Getting Him Hooked: Mr. Freeman’s Indifferent Sinner Wife

DOMINIC’S POV

My footsteps echoed through their pathetic excuse of a home as I stormed in, my jaw clenched so tight I could feel a vein pulsing in my temple. The air reeked of desperation and fear—exactly what I expected from someone who owed my family money.

"Jimmy Pierce." I didn't ask. I stated his name like the verdict it was.

The man who stumbled forward looked nothing like the confident businessman who'd approached my father six months ago. His eyes darted around the room like a cornered animal, hands trembling as he attempted to straighten his wrinkled shirt.

"Mr. Blackwood... I wasn't expecting you today." His voice cracked. Pathetic.

I raised an eyebrow, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably before responding. "That was rather the point. My father sends his regards." I pulled out the ledger from my jacket pocket, tossing it onto their coffee table. "And his bill."

This debt is long overdue, and I'm not leaving without something of value. These people are beneath me, but business is business.

Jimmy grabbed the paper with shaking hands, his face draining of color as he read the figure. His wife hovered nervously in the doorway, her knuckles white as she gripped the wooden frame.

"There must be some mistake," Jimmy stammered. "This is twice what I borrowed. The interest—"

"Is exactly what you agreed to," I cut him off. "You knew the terms when you signed."

"Please, Mr. Blackwood." Jimmy took a step toward me, hands outstretched in supplication. "I can offer you something else—a partnership in my new venture. It's going to be big, I swear. Just give me another month and—"

The crack of my fist connecting with his jaw echoed through the room. He crumpled to his knees, blood trickling from his split lip.

"I don't negotiate." I towered over him, adjusting my cufflinks. "And I certainly don't enter partnerships with men who can't honor their debts."

His wife rushed forward with a strangled cry. "Please don't hurt him! We'll find a way to pay, I promise!"

They're both on their knees now. Good. They should know their place.

"You had six months," I said, my voice dangerously soft. "My father was generous. I am not."

My gaze drifted around their living room—cheap furniture, faded carpet, nothing of value except... My attention caught on a silver-framed photograph on the mantel. I stepped toward it, ignoring their continued pleas.

The girl in the photo was stunning—raven hair cascading over one shoulder, eyes that seemed to challenge the camera, a slight curve to her lips that wasn't quite a smile. Something twisted in my chest as I picked up the frame.

"Who is this?" I demanded, not taking my eyes off her image.

The silence that followed was heavy with tension. I looked back to find Jimmy and his wife exchanging a panicked glance.

"That's our daughter," Jimmy finally answered, his voice tight. "Antalya."

"Antalya," I repeated, testing the name on my tongue. It tasted exotic. Intriguing.

A plan began forming in my mind—one that would satisfy the debt and give me something far more valuable than money.

I strongly feel that she is my mate. I was looking for her for years; finally, I found her.

"Where is she now?" I asked, turning the frame in my hands.

"She's at university," her mother blurted out. "Please leave her out of this. She knows nothing about the loan."

I smiled then, and watched them both flinch. "I think I've found my payment."

"No!" Jimmy struggled to his feet. "Take the house, take everything we own, but not our daughter!"

I signaled to Marco, my enforcer who'd been silently watching from the doorway. "Break his leg."

"Wait!" Jimmy cried out. "Please, Mr. Blackwood! She's innocent in all this!"

"Should have thought about consequences before you borrowed money you couldn't repay." I shrugged, unmoved by his tears. "One broken leg seems merciful, considering your debt."

The sickening crack that followed, accompanied by Jimmy's scream, didn't faze me. I was still staring at Antalya's photograph, memorizing every detail of her face.

"Have your daughter at my estate tomorrow," I instructed her mother, who was sobbing over her husband's crumpled form. "She'll work off your debt."

"What kind of work?" she asked fearfully.

I smiled. "That's between me and Antalya."

Before leaving, I crouched beside Jimmy, who was moaning in pain. "If you try to run, if you warn her, if you do any nuisance—I'll know. And next time, I won't be so merciful."

Outside, I breathed in the cool evening air, feeling strangely alive. The photograph pressed against my chest in my suit pocket, and I could almost feel her heartbeat matching mine.

"Soon," I whispered to myself, a promise and a vow. Antalya Andrews would be mine, no matter what it took.