Chapter3 Hidden Motives: The CEO's Master Plan

Ethan’s POV

I carefully slid out of bed, making sure not to disturb her. Amanda Davis lay there, her dark hair spilled across my pillows, chest still rising and falling with shallow breaths. When my phone lit up, I silently padded to the balcony, knowing Chris would be chomping at the bit to dissect my latest "conquest."

"Little early to be busting my balls, cousin," I muttered, taking a long sip of scotch as I stepped onto the balcony. The morning air was crisp against my face, but it did nothing to cool my thoughts.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Ethan!" Chris ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, "You're the goddamn CEO of Blackwood Group - the most feared man in corporate America! And you're playing what... some cheap gigolo for Amanda Davis?"

"Keep your voice down," I growled, my fingers tightening around the crystal tumbler. A dangerous smile played at my lips as I added, "This little case of mistaken identity? It's perfect. She'll let her guard down, share daddy's secrets, never suspecting she's having dinner with the man who's systematically destroying her family's company."

"Christ," Chris slumped against the railing, looking at me like I'd grown a second head. "You usually just send in the lawyers and crush them. Since when did you start playing these twisted mind games?"

Actually, I've had my guys tailing Amanda Davis - daddy's little princess at Davis Group. Every damn coffee run, lunch meeting, shopping spree - we've got it all mapped out. So yeah, when she walked into Blue Diamond tonight, I was just waiting for my chance. But her mistaking me for a fucking escort? Jesus Christ. If she had any clue who I really was...

Hell, the Blackwood name isn't just a name - it's a fucking dynasty. My great-grandfather started with one small factory during the Depression, turned it into a gold mine while everyone else was jumping out of windows. Each generation since has doubled down, played harder, hit faster. Now? We're everywhere - and I mean everywhere.

Want to launch a tech startup? Better kiss our ring first. Looking to develop prime real estate? Guess who owns half the permits in town. Energy crisis? Please - we saw that coming years ago and bought up all the alternative energy patents. Defense contracts? Let's just say we've got friends in very high places.

Every major player in the game wants a piece of us. The phone never stops ringing with partnership offers, merger proposals, investment opportunities. But we're selective as hell - Blackwood Group doesn't play with just anyone. You gotta bring something special to the table.

Sure, there are other big fish out there. Marcus Rothschild's empire in the West, the Smith Corporation pushing from Asia, and that cocky bastard James Sterling trying to muscle in on the East Coast. They've all got teeth, all got billions to throw around. But none of them have what we have - four generations of knowing where the bodies are buried, knowing which palms to grease, which threats to take seriously.

People think it's just about money. Fuck no. It's about power - raw, pure power. The kind that makes presidents pause before making decisions, the kind that can reshape entire industries overnight. That's the Blackwood way. We don't just operate in this world - we own it, dictate the terms, and rewrite the playbook whenever we damn well please.

And now I'm at the helm. Youngest CEO in our history, and already making waves that have the old guard clutching their pearls. They call me ruthless, a shark, a cold-blooded predator. They're not wrong. But in this world, being nice gets you exactly nowhere. Just ask all the "nice" companies we've swallowed whole over the years.

Looking at my reflection in my whiskey glass, I can't help but smirk. Sure, I've got the looks that could land me on any magazine cover - tall, dark, dangerous. The kind of face that makes women forget their names. But a male escort? That's rich.

But this isn't about my wounded ego. It's about that snake Marcus Rothschild quietly feeding cash into Davis Group for the past decade. Not enough to raise eyebrows, but steady, calculated moves. That smug prick's been a pain in my ass since he tried to snatch one of my companies five years back.

Davis Group? They're nothing. Outdated tech, mediocre performance, leadership that couldn't find their ass with both hands. So why does Rothschild keep them afloat? What's he hiding? There's something in those books, something worth protecting, and I'm gonna find it.

I've been squeezing them dry - blocking deals, stealing their best people, shorting their stock until it's worth toilet paper. Amanda's old man is running around like a headless chicken looking for investors. But I've slammed every door shut. Brutal? Maybe. But this is the jungle, baby - eat or be eaten.

And now here's Amanda, practically gift-wrapped and delivered to my doorstep, thinking I'm some hired stud. Watching her across the bar, all curves and chaos in that tight black dress, those big innocent eyes that have no idea what's coming... Fuck, the universe must be having a good laugh.

But maybe I can work with this. Get close, play the part, make her spill daddy's secrets. People get sloppy when they're desperate. Or when they think they're in love.

Should I feel guilty? Probably. But watching her bite that plump lower lip, all I feel is the rush of the hunt. This is just business. Nothing personal.

Right. Keep telling yourself that, Blackwood. Your conscience is laughing its ass off right now.