Beneath the Billionaire Mask - Chapter 4: Chapter 4

He built an empire on secrets.
Elena had seen it now. Not just the curated image the world admired Adrian Blackwood, philanthropic billionaire and stoic genius but the glimpse behind the curtain. A low voice in the shadows. A masked exchange at a masquerade gala. Words laced with danger: “retribution fund”… “Vale”… “untraceable.”
She shouldn’t have heard them.
She shouldn’t still be thinking about them at 7:45 a.m., riding a glass elevator through the spine of Blackwood Global, staring at her own reflection and wondering which part of her would give her away first.
Her eyes, maybe. They’d always been too honest.
He hid behind a mask.
She was hiding too but her mask was thinner. Press credentials. Polite curiosity. A charming smile that didn’t quite reach her nerves.
But Adrian? Adrian’s mask wasn’t for show. It was a wall fortified by silence, power, and something darker than either of those things.
She remembered how his gaze sliced across the ballroom last night like a scalpel, as if he felt her watching even from the shadows. No sign of the man who toasted charities and handed out million-dollar grants. Just something… colder. Sharper.
Darker.
The elevator doors opened with a soft ding, revealing the top floor his domain. Her pulse skittered. This was no longer a game of bylines and scoops. This was something else. Something that could end her career or worse, expose the fragile truth she hadn’t dared admit out loud.
She came for the truth.
But now she was starting to fear it.
“Elena Cruz,” his assistant greeted as she approached the reception desk, all steel professionalism and blood-red lipstick. “Mr. Blackwood will see you now.”
Of course he would. He always saw her coming.
Elena stepped inside Adrian’s office, every nerve taut, every breath calculated. The space was as immaculate and imposing as the man himself floor-to-ceiling windows framing the Manhattan skyline, clean lines of steel and obsidian, and silence so pristine it dared you to speak first.
Adrian didn’t look up right away.
He stood at the window, broad shoulders framed by the rising sun, his hands clasped behind his back like a king surveying his kingdom or a prisoner waiting to be judged.
“You’re early,” he said finally, voice like dark velvet. Controlled. Lethal.
“I was told punctuality is admired,” she replied, forcing a smile.
He turned.
And for a moment, Elena forgot every lie she’d rehearsed.
Adrian Blackwood’s eyes were unreadable—as if sculpted from stone, yet flickering with something far more dangerous beneath. Last night, she’d seen a crack in that stone. A flash of vulnerability. Or was it threat?
She couldn’t tell anymore.
He gestured to the chair across from his sleek black desk. “Sit.”
She did. Carefully.
Adrian remained standing, gaze sweeping her face with surgical precision. “I understand you’re interested in the foundation’s rehabilitation programs.”
“I am,” she said, matching his calm. “Especially the unlisted ones.”
His brow ticked, barely noticeable but there.
“Elena,” he said slowly, “do you often ask your hosts about things that don’t appear on their public records?”
“Only when the omissions are louder than the press releases,” she said evenly.
A beat of silence.
Then—a smile. But it wasn’t warmth. It was challenge.
“I admire your curiosity,” he said. “But let me offer some advice.”
She didn’t move.
“In this building, asking the wrong question isn’t just impolite.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “It’s dangerous.”
Elena’s breath caught.
But she didn’t flinch.
“You fund re-entry programs,” she said. “Legal support for whistleblowers. Anonymous aid for victims whose abusers ‘mysteriously disappear.’ I could write a dozen pieces on your philanthropy and still not scratch the surface.”
“Then maybe you’re looking in the wrong place.”
“Or the right one,” she countered. “Just too closely.”
His eyes darkened.
And for a second, something flickered across his face—something raw. Anger? No. Recognition. As if he saw something in her he hadn’t expected. Or feared he might.
“You think you know who I am, Ms. Cruz?” he asked softly.
“No,” she admitted. “But I know what it looks like when someone hides behind a story. I do it too.”
A pause.
Then he laughed. Quiet. Dangerous.
“You’re bold. I’ll give you that.”
