The Power I Always Wanted

The Power I Always Wanted
TRISTAN WOLFE

No one could know.

Not Hazel.

Not the board.

And especially not Victor.

I stood by the tall window of my office, the skyline of the city stretching before me like a lie dressed in glass and steel. People thought elevation meant purity. Power. A cleaner view. But all I saw were shadows — the same ones that had always followed men like Victor Voss.

I clenched my fists behind my back.

He was always a monster.

He just wore silk to hide the blood.

I knew it then, when I worked beside him as nothing more than a bodyguard. I watched him smile too easily. I watched his greed coil behind his eyes like a serpent waiting for the right moment. But back then, I was just muscle. A name with no weight. A man who could be ignored.

But now?
Now I carried the Voss name beside my own.

Now I had a seat at the table. A throne, even. And power... power changed everything.

There was a knock — two short, precise raps against the heavy door of my office. I didn’t turn.

“Come in,” I said, keeping my voice cold, composed.

The door opened, and the man stepped in exactly as I expected: plain black suit, wire behind his ear, no expression on his face. Not a corporate man — no. This one was used to moving without being seen.

“Mr. Wolfe,” he greeted with a slight nod. “I’m Agent Keane. Private Investigations. Discretion guaranteed.”

I turned to face him. “Did anyone see you come in?”

“Only the receptionist, and she believes I’m here for a background check on your new tech division.”

Good.

I gestured to the chair in front of my desk, but he remained standing. A professional through and through.

“I want Victor Voss followed. Monitored. I want everything — bank records, phone calls, offshore accounts, shell companies. I don’t care how long it takes or how much it costs.”

Keane didn’t blink. “Understood. Am I working through legal channels, or...?”

“Do what needs to be done. He’s clever. Slippery. You’ll find nothing through clean routes.”

“Then I assume I’m not to report any of this in writing.”

I stepped closer, voice dropping. “No reports. No paper trail. You speak to me. Only me.”

He nodded once. “What am I looking for exactly?”

The question hung in the air for a beat too long.

I thought of Hazel’s smile. Her trust. Her hand brushing mine this morning while we ate burnt toast and shared soft laughter.

She had no idea what I was doing.

No idea why I married her.

And I wouldn’t allow myself to feel anything about it.

“He’s hiding something,” I said finally, tone sharp. “Fraud, extortion... maybe worse. I just need a thread. Once I have it, I’ll pull the whole damn thing apart.”

Agent Keane adjusted his tie. “Understood. I’ll start tonight.”

He turned to leave, but before he reached the door, I stopped him.

“One more thing,” I said, voice lower now. Almost hoarse. “If it ever looks like Hazel is in danger because of him — I want to know immediately. Don’t let her get caught in the crossfire.”

Keane’s brow lifted, just slightly. “I thought she wasn’t supposed to know.”

“She isn’t,” I snapped. “Just... keep her safe.”

He nodded again and disappeared, as silently as he came.

When the door shut, I exhaled — a long breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My shoulders were tight. My jaw ached from how long I’d been clenching it.

This wasn’t about Hazel.

This was about justice.

Revenge.

Victor Voss took everything from people like me and left them bleeding in alleyways with no name.

He would learn what it felt like to be cornered.

To be nothing.

But still, my mind flickered back to her — her soft voice asking if I was okay, those wide eyes watching me over breakfast.

I scrubbed a hand over my face.

Don’t feel.

You can’t afford to.

You’re almost there, Tristan. Don’t let her undo you now.

The moment the door clicked shut behind the investigator, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

Victor Voss.

My fingers curled slowly into a fist, then relaxed again.

Victor always made sure to keep his hands clean. He didn’t need to raise his voice to have a man destroyed. He didn’t leave fingerprints. Just quiet whispers, silenced accounts, and power pressed down like a boot on someone’s neck. I’d always known he was dangerous. Not just to me—but to Hazel. To everything and everyone around him.

The problem? No one ever had proof.

The city stretched beyond the window in towering steel and smoke. Below, they all moved like ants — employees, clients, predators dressed as kings. I was one of them now. No longer the bodyguard in the corner. No longer the shadow at Hazel Voss’s side.
Now I stood beside her.

But it wasn’t the kind of partnership she thought it was. Not yet.

God, she didn’t deserve this.

The door opened softly behind me.

I didn’t need to turn to know it was her.

Her footsteps were quieter now — she didn’t walk like an heiress anymore, she walked like a woman trying to hold too much in her arms and not let any of it fall. She was learning the weight of this world. Too fast, too young.

“Hey…” Her voice was tired, frayed around the edges. “Your door was open.”

I turned.

Hazel looked like she’d just walked through a storm. Her heels were in her hand, her dark blue blazer clutched against her chest instead of worn. Her lipstick had faded, and her hair — usually flawless — was falling out of the bun she’d forced it into that morning.

“What happened?” I asked, moving toward her before I could stop myself. “Are you alright?”

“Client meeting,” she muttered. “Some old friend of my father’s who still thinks I’m twelve and barely knows how to read numbers.” She gave a half-hearted laugh. “I wanted to flip the entire conference table.”

I reached for her elbow, guiding her gently toward the couch. “Sit down. You look like you’re about to collapse.”

She didn’t resist. “I feel like I’m about to collapse.” She let herself sink into the couch, exhaling loudly. “God, is this what being CEO feels like? I thought this position came with power and private chefs. Not condescending smiles and backhanded compliments.”

I crouched in front of her, looking up at her face.

It still stunned me sometimes — how soft she could look when she was tired. Hazel was born in gold, raised in marble halls, dressed in expectation and duty. But here she was: barefoot, drained, human.

“You handled it,” I said quietly.

She nodded, almost reluctantly. “Barely.”

“You handled it,” I repeated. “That’s more than most could say. Your father… he may have run the company, but he never had to earn the respect you’re fighting for.”

She looked at me, her brows slightly drawn. “Why does it sound like you’re defending me?”

“Because I am.”