Ms. Chaos Meets Mr. Serious

Jace

The leather of my executive chair groaned as I leaned back, my eyes burning from the fine print of a dozen legal contracts. Across the room, Killian was lounging on the velvet sofa like he owned the place, tossing a gold lighter idly in the air. He was a distraction I didn't need, but his silence was the only thing keeping me from snapping.

I had a lunch meeting within the hour, a necessary pivot since I’d already bailed on my grandfather. The old man understood—business was the Blackwood bloodline—but the weight of the crown was feeling exceptionally heavy today.

I pulled another folder toward me, my fountain pen hovering over the signature line. I didn't just sign things anymore. Not since the "Accident."

A few months ago, a document had landed on my desk—a demolition order for my own flagship building, tucked neatly between harmless invoices. If I hadn’t caught the discrepancy, the heart of my empire would be rubble by now. I’d run the name on the notary, the witness, the clerk. Nothing. A ghost had tried to bury me.

Now, I was hunting a rat. Someone inside these walls was feeding me poison, and they were getting bolder. They didn't just want my money; they wanted my pulse to stop.

I didn't ask for the billionaire title. I earned it through blood and sleepless nights, but now that I had it, I was a target. And while I could handle a bullet for myself, the thought of someone touching my grandfather or my siblings made the darkness in my chest stir. If I found the person responsible, I wouldn’t call the police. I’d make them pray for hell instead.

Then there was the other problem. The woman.

I’d sent Winston back to that university for the third time this week. My instructions were clear: do not leave until Haven Cross agrees to the meeting.

She was stubborn, prickly, and entirely unimpressed by the Blackwood name. It was infuriating. I didn’t have time to audition another fake wife; Haven was the only one who fit the profile, even if her attitude was a constant thorn in my side. What was she so afraid of? I’d give her anything—money, status, protection—if she’d just play the part.

A crumpled ball of paper hit my forehead and bounced onto the mahogany desk. I looked up, my jaw tight. Killian was grinning.

"What?" I snapped.

"You're in 'Serious CEO' mode again, Jace. It’s depressing."

"Should I be dancing while I look for the person trying to assassinate my career?" I shot back, my voice low and dangerous.

A sharp knock saved Killian from a more creative insult.

"Come in," I commanded.

Winston stepped inside, his shoulders slumped in a way that told me everything I needed to know. He stopped in front of my desk, looking like a man facing a firing squad.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Blackwood," Winston murmured. "I’m sorry, sir. We failed again. Ms. Cross refused to even listen to the proposal."

I closed my eyes, a slow, hot tension coiling in my gut. "She’s really testing me."

"Sir?"

"Prepare the car for tomorrow morning," I said, my voice dropping an octave. "We’re going to her house. If she won't come to the king, the king goes to her. I’m done playing games."

Winston nodded quickly and retreated. Killian sat bolt upright, his playfulness vanishing.

"You’re going to her house? Personally?" Killian asked, eyebrows climbing. "You’re moving fast."

"I have to. I need her signed and ready by the end of the week. She’s coming with me to Rafa’s birthday gala."

Killian’s jaw dropped. "What? Are you insane?"

"I didn't have a choice," I growled, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Jasper, Rafa, and Grandpa practically cornered me. They’ve heard rumors about her, and they’re demanding to see the woman who finally caught my eye."

Killian stood up, walking over to lean against my desk. The humor was gone from his eyes. "I have a bad feeling about this, Jace. You know what Grandpa Benedict is going to do the moment he sees you two together."

"Marriage," I whispered. The word felt like a trap.

Killian snapped his fingers. "Bingo. You’re walking into a cage, my friend. If you bring her to that party, the old man will have a ring on her finger before the cake is cut."

"I'll handle it," I said, though the conviction in my voice wavered.

My phone buzzed, vibrating against the wood. The caller ID made my stomach tighten. Grandpa.

"Yes, Lo?" I answered.

"Jace, are you busy?" His voice sounded strained.

"Why? Is everything okay?"

"It’s your mother. She’s sick, but she’s being stubborn again. She’s trying to leave the house to run errands and won't listen to a word I say. She only listens to you."

I let out a long, heavy exhale. My mother was the only person who could break my schedule without a fight. "Fine. I’m coming home now."

