Shattered Dynasty

This—me as her controller—is mercy. Jaxson Price would destroy her identity. Cyrus Reed would ruin her financially, reputationally, and mentally. My other friends and clients? They’d just not bother with the effort and kill her outright.

If she had to pick a ruthless bastard to piss off, she’s lucky it’s me. She’s still breathing. I won’t go as far as ending her life. Not my style.

See, Dad. Take notes: Some of us have scruples.

That doesn’t mean I’m opposed to introducing a heavy dose of fear into her life.

I stand from my chair, pushing it back. The wood scrapes against the floor.

Another five minutes have passed, and she’s out a total of thirty grand at this point. A drop in the water when you consider the twenty-two-million-dollar pot. But if this continues, she’ll be bankrupt before she turns twenty-fucking-two.

I am dead set on ruining her day and possibly her life. First, she needs to know the money she has happily spent all these years is blood money.

Would she even care?

I exit my office, walking down the hallway in large strides.

Another minute.

Another two grand out the door.

I continue until I’m in front of her room. I lift my hand to knock but decide against it.

One, this is my house. I don’t need to knock to enter my room.

Two, she was supposed to be in my office seventeen minutes ago.

Three, I don’t owe her a damn thing.

I fling the door open.

As soon as I do, a scream rings out through the air. My eyes immediately pivot to the entry points, taking inventory of potential threats.

Windows, empty.

Vents, intact.

The amusement is hard to smother, so I don’t bother, letting my lips tip up when I realize I’m the threat.

Payton is standing in the middle of the room.

Right in front of me.

Mouth open.

Eyes wide.

Then I look down and see why she is screaming.

Her brown locks are pitch-black now. The strands cling to her skin.

Her hair is wet.

My gaze travels farther down her body over her exposed skin. She’s standing in front of me in a towel.

It does little to hide her. Although, it’s wrapped tightly, glued to her body. Her cleavage spills out of the edge. Little droplets of water caress the swells.

She showered, and I barged in.

For the third time, I note that she’s gorgeous.

Three times too many.

“Do you mind?” she hisses at me. “I’m trying to get dressed!”

I lean against the doorframe, kicking one foot in front of the other. “Seeing as you can’t seem to bring yourself to show up to our appointment, I can’t seem to bring myself to give a fuck about what you’re wearing.” My eyes lower, one brow lifted. “Or, in this case, not wearing.”

“Get out!”

“No.”

“I can’t get dressed if you’re in the room.” She’s clearly angry, and that just makes me want to fuck with her more.

“You don’t need to be dressed for what I’m going to tell you.”

I let my words hang in the air until I see her scowl deepen, shoulders visibly shaking with rage. She takes a step toward me, remembers her situation, and eases back, tightening the towel around her chest.

“But first . . .” I trail off, lifting my phone and making a show of typing something in it. “You were seventeen minutes late. At two grand a minute, that’s thirty-four thousand dollars I’ll have to garnish from your inheritance.” I tsk, pretending to be saddened by the idea. “It’s only fair. But you should know, if you keep this up, there will be no money left to inherit.”

“What the fuck!”

She starts for me, reaching for my phone. It brings her body against mine. Her bare thigh slips between my legs as she lunges up for the phone, which I hold above my head. I’m almost a foot taller. She’ll never win.

But damn, does she try.

And damn, do I enjoy it.

“You can’t do this!” she cries out.

“Who’s going to stop me?” I raise a brow, staring down my nose at her. “You?” I laugh. Loud and in her face.

“Two thousand dollars a minute! That’s insane.” She’s seething.

Her eyes shutter before she takes several calming breaths, pushing her chest against mine with each inhale. She moves to step back before realizing her towel has slipped. It puts her in a precarious situation where she’s using my body to shield hers from me.

Glare heavy on my face, she reaches between us to adjust her towel. The back of her hand presses against my chest. There’s no helping it. There’s no helping the fact that I’m hard as a fucking rock, either.

This is not what I had planned when I moved her in here.

Not even close.

If anything, it’s an inconvenience I’ll have to overcome. Because I have no intention of letting her leave. Not until I get my revenge.

“Are you done with your tantrum?” I ask after she finally steps back. “Because there are more stipulations to cover, and you’re eating up quite a bit of my time.” I pause. “And your money.” The way I say “your” implies I think it’s anything but.