Bryn had deliberately befriended me during orientation because she was searching for someone like me—an outsider with no connections to her world of secrets. I soon discovered that the Blackstone family's wealth was beyond comprehension, and Bryn was determined to keep her double life hidden from gossip and scandal.

Bryn's choice of a roommate, it seemed, had worked out in her favor. My background had ingrained in me a code of conduct—to stay reserved, avoid causing disturbances, and respect the personal boundaries of others. Bryn, on the other hand, appeared to have a different guest over almost every evening, though I never intruded or passed judgment. Some of her visitors would stay the night, while others would depart after a few hours behind the closed door of her room. It struck me as odd how quiet they remained throughout their stay. Yet, I was sure they weren't engaging in sexual activities. I could say with confidence that Bryn didn't sleep with any of them, with the possible exception of Dale, although even that was something I couldn't verify.

However, Bryn and I had formed a genuine bond over time. She was a great listener and always lent an ear as I poured out my heart about the struggles my parents put me through. In return, she seldom spoke about her family, although I knew she had a twin brother and two older brothers. Like my parents, her wealthier yet seemingly unstable parents never bothered to visit. Occasionally, a woman would come by to check on Bryn, but she remained tight-lipped about the woman's identity and their relationship.

After graduation, I was taken aback when I received a handwritten card from Bryn. It said, Don't worry about paying us back for the dorm. You deserve to live in the lap of luxury. I had assumed my scholarship covered my room and board expenses, but it turned out that Blackstone Family Enterprises had been footing the bill. The revelation astonished me. I couldn't accept such generosity without repaying them.

Immediately after securing my first position as a reporter, I reached out to the estate to organize a repayment plan. For the past three years, I have consistently paid eight hundred dollars each month, working tirelessly to settle my debt. Now, with thirty-six thousand dollars remaining, I am committed to honoring my financial commitment. However, Bryn's recent request leaves me puzzled—what exactly does she expect me to do to resolve my debt? I sincerely hope it's within legal bounds.

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 while 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

Reviews for Intrigued

[Willemijn Derks · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I love this book , exciting , sexy. Clifhanger ending though ! So i really need to read the next 2 books too . Dissapointed they are not in the Everand app!