"Good. Drive safely, grandson."

I hung up and stood, grabbing my blazer. "Winston!" I called out.

The door flew open instantly. "Yes, sir?"

I shoved the final stack of documents across the mahogany desk. "Hand these to Sharlene. I’m heading out. If anyone calls, tell them I’m dead to the world unless the building is literally on fire."

Winston nodded, his movements efficient and silent. I stood up, sliding into my tailored suit jacket. The silk lining felt cool against my skin, a sharp contrast to the heat simmering under my collar. I looked at Killian, who was still lounging with that infuriatingly relaxed posture.

"Move. You’re coming with me."

He didn't ask questions. He knew the tone. We moved through the lobby, my two shadows in black suits flanking us with military precision. The moment we hit the curb, the door to the black SUV swung open. I didn't have to say a word. My driver caught my eye in the rearview mirror, saw the tension in the set of my jaw, and pulled away from the curb. He knew the destination.

The estate.

My mother was spiraling again. The alcohol had become her only language lately, a slow-motion car crash I was forced to watch every single day. I’d warned her. I’d pleaded. But Gwyneth Blackwood only listened when I bared my teeth. It wasn't a side of myself I liked showing her, but it was the only thing that kept her from drowning.

She wasn't insane. She was just broken, a hollowed-out version of the woman who used to tuck me in. She wasn't violent, but her grief was a weapon that drew blood from everyone who loved her.

The car hadn't even fully stopped before I was out the door. I strode through the foyer, my boots echoing against the marble like distant thunder.

"Grandpa," I called out, my voice tight.

I found him outside her bedroom. The sound of muffled sobbing vibrated through the wood. Two maids stood there, looking helpless and terrified.

"Talk to her, Jace," my grandfather said, his face etched with a weariness that made him look a decade older. "She won't stop. She’s demanding to leave, and she can barely stand."

I flicked my hand, a silent command for the maids to vanish. They scrambled away instantly. I pushed the door open. The room smelled of expensive perfume and the sharp, sour tang of gin.

"Mom," I said.

She didn't look up from the edge of the bed. Her shoulders shook with jagged, ugly breaths.

"Mom."

Nothing. Just the sound of her falling apart.

"Mother!"

The roar of my voice finally cracked the air. She flinched, her head snapping up, her eyes bloodshot and unfocused.

"Jace..." she whispered, her voice a ghost of itself.

Before I could speak, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around my waist and burying her face in my stomach. She was trembling so hard I could feel it through my ribs. "I need to get out, Jace. Please. I can't stay in this house anymore. It’s too quiet. It’s too loud. I just need to leave."

I sighed, the anger draining out of me and leaving only a hollow ache. I ran a hand over her hair, smoothing the stray strands back. "You're sick, Mom. You aren't going anywhere until you can walk a straight line. Rest. Get your strength back. Do you think Dad would want to see you like this?"

The mention of my father acted like a physical blow. She went still, her grip loosening. "Okay," she breathed. "Okay."

I reached for the sedative on the nightstand and handed it to her. Her hands shook as she took the pill, the water glass clicking against her teeth as she drank. I waited until she slid under the covers, her eyes fluttering shut as the medication took hold.

I backed out of the room, closing the door with a soft click. Killian was leaning against the opposite wall, watching me.

"She only listens to you," he murmured.

We headed downstairs in silence, the atmosphere in the house thick and suffocating. We reached the kitchen, and I poured myself a glass of water, downing it in one go.

"Jace," Grandpa said, leaning against the kitchen island. "Are you still refusing to consider the clinic? She needs professional help, hijo."

I gripped the edge of the counter, my knuckles turning white. "I’m not ready for that. We talked about this."

"I'm not trying to push you," Grandpa replied softly, reaching for a piece of fruit. "But look at her. Look at Gwyneth. She isn't the woman your father loved anymore. If she gets worse, we might lose her entirely."

Killian stepped forward, his expression uncharacteristically grave. "I hate to agree with the old man, Jace, but he’s right. You’re keeping her in a gilded cage, thinking you can protect her. You’ve got guards on her twenty-four-seven, but you’re just watching her rot. You need to do the right thing and get her back to—"

"Are you calling my mother a lost cause, Killian?" I turned on him, my eyes flashing with a cold, predatory light.

