The moment he saw me, his breath hitched, his body convulsing as the stench of urine filled the air. "Don't—don't—" he whimpered, his voice breaking into a high-pitched wail. "Take me away from him! Take me away! AAAAAAAA—!"

I chuckled, low and dark, the sound crawling through the air like a curse. My gaze flicked to Max, who stood panting, his chest heaving from the effort. "What is your name?" I asked, my voice calm, almost conversational.

"S-Sir," he stammered, his voice shaking. "My name is Max."

"You did a good job, Max," I said, my tone carrying the weight of a promise.

Max's eyes widened as he took the blade, his fingers trembling around the handle. "T-Thank you, sir," he managed, his voice thick with awe.

I turned my attention back to Tyler, who was still shrieking, his body jerking as if he were trying to crawl out of his own skin. "Look at you," I said, my voice dripping with amusement as I stepped closer to the bed.

"Just like your father. Pissing yourself in fear." I crouched down, my face level with his, my smile razor-sharp. "Did you really think you'd get away with what you did? Did you think there wouldn't be consequences?"

Tyler's breath came in ragged gasps, his eyes rolling in his skull. "P-Please—" he begged, his voice cracking. "I didn't know— I didn't mean to—"

"You didn't mean to?" I repeated, my voice a velvet purr. "That's not what Angela says." I glanced over my shoulder at her, where she stood beside me, her expression unreadable. "Isn't that right, Angela?"

She stepped forward, her voice cold as ice. "He knew exactly what he was doing," she said, her eyes locked on Tyler, who was now sobbing uncontrollably. "He took my husband from me. He took my daughter's father. And he laughed while he did it."

Tyler's body convulsed, his hands clawing at the sheets. "No—no, I didn't."

I stood abruptly, cutting him off with a sharp gesture. "Orders," I said, my voice dripping with disdain. "That's your excuse?" I leaned over him, my shadow swallowing him whole."

Tyler's scream tore through the air, raw and desperate, as I reached for him. But I didn't kill him. Not yet. "Max," I said, my voice calm, "take him inside. Chain him up in the room. I want him to watch while we take everything his family ever had."

Max nodded, grabbing the bed and dragging it toward the mansion's entrance. Tyler's wails echoed through the courtyard, a sound of pure, unfiltered terror.

Angela stepped up beside me, her voice quiet but steady. "What are you going to do with him?"

I turned to her, my expression unreadable. "I'm going to make sure he understands the cost of his actions," I said, my voice a dark promise. "And then? Then I'm going to let you decide his fate."

She met my gaze, her eyes burning with a mix of vengeance and something darker—something that mirrored the storm inside me. "I want him to suffer," she said, her voice trembling with fury. "Like I suffered. Like my daughters suffered."

I reached out, my hand cupping Angela's face, my thumb brushing over her cheekbone with a possessive tenderness. "Then he will," I promised, my voice a dark caress. "And when he's nothing but a broken, begging shell of a man, you'll be the one to end him."

Angela didn't look away. She didn't flinch. She simply nodded, her jaw set with determination, her eyes burning with a fire that matched my own. "Good," she whispered, her voice trembling with barely contained fury. "Because I'm not done with him yet."

The soldiers around us—Walter's former men—stood frozen, their faces pale as they took in the sight of Walter's severed head and Tyler's pathetic, trembling form.

Fear rippled through them like a current, their breaths shallow, their hands shaking. I turned to them, my voice a thunderous command that cut through the silence.

"From now on, you will listen to Angela's orders," I snarled, my gaze sweeping over them like a blade. "If there is any betrayal, I will kill you all. Slowly. Painfully. And I will make sure you beg for death before I grant it."

The security team at the mansion had no choice. The gates creaked open, the heavy doors swinging wide as we stepped inside. The air was thick with the scent of wealth—polished wood, expensive leather, the faintest hint of cigar smoke. But beneath it all was something else. Something erotic.

A woman stood in the center of the grand foyer, her arms crossed, her hips swaying slightly as she eyed us with a mix of curiosity and defiance. She was in her fifties, but damn—she didn't look it. Her body was a sinful masterpiece, the kind that made men forget their own names. Her curves were obscene—full, heavy tits straining against the thin, silk blouse she wore, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin.

The buttons were undone just enough to tease, the swell of her cleavage spilling out, her nipples pressing against the material in a way that was impossible to ignore. Her waist was narrow, her hips wide and lush, her ass so round and full it made my fingers twitch with the urge to grip it. The tight, black pencil skirt she wore hugged every inch of her, the fabric so snug it left nothing to the imagination.

And then there were her legs—fuck. Long, toned, encased in sheer black stockings that disappeared beneath the hem of her skirt. Her heels were tall, sharp, the kind that could leave marks if she wanted them to. Her hair was a cascade of blonde waves, thick and lustrous, tumbling over her shoulders like liquid gold. She looked like sin given flesh—like a woman who knew exactly what she did to men and loved it.

"Who are you guys?" she purred, her voice husky, her lips painted a deep, dangerous red. She uncrossed her arms, letting her hands rest on her hips, pushing her tits out just a little more, as if she knew exactly what she was doing to us.

Max cleared his throat, his face flushing as he averted his gaze. "S-Sir," he stammered, "this is Walter's wife."

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