Slade’s POV

I wasn’t used to waking up alone.

I’d grown out of casual flings a long time ago, but even in the rare moments when I did let a woman into my space, they were usually still around in the morning — wrapped in sheets, pretending there was something deeper between us, waiting for a goodbye kiss that never came.

But she was different.

She’d vanished.

No goodbye, no trace… just the ghost of her perfume on my sheets and a damn note that didn’t sit right in my chest with a single twenty-dollar bill tucked beneath it.

‘You weren’t as good as I expected. Should have just kept drinking instead.’

I’d stared at that letter longer than I cared to admit. Not because it hurt. Not because it bruised my ego. But because for the first time in years, I wanted to know more.

She hadn’t asked my name. I hadn’t asked hers. It was reckless. Filthy. Desperate. But it had been real.

And I don’t get real very often.

I tightened the cufflinks on my sleeves as I moved around my penthouse. The walls were glass and steel — a perfect reflection of the man I’d become. Cold. Measured. Focused. No distractions.

Until last night.

Until her.

She came into my life like a car crash — sudden, loud, and impossible to ignore.

I picked up my phone and called Sebastian, my assistant.

He answered immediately. “Mr. Lace.”

“I need something,” I said, walking to the bar and pouring myself a black coffee. “The woman from last night.”

A pause. “The one you left the suite with?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t catch her name?”

“She left me a note. That’s all I’ve got.”

Sebastian didn’t ask questions. He knew better. “Do you want me to run the security feed from the bar?”

“I want everything. Her name, her face, her story. I want it by noon.”

“Understood.”

I hung up.

The note still sat beside the empty glass on the nightstand, folded now but mocking all the same. I didn’t want to admit it but it had brushed something I rarely let get touched — my pride.

I’d had woman walk away. I’d never had one walk away like that.

By the time I stepped into my office hours later, the file was waiting on my desk.

I picked it up and flipped through it slowly.

Her image was the first thing I saw. A candid shot of her walking out of the hotel , heels in her hand, eyes red, dress wrinkled. Still devastatingly beautiful.

Name: Allison Axel-Lace. Age: 23. Former student of South Heights College.

Married?

I frowned and read further. According to the assistant’s compiled background, she had been secretly married for four years to Jayden Lace.

My nephew.

Jayden — the same spoiled little prince who’d been raised with silver in his mouth and poison in his smile. The same boy who now sat in my chair, pretending to be the CEO of a company he didn’t build.

I clenched the file tighter and flipped the page.

Four years married. No public announcement. No wedding photos. No press releases.

A secret marriage? That sounded exactly like something Jayden would orchestrate — hiding his wife while parading around women in front of the cameras.

So that’s why she was so broken last night.

She wasn’t just some jilted party crasher like the headlines had painted her to be.

I tossed the file on the desk and crossed to the window.

The city looked the same as when I left it — bright, dirty, hungry. But everything beneath the surface had shifted. While I was gone, Jayden had gotten bold. Not just with women, but with my company.

It started subtly — a few unauthorized board votes here, a couple of internal financial restructures there. My name was still on the foundation, but his was starting to creep into contracts that were never supposed to be his.

I hadn’t planned to come back so suddenly. But yesterday, just hours before I stepped into that bar, one of my overseas partners flagged a transfer buried deep in our internal systems. A major transfer with Jayden’s name and signature on it. My nephew. Signing off assets that didn’t belong to him, trying to reroute Slade Corps holdings into his own name like he was already king.

That was enough to bring me back. That was enough to end my silence.

I returned to the file and scanned the last few pages.

Media coverage summary:

‘Billionaire Jayden Lace and fiancée Cecilia Kords were the center of attention at the annual city gala…’

‘A mysterious woman interrupted the celebration claiming a relationship with Mr. Lace. Sources say she appeared unstable…’

‘Mr. Lace quickly clarified that she was a “jealous side chick”…’

Side chick?

I set the folder down.

No one knew she was his wife. Not even the press. She’d been erased so thoroughly that the media just swallowed Jayden’s lie without a second glance.

But I knew.

And now that I did — now that I understood exactly what kind of hell Jayden had dragged her through — I couldn’t unsee the way her voice shook when she asked me to break her. How her lips trembled even as she smiled and dared me to ruin her.

She wasn’t looking for pleasure.

I poured myself a drink and took a slow sip. The bitterness matched the thoughts forming in my head.

She had no idea who I was. That the man she had fallen into bed with was her ex-husband’s uncle. The irony would’ve made me laugh if it didn’t twist so deliciously in my gut.

Jayden played dirty. But I played better.

And if Allison thought I was just a mistake made in the haze of grief, she was in for a very rude awakening.

I tapped my fingers on the desk and grabbed my phone again.

“Sebastian.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Arrange a meeting with Ms. Axel.”

“She may be difficult to track now. Reports say she left her residence and hasn’t returned.”

“She’ll come to me,” I said coolly. “Eventually.”

“And when she does?”

I stared out at the skyline, already imagining the look on Jayden’s face when he found out what I was planning.

“Tell Legal to draft a new contract,” I said. “I want it clean, binding, one-year term. Make sure the compensation is enough to tempt someone who’s just lost everything.”

“Marriage contract?”

“Yes,” I said. “Tell them I’m getting married.”

“To Allison Axel?”

My lips curved.

“No,” I said slowly. “To Allison Lace.”