Elena stood. “And you’re not nearly as invisible as you think, Mr. Blackwood.”
Their eyes locked.
For one searing moment, the room felt too small for the weight between them.
She turned to go, heartbeat hammering in her throat.
“Elena,” he said before she reached the door.
She froze.
“Be careful where you walk in the dark,” he said. “Not every mask is meant to be removed.”
Be careful where you walk in the dark,” he said. “Not every mask is meant to be removed.”
Elena turned her head slightly, just enough for him to see the curve of her profile, the flicker of defiance in her gaze. “That sounds like a warning.”
“It is.”
She faced him fully now. “I thought you admired curiosity.”
“I do,” Adrian said. “Until it becomes recklessness.”
Her fingers tightened around the handle of her bag. The part of her that wanted to retreat to regroup, to run was quickly silenced by the fire that had driven her this far. She hadn’t come all this way to be scared off by smooth threats and ice-laced charm.
“Maybe I like reckless,” she said quietly.
A ghost of something amusement? respect?passed across his face, but vanished just as fast.
“You’re not the first person to think that,” he said. “Most of them regretted it.”
Elena didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. Their silence was speaking loud enough.
He watched her with that same unflinching focus, as if cataloging every micro-expression she couldn’t hide. The urge to break the moment to breathe, to blink, to move scratched at her skin like static.
Instead, she straightened her spine.
“I’ll send you a list of programs I’d like to shadow,” she said. “I assume you won’t deny me access.”
Adrian arched an eyebrow. “And if I do?”
Elena’s lips curved faintly. “Then I’ll find another way in. You already know that.”
There it was again that flicker in his expression. Something dangerous and darkly amused. Like a man who’d found his opponent more intriguing than he’d expected.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Ms. Cruz.”
“No,” she said as she reached for the door. “I’m playing yours.”
This time, he let her leave.
But she could feel the heat of his stare even as the door clicked shut behind her.
Outside His Office
Moments Later
Elena walked briskly down the corridor, willing her knees not to shake. Her skin buzzed like static, her thoughts tangling in a web of adrenaline, fascination, and fear.
Adrian Blackwood was dangerous.
Not just because of what he might be hiding but because of what he made her feel.
No one had ever unnerved her so completely. He didn’t just see her he dissected her. Not with cruelty, but with clarity. And that was somehow worse.
Back at her temporary workspace in the foundation’s media office, Elena dropped into a chair and opened her laptop. She had files to sift through. Patterns to trace. But her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Her mind was still in his office.
Still in that look.
Still in those words: Not every mask is meant to be removed.
A quiet knock pulled her back.
Julia’s voice came through her earpiece a moment later. “Tell me you didn’t just poke the Blackwood bear.”
Elena blinked. “How?”
“I’ve been watching the livestream footage from your hallway. You marched into the lion’s den and walked out like you were carrying his secrets in your pocket. What happened?”
Elena hesitated. Then: “I think I’m getting closer.”
“To what?”
“To him.”
Silence crackled over the line.
“Elena…” Julia’s voice softened. “Just remember what’s at stake here. You came to take down a story, not fall into it.”
Elena swallowed. “I know. But this isn’t just a story anymore.”
“It’s your reputation. Your job. Maybe even your life.”
And that was the problem.
Because deep down, beneath the adrenaline and ambition, a whisper was starting to form in her chest quiet but undeniable.
It wasn’t just her reputation on the line anymore.
It was her heart.
She stared at the blinking cursor on her laptop screen, but all she could see was him.
Adrian Blackwood untouchable, unreadable, and far more dangerous than she’d prepared for.
She had come hunting a story.
But now… now she wasn’t sure if she was still the one holding the pen or if she’d become just another name inside his.
There was something in his eyes she couldn’t stop thinking about. Not just secrets. Not just power. Pain. Real and raw, buried under a thousand layers of armor. It pulled at something inside her she didn’t want to name.
Because the closer she got, the harder it became to tell where her pursuit for truth ended…
And where he began.
She was supposed to expose him.
So why did it feel like he was the one seeing right through her?