He understands me.
Good.
He should know I’m watching.
They all should.
I may be friendly now, but that doesn't mean I won't gut them without thinking twice.
Hayden Herron
Present Day
The butler is a fucking idiot.
I land, expecting everything to be exactly as I left it. Controlled environment with her tiny ass seated in my mansion that could host hundreds. You would think that would be enough to satiate the spoiled brat. But the moment my car phone rings and I hear the overly polite tone of his voice, I know.
Something is wrong.
"Miss Huntington-Russell has stepped out for the evening," the butler says casually. As if he hasn't just fucked up the one thing I told him to do.
Stepped out, as if she had merely gone for a pleasant stroll in the gardens and not left her fucking prison of an estate.
Bullshit.
My fingers tighten around the phone. The butler had one job. One. Keep Martine exactly where I left her. And now she's just gone?
She worked him. I already know how. She tilted her head, widened those eyes, and softened her voice. Played at her innocence, as if she weren’t a manipulator at her core. And he, weak, spineless, pathetic, let her go.
I don't even need to ask where.
Archibald’s estate. The party. The only place she'd be reckless enough, arrogant enough, stupid enough to test me like this.
I inhale slowly, forcing my grip to loosen before I snap the phone in half. The driver watches me in the rearview mirror, silent, awaiting instructions. He's smart enough to sense that whatever was just said is sitting very poorly with me.
"We're not going home," I say, my voice deceptively even. "Take me to the Franklin Estate."
The driver nods, and the car pivots sharply.
I sit back, jaw clenched so tightly it aches.
She wanted this.
She wanted to be caught.
Fine. She's about to get exactly what she asked for.
The estate is already alive when I arrive. Golden light spills from the high windows, and music filters through the crisp night air. It's the kind of party where money, power, and recklessness blur together into a decadent haze.
Martine has no fucking business being here.
Not without me.
She has no idea how truly dangerous it is for her. Or worse, she does, and simply doesn't care.
The moment I step through the doors, the atmosphere shifts. People instinctively part in my path. The staff doesn't even consider stopping me.
I cut through the crowd, scanning the room.
