That night, Thomas didn't settle and couldn't sleep until very late, as he continued his study of Ross's won.
He made notes—tis of day they were alone, places they visited without Ross, nas of friends who could be turned or watched. Patterns. Vulnerabilities. Entry points.
Charm one. Distract another. Befriend the quiet one. Seduce the boldest.
It was all strategy. All manipulation.
But as his fingers moved over the keyboard, as he compiled a plan so intricate it could pass as poetry, there was a brief pause in Thomas's heart. A flicker.
A mory. A ti when he wasn't a weapon—just a man who wanted to love and be loved.
That ti was long gone.
He shut the thought down and opened the secure communication channel on his device.
SSAGE TO HQ – ENCRYPTED
Target research complete. Entry strategy underway. Proceeding with soft contact phase.
—Casanova
He closed the laptop with a quiet click and let the silence of the room wrap around him once more.
Tomorrow, he would begin. And one of Ross Oakley's precious won would be the first to et him.
But which one?
He smiled to himself.
"Let's see who's the easiest to fall," he whispered.
***
One week later, Thomas was finally ready to set his plan into motion.
After days of careful observation and strategic planning, he'd studied Ross's won in depth.
He didn't go near the wives who already had children—there were four of them now: Althea, Mari, Stephany, and Penny.
All four had given birth within the past few years, and Thomas knew Ross was more possessive of them than ever and vice versa.
They were, in his eyes, marked and untouchable—for now. Thomas wasn't reckless.
He was calculating.
He understood that the key to dismantling a man like Ross wasn't brute force, but precision.
So instead, Thomas turned his attention to soone different. Soone who had a past.
A woman with a history of infidelity, one who had once strayed in a mont of weakness—and Ross had snatched her up early, long before he beca the larger-than-life figure he was now.
She wasn't just a pretty face—she had power, status, and perhaps... lingering temptation.
Dressed in a sharp, charcoal-gray business suit that hugged his massive fra, Thomas looked every bit the part of a corporate alpha.
His suit was tailored to perfection, the lines crisp, the fabric expensive.
His tie was blood-red—a subtle ssage, a silent threat.
He adjusted the cufflinks on his sleeves as he strode confidently into the grand lobby of the skyscraper, his polished leather shoes tapping rhythmically against the marble floor.
The building itself scread wealth and power.
Sleek glass walls, minimalist decor, and a quiet hum of professionalism hung in the air like perfu.
Without a word, Thomas approached the elevator and pressed the button.
He didn't need to ask for directions. He already knew exactly where he was going.
As the elevator rose higher and higher, the numbers ticking up on the digital display, Thomas took a mont to smooth down his lapels and glance at his reflection in the mirror-like surface of the elevator doors.
Piercing blue eyes stared back at him—cold, calculating, and dangerously charismatic.
His jawline was sharp, his features symtrical, almost too perfect.
At six foot five, Thomas was a towering figure of raw, masculine power.
Even in a business suit, his muscles were impossible to miss.
He was a man built like a soldier, but dressed like a CEO. Intimidating. Seductive. Deadly.
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chi, revealing a tastefully decorated hallway lined with frosted glass offices and elegant lighting.
Thomas stepped out, his heavy footsteps muffled by the plush carpeting beneath him.
Heads turned as he walked past—mostly won—each one caught off guard by his commanding presence.
Conversations slowed, eyes widened, and for a split second, the whole floor seed to pause.
He arrived at his destination—a large double-door office with a silver plaque that read Ivory Fashion and Accessories. Before he could even say anything, one of the secretaries stood up abruptly and approached him showing competence and training.
"Mr. Jones?" she asked, slightly breathless. "Mrs. Oakley is expecting you. Please follow ."
She tried to maintain a professional tone, but her eyes betrayed her.
They flicked up and down his fra, lingering far too long on his broad chest, his powerful arms, the confident set of his shoulders.
She tried to hide the way her cheeks flushed, the way her breathing subtly quickened.
But Thomas noticed. He always noticed.
"Thank you," he said smoothly, his voice deep and velvety, like silk wrapped in thunder.
The woman nearly stumbled on her heels.
It wasn't just his looks—it was the way he carried himself, the way his voice wrapped around you like a lover's touch.
Every word he spoke felt like it was ant for you and you alone. It was overwhelming, disarming.
Dangerous.
As she led him through the office, past a row of glass-walled conference rooms and elegantly dressed staff, more eyes followed.
Murmurs spread behind cupped hands. Who was this man? What did he want with Mrs. Oakley?
Thomas didn't care. Let them stare. Let them wonder.
He had co here for a reason.
And behind the next door… was the first piece of Ross Oakley's empire he planned to destroy.
Thomas stepped into the office, and the doors behind him shut with a quiet, almost reverent click.
The sound echoed faintly in the quiet room, sealing him inside a space that exuded quiet power and grace.
At first glance, the room was elegant—tastefully furnished with dark woods and warm earth tones, the walls lined with frad degrees and minimalist art.
A large window behind the desk flooded the space with golden afternoon light, casting soft shadows across the floor.
But Thomas wasn't paying attention to any of that.
What hit him first wasn't the sight of the woman sitting at the desk, though she was undeniably beautiful, her head bowed as she focused on a stack of papers.
No—what struck him was the scent.
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