Chapter 168 The Wrong Target

Chapter 168 The Wrong Target
The leather seat creaked as Lord Morris leaned closer, his cold fingers tapping against her jawline.

"Every report on my desk called the Cross heiress a loud, defiant brat," Morris said, his voice flat. "Yet here you sit, quiet as a mouse."

The woman forced her breath to stay even beneath the dark silk dress.

A sharp wave of relief washed over her chest. He hadn't noticed a single flaw in her disguise, her makeup, or the structure of her cheekbones. She had feared he saw through the trick, but his suspicion was only about her quiet demeanor.

"Should I scream and kick the car door open instead, Lord Morris?" she asked, tilting her chin up to meet his stare. "Would you prefer a bride who throws tantrums?"

"No," Morris replied, pulling his hand away and resting it on his knee. "I like this much better."

He turned his gaze toward the tinted side window.

"Staying quiet is good for your health," Morris added, his tone dropping into a cold rhythm. "The last three women who shouted in my house didn't enjoy where it led. They learned their place the hard way."

She kept her hands folded in her lap, feeling the chill behind his words. She knew what happened to his previous wives, and she had no intention of testing his temper while trapped in his car.

The heavy armored sedan slowed down, turning off the main road and passing through two massive wrought-iron gates.

A sprawling stone estate loomed at the end of the private driveway, surrounded by ten-foot concrete walls and high security cameras mounted along the perimeter.

The car stopped in front of the main entrance stairs.

A guard pulled the passenger door open, and Morris stepped out onto the paved drive. He didn't wait. He reached inside, grabbed her forearm, and pulled her out onto her feet.

"Keep up," Morris told her, leading her up the stone steps toward the front doors. "I don't like repeating myself."

Two armed men in black tactical gear pulled the heavy doors open, bowing their heads as Morris walked past.

They entered a vast, modern foyer lined with gray marble and glass dividers.

Quick footsteps clicked against the stone floor.

A woman in a sharp gray business suit rushed out of a side office, holding a digital tablet and a paper folder.

"Lord Morris," the assistant said, stopping three paces away.

Morris stopped, not letting go of the woman's arm. "What is it?"

"We have an issue with the debt collection in Zenith City," the assistant reported, tapping the screen of her tablet.

Morris frowned, his grip tightening slightly. "Which account?"

"The eighty-million-dollar commercial loan issued to Marcus Quinn," she answered.

"Why is an eighty-million-dollar debt bothering me today?" Morris asked, his tone irritated. "Send our collectors to seize his assets and take the keys to his properties."

"Marcus Quinn fled the province days ago, sir," the assistant said. "Our field team tracked the file to his cousin's office in Zenith City this morning."

"Did they collect the cash?"

"No, sir," the assistant said, her voice dropping. "Our team was driven out of the building."

Morris stared at her, his eyebrows pulling down into a hard line.

"What do you mean, driven out?" Morris demanded.

"The cousin's husband stepped in," the assistant explained, checking her notes. "He assaulted our team leader in the lobby. He shattered his jaw with one punch, broke two of his teeth, and threw the rest of the crew into the stairwell."

The foyer went completely quiet.

Morris turned his full attention to the assistant, letting go of the woman's arm.

"A local nobody in a small city laid hands on my men?" Morris asked, his voice low and dangerous. "He struck a Black Diamond enforcer?"

"Yes, sir," the assistant said. "He told our crew that if they ever return to that building, they won't leave on their feet. He threatened our entire firm."

Morris let out a dry, harsh scoff.

"Call our legal team right now," Morris ordered, his jaw set. "Tell them to file an emergency freeze on every bank account linked to that business."

"We looked into that, sir," the assistant said, shaking her head. "It won't hold up in court."

Morris's eyes narrowed into slits. "Why not?"

"Marcus forged his cousin's signature on the guarantor forms," she replied. "Sarah Quinn never signed the loan agreement, and she never met our brokers. If our lawyers take this before a judge, the case gets dismissed immediately."

"Then draft a penalty claim for one hundred and sixty million dollars," Morris said, his voice turning cold. "Double the balance and slap it with asset damages. I don't care if the paper was forged. Her family owes Black Diamond Holdings, and she'll pay for every broken tooth."

"The courts will still block the asset seizure without her valid signature, Lord Morris," the assistant insisted. "We have zero legal standing to touch her corporate funds."

Morris stood in the middle of the foyer, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides.

"Then forget the courts," Morris growled, his face darkening with rage. "I don't need a judge's permission to collect what belongs to my family."

He turned toward the front entrance, where four armed guards stood near the glass doors.

"Get two trucks from our private compound," Morris commanded, his voice echoing off the high ceiling. "Send twelve men south to Zenith City tonight."

The assistant nodded, preparing to write the order down on her tablet.

"Tell them to break into her office," Morris continued, his eyes cold and ruthless. "Drag that woman and her husband into an alley, break every bone in their legs, and take whatever cash is in their vaults."

He paused, his mouth twisting into a cruel sneer.

"If they still refuse to pay," Morris added, "put a bullet in both of them and burn the building to the ground."

Behind him, the woman in the dark silk dress froze.

The names hit her ears like a physical blow. Sarah Quinn. Marcus Quinn. Zenith City.

The agency had trained her on every detail of the Cross family's recent history before sending her into this house. She knew who lived in Zenith City. She knew who had broken into the Cross research basement and dismantled their entire security grid in seconds.

She knew the man who had terrified the late Cross Patriarch to his grave.

A sharp knot of terror twisted in her chest.

If Morris sent twelve armed thugs to touch that woman's office, he wouldn't just lose his men. He would drag the monster straight to this doorstep.

She stepped forward before the assistant could turn away.

"Don't do that, Lord Morris," the woman said, her voice clear and firm in the quiet foyer.

Morris stopped, slowly turning his head to look back at her.

The assistant blinked in surprise, staring at the bride who dared to interrupt.

"What did you just say?" Morris asked, his tone dropping to a freezing whisper.

The woman met his cold glare without flinching.

"I'm telling you to leave those people alone," she said, her eyes steady. "You don't want to mess with that man."