The Commander's Obsession for His Heiress

high ceilings of the living room. He dem

He leaned heavily on his silver-headed cane, his f

o panic in her eyes at being caught. There

et out a pathetic, wailing cry, trying t

apped the flat side of the tactical blade against Sera

reached out, trying to use his fatherly auth

head. She smoothly shifted her weight, dodging Ha

er her knuckles in a flawless, deadly blur. With

et of her leather jacket. She watched coldly as he

rds. He pointed a shaking finger at Jordan, accusin

te, behind the reinforced, bulletproof windows of a highly classified AEGIS

the Manhattan skyline

hair by the window. He wore a pure black

played the hacked, high-definition feed of the Whitley Manor's internal security

mouth. His deep eyes gleamed with the sharp, predat

ectly captured the way Jordan retracted that knife. I

ta instantly. That kind of muscle memory did not come

ed open. His deputy, Drew Foster, walked i

ion into the Brooklyn black-market

e a low hum of acknowledgment, his eyes st

e blurry figures moving inside the digital layout o

accusations. She fired back, mocking their hyp

s chest heaved as he warned her that if she ever tou

ughed out loud. The sound was dry and filled with

ed out a limitless black card. She t

e Persian rug and stopped right nex

nced that she never needed their charity, and w

nally lowered the tablet. He picked up a glass o

head and ordered Drew to run a full background check

never cared about spoiled heiresses. But Drew nodde

-