"That’s not what I meant, and you know it," Killian snapped, holding his ground.

"Shut the hell up. Both of you," I hissed. "If you don't have anything useful to say, get out of my house. I’m done listening to your opinions on my family."

I didn't wait for a reply. I stormed up the stairs, my blood boiling. I needed air. I needed silence. But as I reached my bedroom door, a small figure was waiting.

"Jace..."

Jasper. My little sister looked small, her eyes wide with the same fear I saw in my mother’s.

"Come in," I said, my voice softening just a fraction.

She followed me inside and sat on the edge of my bed. I sat beside her, pulling her into a half-hug, my arm heavy over her shoulders.

"Are you really going to send her away?" she whispered. "I thought we had more time."

I leaned my head back, staring at the ceiling. "She’s getting worse, Jasper. I don't want to, but the people at the facility... they know how to fix a heart that’s broken like hers. They can bring her back to us."

Jasper leaned her head on my shoulder, her voice trembling. "When?"

"I don't know," I admitted, the truth tasting like ash. "I'm not ready. You aren't ready. We'll wait."

"I wish Dad was here," she choked out.

I squeezed her hand, my heart feeling like it was being crushed in a vice. "I know. God, I know."

We sat there in the dim light, two orphans in a massive house, mourning a woman who was still breathing in the room down the hall.

A sharp knock at the door broke the silence. Killian’s voice drifted through the wood, cautious this time. "Am I interrupting?"

I looked at Jasper and gave her a small nudge. "Go check on Mom for me. Make sure she’s still sleeping."

Jasper slipped out of the room without another word. The door had barely clicked shut before Killian was in my space, his hands raised in a peace offering.

"Look, Jace, I didn't mean to—"

"I know," I cut him off, the fire in my blood cooling into a dull, heavy ache. "I know what you meant. I just lost my grip. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, realizing I might have to be the one to lock my own mother away."

Killian stepped forward, clapping a firm hand on my shoulder. His gaze was steady, grounding me. "Don't bury yourself in the pressure. If you aren't ready, you aren't ready. Just don't let the idea die. This isn't about punishment; it’s about getting Gwyneth back."

He squeezed my shoulder once more before turning for the door. When it closed, the silence that rushed back into the room was deafening.

I dropped onto the edge of my bed, burying my face in my hands. I wanted her in a facility—I knew she needed the structure and the medical eyes on her twenty-four-seven. She was doing things that bordered on insanity lately, but every time I reached for the phone to make the call, my heart failed me. Seeing her behind those clinical white walls, confined like a prisoner... it felt like a betrayal.

But then again, we’d been living in the shadow of my father’s death for years. We had tried everything to pull her out of the wreckage of that day, but she refused to be saved.

I remembered the last time she truly lost it. She had gone on a rampage, shattering every piece of crystal and porcelain in the east wing. We had stood there, frozen, watching her destroy her own life in slow motion. I was the only one she’d eventually listen to, but even my influence was beginning to wear thin.

Haver patience with her, Jace, my father’s voice echoed in the back of my mind. She’s always been a storm of moods. You have to be the anchor.

He wasn't lying. She was the most temperamental woman I’d ever known. Her drinking had accelerated the decay, bringing on fevers and tremors that left her bedridden for days. She drank like a man drowning his demons, four nights a week, until she simply couldn't pour another glass.

I had to decide, and I had to do it soon, before she slipped too far. But there was another fire I had to put out first: Haven Cross.

I needed that girl. My deadline was bleeding out, and Sebastian’s birthday gala was looming like a threat. I couldn't afford for this week to end without her signature on a contract and her body on my arm.

The thought of the party sent a fresh wave of anxiety through me. My mother had a history of ruining celebrations. She’d decimated Jasper’s debut, turned Grandpa’s birthday into a scene of grief, and made my own birthday a memory I’d rather burn. It was why I’d banned parties in this house.

I looked at the closed door, thinking of her sleeping down the hall. I could never tie her down or lock her in her room like some Victorian tragedy. I wasn't that kind of son. I wasn't a monster.

If I was going to lose her, I’d do it the right way. I’d put her in the hands of the best doctors money could buy.