Zade watched her until the elevator doors closed, swallowing her from sight. Only then did he turn away, sliding back into his car. He didn't drive off immediately—his hands gripped the steering wheel, his jaw locked tight. That brief encounter had left his mind on a leash he didn't want to pull.
Other than coming to drag his runaway bride back into his world, he had another matter to settle—one that was long overdue.
Zade wasn't only the man behind glittering hotels and sprawling casinos. His power stretched far deeper, far darker. He was also just as popular in the underworld —loan shark to the powerful. Politicians, business moguls. They all owed him something. And tonight, one particular client needed to pay up.
The drive was silent, save for the low hum of the engine. Soon, the streets shifted from the chaos of the city to the clean, manicured wealth of an exclusive estate.
Zade slowed as he approached a tall iron gate guarded by two men in black. When they saw him, their expressions shifted almost imperceptibly. Respect. Wariness. A silent acknowledgment of who he was.
One of them stepped forward. "Mr. Anderson." His voice carried the careful politeness of a man who knew the wrong tone could cost him dearly. "What brings you here?"
Zade leaned back in his seat, his eyes as unreadable as dark glass. "I'm here to see your boss."
The men exchanged glances. The tallest of them cleared his throat. "Unfortunately, he's not in right now."
A low chuckle rumbled from Zade, humorless and sharp. He tilted his head, studying them like a predator deciding whether to pounce. "Open the gates, or I'll drive through them and send your boss the repair bill—on top of what he already owes me."
They hesitated, but only for a breath. Zade's gaze had weight—too heavy to bear for long. The gates groaned open.
He knew they had lied. He had tracked the bastard here himself. The man was inside, no doubt tangled up in the sheets of the woman he was cheating on his wife with. Zade's mouth curved into a smile that didn't touch his eyes. Bastard could barely keep one woman happy let alone go for two.
The tires whispered against the smooth stone driveway as he pulled into the property. The house was beautiful in the way money often makes things beautiful—grand, symmetrical, a testament to its owner's ego. But the colors were muted, the walls too plain. Zade couldn't help picturing how it might look under his name, should the owner fail to pay.
He stepped out of his car with the slow, deliberate calm of a man who knew his arrival would not go unnoticed. Craig owed him—and Zade had no intention of leaving until he collected. He knew the moment he closed his door that Craig had already been alerted; the man's paranoia worked like clockwork.
The front door opened almost immediately after he knocked. Standing there was a woman far too young—to be wrapped up with a man like Craig. A smile spread across her face, lazy and teasing, though it didn't reach her eyes.
Her small silk nightdress left little to the imagination, clinging to her curves in a way that was entirely deliberate. Her hair was an unbrushed mess, the kind that could've been from sleep or something far more intimate.
"Good morning," she greeted, her voice soft and almost playful.
"I'm here for Craig," Zade replied, his gaze steady. "Would you be a doll and let him know he has a guest?"
Her lips curled just slightly, but she stepped back and swung the door wider, allowing him in. "Sure," she said, her bare feet padding against the wooden floor as she moved toward the staircase.
Zade entered without hesitation, as though he owned the place, his dark gaze sweeping over the space in silent assessment. After a few seconds, he could hear Craig's irritated voice as he talked to the girl.
"Andrea," Craig's voice snapped from the upper landing. "What have I told you about answering the door looking like that?"
"What?" she replied, clearly unfazed. "It's morning. I just woke up. Who cares?"
"I care," Craig bit out. "Go put something decent on."
She laughed lightly, the sound intentionally provocative. "You're always so uptight."
"I'm serious, Andrea. Go change. And stop acting like a damn whore."
Zade smirked faintly where he sat, listening to every word. Being a werewolf came with perks—heightened hearing being one of them—and he had no trouble catching each sharp exchange. It amused him how Craig tried to scold the girl into submission, when her defiance rolled off her in waves.
After moments where his patience was about to snap, the man finally appeared at the top of the staircase, adjusting the cuffs of his crisp, charcoal suit. His smile was polished, his steps unhurried, as though Zade's presence in his home was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
"Zade, what an unexpected surprise," Craig said, voice smooth, but his eyes tight.
Zade's answering smile was razor-sharp, the kind that cut deeper the longer you looked at it. "Yeah, I am also just as surprised because I had expected you to have paid me up about a month ago."
"So, where's the money?" Zade asked without bothering with pleasantries.
Craig straightened his suit jacket as if that would somehow give him more ground to stand on. "My product is already out on the market," he said, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm expecting a payout this week, and I give you my word—you'll have every cent by the next weekend."
Zade's lips curved in something that might have been called a smile if it wasn't so drenched in mockery. A low, humorless scoff slipped from him, and he tilted his head just slightly, studying Craig like a man watching a mouse try to talk its way out of a trap.
"You're a month overdue," Zade said, "That's the longest leash I've ever given anyone… and I don't run my business like that." His tone was calm, but the threat beneath it was cold and undeniable. "Here's how this is going to work: I'll send my lawyer to take this house off your hands. If you want it back, you can buy it back—at ten percent more than what it's worth to me."
He took a step closer, "And Craig," he added, his voice dropping into something quieter, "don't even think about sending your little lapdogs after me. I enjoy breathing far too much to let some desperate fool take that away."