THE HIDDEN CROWN

Chapter 2: Shadows of the Past

Clara Hastings sat in the dimly lit corner of her favorite café, her laptop glowing softly as she typed furiously. The article she was working on was meant to expose corruption within the city’s political elite, a story that had been months in the making. But tonight, her focus wavered, her thoughts drifting to the enigmatic Victor Blackwood.

Victor had been a mystery she hadn’t intended to unravel. He was the city’s most elusive billionaire, known for his immense wealth and influence but guarded in a way that intrigued her. In her line of work, Clara had encountered plenty of powerful men, but none had captivated her like Victor. There was something about him—something dark, dangerous, and deeply hidden.

Her investigation into The Order of the Dawn had been a separate project, one rooted in whispers of secret societies and urban legends. She had stumbled upon the name while researching an entirely different story, and her curiosity had led her down a rabbit hole of ancient conspiracies and supernatural lore. The more she dug, the more she found connections between The Order and various influential figures, including Victor Blackwood.

She paused, staring at the screen, the cursor blinking impatiently. The dossier she had found—one that Victor didn’t know she had—sat in her bag, heavy with secrets. It contained a century’s worth of history on Blackwood Industries, with gaps and inconsistencies that suggested there was much more beneath the surface. The dates didn’t add up, the names changed too frequently, and there were too many loose ends for her to ignore.

Clara had been on the verge of confronting Victor when she had been captured by The Order’s agents. They had interrogated her, searching for information she didn’t have—or at least, information she hadn’t intended to reveal. It was Victor who had saved her, appearing out of nowhere like a phantom, dispatching her captors with an efficiency that still haunted her.

After that night, her feelings for Victor had become a tangled web of fear, attraction, and suspicion. She couldn’t deny the magnetic pull he had over her, but she also couldn’t ignore the darkness that seemed to surround him.

Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen, expecting a message from her editor. Instead, it was a text from Victor:

Victor: We need to talk. Come to the tower tonight.

Clara’s heart skipped a beat. Victor’s messages were always brief, direct, but this one felt different. There was a sense of urgency she hadn’t seen before. She quickly saved her work and packed up her things, her mind racing with questions.

As she stepped out into the chilly night, the wind whipped through her hair, and she pulled her coat tighter around herself. The streets were quiet, the usual bustle of the city muted by the late hour. She hailed a cab and gave the driver the address to Blackwood Tower, her mind replaying every interaction she’d had with Victor since they first met.

By the time she arrived, the unease in her stomach had grown into a full-blown anxiety. The tower loomed above her, a monolith of glass and steel, reflecting the lights of the city. She hesitated at the entrance, a part of her questioning whether she should turn back. But she was too deep into this now—she had to see it through.

The elevator ride to the penthouse was silent, save for the soft hum of the machinery. When the doors opened, Victor was there, waiting for her. His presence filled the space, his expression unreadable as he gestured for her to enter.

“Clara,” he greeted, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down her spine. “Thank you for coming.”

“Victor,” she replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. “What’s going on? Why did you need to see me?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he led her to the sitting area, where a fire crackled in the hearth, casting warm shadows across the room. The contrast between the modern elegance of the penthouse and the ancient feel of the fire made her uneasy, as if she were stepping into a place where time didn’t quite behave as it should.

Victor handed her a glass of wine, which she accepted with a nod, though she didn’t drink. He sat across from her, his gaze intense, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

“I owe you an explanation,” Victor finally said, breaking the silence. “There are things you need to know—things that are dangerous for you to know, but necessary.”

Clara’s pulse quickened. “This is about The Order, isn’t it? And about you.”

“Yes,” he confirmed, his voice steady but heavy with the weight of a thousand years. “The Order of the Dawn has been a threat to my kind for centuries. They are closer now than they have ever been to discovering the truth.”

“And what truth is that?” Clara pressed, her journalist instincts flaring. “Who are you, Victor?”

He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine. “I am not what you think I am. I am not like other men, Clara. I am something much older… and much more dangerous.”

Before Clara could respond, the lights in the penthouse flickered, and a low hum filled the air. Victor’s expression shifted, his eyes narrowing as he stood abruptly. He moved to the window, scanning the city below, his body tense, alert.

“They’re here,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

“Who?” Clara asked, standing as well, the sense of danger palpable now.

“The Order,” Victor replied, turning back to her. “They’ve found us.”

As if on cue, the windows shattered, and masked figures clad in black stormed into the room, weapons drawn. Clara’s heart raced as she backed away, fear gripping her, but Victor moved with preternatural speed, his hand on her arm, pulling her close.

“Stay behind me,” he commanded, his voice firm.

The attackers didn’t hesitate. They lunged at Victor, but he was faster, stronger than any human. He moved like a shadow, disarming and disabling them with brutal efficiency. Clara watched in shock as Victor revealed his true nature, his eyes glowing with an unnatural light, his movements too swift to be human.

But even as he fought them off, more came, flooding into the penthouse from every direction. Clara’s panic rose as she realized they were outnumbered, and despite Victor’s formidable abilities, they were losing ground.

“Victor!” she shouted, her voice trembling with fear.

He glanced at her, his expression grim. “We need to leave. Now.”

Without waiting for a response, he pulled her towards the elevator, but one of the attackers blocked their path. Victor snarled, his fangs bared, and in a blur of motion, he dispatched the assailant. The elevator doors closed behind them just as the remaining attackers reached them.

As the elevator descended, Clara’s heart pounded in her chest, the reality of what she had just witnessed crashing down on her. Victor was no ordinary man—he was something far more terrifying.

When the doors finally opened on the ground floor, Victor led her out of the building and into a waiting car, his urgency palpable.

“Where are we going?” Clara asked, her voice shaky.

“To a place where they can’t find us,” Victor replied, his eyes still glowing with that eerie light. “You’re in danger now, Clara. And I’m the only one who can protect you.”

As the car sped through the city streets, Clara’s mind raced. The world she thought she knew had just been shattered, and the man she had been investigating was far more than she could have ever imagined.