The Billionaire's Intern (Maya Thompson) novel Chapter 324

Claim

Inside the grand living room of the Blackwood estate, the faint clinking of porcelain cups filled the quiet. The scent of freshly steeped jasmine tea mingled with the crisp undertone of polished wood and old books-a timeless blend that spoke of tradition and quiet power.

At the center sat Eleanor Blackwood, the family’s formidable matriarch, her silver hair swept neatly into a chignon that defied her years. Even seated, she exuded the kind of quiet authority that could command a boardroom-or silence an entire dinner table with a single look. Across from her, Charles Blackwood lounged in his armchair, half-hidden behind a folded newspaper he’d long

since stopped reading.

Eleanor’s sharp gaze flicked toward the tall antique clock near the fireplace, its rhythmic ticking now an irritation rather than comfort.

Her fingers drummed once against her teacup before she spoke.

“They should have been here ten minutes ago,” she said crisply, though a note of anticipation slipped through her tone. “What’s taking them so long?”

Charles didn’t look up, though the corner of his mouth twitched in faint amusement. “They’re coming from the pier, my dear. Not everyone drives like you’re late for a royal summons.”

Eleanor shot him a look over the rim of her cup. “When one invites guests for tea, one should arrive

before the tea turns cold.”

“Ah,” he drawled, finally folding the newspaper with deliberate slowness. “So this isn’t about the tea, then. You’re just impatient to meet the girl.”

Her chin lifted ever so slightly. “Impatient implies a lack of composure.”

“Mm.” Charles’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Then perhaps we’ll call it… curiosity?”

Eleanor’s lips curved, though she hid it quickly behind her cup. “She’s the Lockwood girl, Charles.

I’m entitled to a little curiosity. Her mother was remarkable.”

“Remarkable and stubborn,” he reminded her, leaning back with a soft chuckle. “If the daughter’s

anything like her, Damien will have his hands full.” He hesitated then, his tone softening as a hint of

worry crept into his expression. “But from what I’ve heard, she didn’t grow up living like a Lockwood. That poor girl’s been through far too much for someone her age.”

Eleanor stilled, her hand resting lightly on the rim of her cup. The faintest sigh escaped her. “That’s what worries me,” she admitted quietly. “She’s walking into a world she was never raised for. The

expectations, the name, the attention that comes with it… What if it’s too much for her?”

15

OOG

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