Housebound with the Blackridge Heirs novel Chapter 2

**Change Begins With You — Jayden Collins**
**Chapter 2**

**Mava**

Right now, an overpriced hotel seemed like a five-star paradise.

“I come in peace,” I declared, my voice echoing slightly in the stark, unfamiliar space. I was desperate to survive this encounter, and I was also clutching paperwork that felt heavier than my duffle bag.

The first to react was a man who seemed to have been chiseled from darkness itself, embodying both shadow and expectation. He towered over me, broad-shouldered and exuding an aura of authority. His dark hair was slicked back with a ruthless precision that only added to his intimidating presence.

His gray eyes scrutinized me as if they had already cataloged every flaw I possessed, filing them away in some mental archive. The scar that ran through his eyebrow should have added a rugged charm, but instead, it lent him an air of coldness that was unsettling. And, to make matters worse, he was completely shirtless… Very, very shirtless.

I felt my gaze dart nervously from his sculpted abs to the ceiling and then to the floor, as if I had just stared directly into the sun. A wave of heat surged up my neck, coloring my cheeks, and I shifted my weight from my right leg to my left, praying he hadn’t noticed my embarrassment.

“Lost?” he inquired, his voice low and devoid of warmth.

“Placed,” I replied, raising the keycard as if it were a shield against his piercing gaze. “By Housing.”

He flicked his eyes from the card to my face, then to the duffle bag slung over my shoulder, and back again. There was no hint of a smile on his lips, just an unwavering intensity that felt almost cruel.

His gaze was clinical, dissecting me with a precision that made my shoulders tense as if I were being measured for something I wasn’t sure I wanted to wear. I could practically see the calculations whirring in his mind—subtle shifts in his jaw as he mentally sorted me into categories.

“We’re not a dorm,” he stated flatly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“So I hear,” I managed, swallowing hard as I shifted the weight of my bag to my other thigh. “And apparently, we’re also not a sorority.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I was met with three pairs of eyes, each reflecting varying degrees of disapproval and amusement. I hadn’t realized my voice had carried that far.

I cleared my throat, trying to regain my composure, but the dryness made it difficult.

Just then, the other man who had been casually shedding his apron leaned against the doorframe. His dark curls were tousled, and his bright blue eyes sparkled with mischief, the kind that promised trouble without remorse. When he grinned at me, the room seemed to brighten.

“Welcome to the fortress, sweetheart,” he said, his voice warm and inviting. “I’m Caden. He’s Ty.” He gestured toward the still glaring shirtless figure beside me. “Don’t mind the glower,” he added, his tone conspiratorial, yet loud enough for Ty to hear. “It’s chronic.”

Ty didn’t budge from his intense scrutiny. “Tylon,” he corrected, his voice steady but laced with an underlying tension. “And no.”

His words were clipped, as if he were on the verge of snapping, holding back a growl that threatened to escape. A small tick in his jaw indicated that this correction was non-negotiable.

“No what?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“No, you can’t stay.”

“Fun story,” I replied, forcing a bright, albeit entirely false, smile. “I actually don’t want to stay here. But if I don’t, I’ll be homeless. And I absolutely must be at the Comms & Policy internship building at eight a.m., bright-eyed and not smelling like a bus station. So unless Housing intends to bunk me in a filing cabinet—”

“Let me see the authorization,” Ty interrupted, his palm extended toward me, cutting off my rambling.

I handed over the memo, my heart racing as he scanned the details regarding temporary placement and capacity issues. He went rigid, the paper held steady in one hand, his shoulders squared as he scrutinized the document for loopholes. Whatever he read seemed to tighten his jaw, and he passed the card back to me with a terse expression.

“Temporary,” he stated flatly.

“Thrilling,” I replied, my sarcasm barely masking my anxiety.

A flicker of humor danced in his eyes. “Leonardo, but Leo for short,” he replied, a grin tugging at his lips. “Coffee is a strong argument.”

Ty’s gaze flicked between me and the ceiling, as if he were weighing the pros and cons of letting me stay versus tossing me out on my ear.

“I will take this up with the heads, but for now, house rules,” he finally said, his voice firm. “No parties without agreement. No guests without notice. No entering rooms that aren’t yours. No going downstairs after midnight.”

Caden glanced back, his expression playful. “That last one isn’t real.”

“It is now,” Ty shot back, his tone unyielding.

Leo leaned against the doorframe, hands tucked into his pockets, a casual observer in this tense exchange. “She’s clearly capable of handling herself. No one’s scared of your scowl, Ty.”

“She should be. She’s human,” Ty replied, his voice laced with a protective edge.

Silence hung in the air for a few moments, thick and uncomfortable. I noticed how Caden subtly edged closer to me, as if preparing to shield me from whatever Tylon might unleash next.

He didn’t crowd me, but his presence was reassuring, a steady warmth at my side that calmed my nerves more than anything else could.

But instead of escalating the situation, Tylon simply muttered, “Just remember the rules,” before walking away, leaving a tension that lingered in the air.

“Right,” Caden said after a beat, his tone lightening the mood. “That settles it. Sunroom it is.”

Rule number one: Don’t die.