Chapter Four

Saturday Morning (Greg’s POV)

“Good morning, Dad,” I greeted as I grabbed a chair opposite my mom’s.

My dad stared at me with authority mixed with disgust. He didn’t reply. The silence in the room was heavy, the kind that makes you feel like you’re being weighed and measured. I knew what was coming.

“Why weren’t you home last night?” he asked, his voice sharp and controlled. “Don’t tell me you worked late because I already called and you weren’t there.”

I knew better than to lie. He had already checked. He always did. I wasn’t stupid enough to think I could get away with that.

“I had a really long day and needed to clear my head over some drinks, so I booked a hotel for the night,” I said.

He scoffed. “You couldn’t clear your head at home? This is a mansion. Everything you need is here — a whole bar and countless rooms. And you chose a hotel?”

“I needed a different environment,” I replied, keeping my voice steady as I moved to dish some sandwiches for myself. The heat in the room was rising, not because of the weather, but because of the tension.

My dad stared at me, but I kept my gaze on the food. I didn’t want to look into his eyes. He could read me if I did.

My mom sat in silence until I asked, “Mom, would you like a sandwich?”

“Yes, son. Just one,” she said. “Put two on your dad’s plate. He enjoys Aunty Farrah’s sandwiches.”

I knew that, but it was mom’s way of involving him in the conversation. She was trying to keep things normal, like nothing was wrong. I obeyed and served my parents their sandwiches, filling their coffee cups as requested.

We started breakfast in awkward silence, and I knew my dad would break it soon. He always did.

“Greg, have you closed the deal with Potter’s Firm yet?” he asked.

Potter’s Firm had been our biggest competitor for years. We were supposed to seal a deal that would change everything. It was the biggest deal the Hale Empire had seen. This wasn’t just business — it was legacy.

I knew the question would come. I wasn’t sure if I had the right answer.

“No, sir. We’re still running background checks. We’ve set up meetings with their board. The first is on Monday…”

My dad’s eyes narrowed.

“Greg Hale,” he said angrily, dropping his sandwich on the plate. “I didn’t build this empire to this point to listen to stories and plans. By the time I ask again, I need execution and results.”

His tone was cold. He didn’t speak like a father. He spoke like a CEO.

With my dad, there were no negotiations. He gave instructions. You carried them out. Failure wasn’t an option. Not for him. Not for me.

I knew the week ahead would be long. I needed survival — the club, again.

My mom stared at me as if she could read my thoughts. She probably could. She always knew when something was wrong with me. But she didn’t say anything. She didn’t defend me. She didn’t argue with him.

Breakfast continued in silence with a bit of tension in the air. Thankfully, Aunty Farrah made the best sandwiches, so there was a mix of sweet in the equation. Her food always softened the sharp edges of the day.

We ended breakfast, and I could breathe again. It was easy to avoid my dad all day, but he always got me at the dining table or summoned me when he needed to. His presence followed me like a shadow. No matter where I went, he was there.

I headed to my room and took a long nap. I obviously hadn’t slept well the previous night. My body was tired, but my mind wasn’t. My thoughts were still spinning, still replaying the previous night in my head.

I kept thinking about the club. The noise. The lights. The faces. The feeling of being in control.

The clock on the wall read 5:35 p.m. when I woke up.

I was shocked at how much sleep I’d gotten, but relieved. The day had passed, and I could head to the club soon. The club was my escape, my therapy, my addiction. It was where I felt most alive. Where I felt like I had power again.

I went to my study, opened my laptop, and began handling emails. Monday was going to be intense, so I wanted to get ahead. I needed to keep my focus. I needed to keep my mind busy. Anything to avoid thinking.

After a while, Aunty Farrah knocked and entered.

“Good evening, Mr. Greg. Coffee or tea?”

Aunty Farrah knew me well. She knew when I was stressed, when I was angry, when I was tired. But this time, I needed something stronger to prepare for the night.

“Whiskey with lime,” I replied.

She gave me a suspicious look. “Right away, sir. I’ll have someone get it.”

Soon, a maid delivered my drink.

I sat in the study, drinking and working for about four hours without disturbance. I was focused, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the club. I kept thinking about what tonight would bring.

I felt tired but active, thanks to the alcohol. I told Bret to get the car ready.

I got dressed in a plain-colored T-shirt and trousers, sprayed cologne, and headed to the elevator.

“Good evening, sir,” Bret greeted as I stepped in.

Bret drove me to the club. He didn’t need to ask.

He dropped me off, handed me the keys, and left.

This had been my routine for years. I thought I’d get bored or tired at some point, but it didn’t look like that was going to happen. I always looked forward to what each night would bring.

I got right into the club, very much focused on why I was here. I ordered a few glasses of whiskey and let the loud music fill the air as I drank.

The club wasn’t usually a space for people of my status, at least not as frequently as I came, but somehow I’d found solace, peace, and survival here.

It was quite a risk on my end, but I believed it was worth the risk. For what it was worth, I always felt better during and after the club. It was an escape from reality, and that was why I decided to own one. At least I knew I could always access what was mine.

The night was getting more interesting with some strippers dancing around me, but I hadn’t seen anything that interested me. I just enjoyed the view while sipping my glasses of whiskey slowly because I knew better than getting drunk.

It took a while, but I finally saw something different. Something unique.

A lady in a red dress.

People didn’t come to my club dressed up because my mission was to undress — and the faster, the better.

She looked stunning, though. Blonde-haired, graceful, slightly curved, and so beautiful in red. But she didn’t look like she was used to the game. She looked like she didn’t belong there.

She looked like someone who had walked into the wrong world.

I spent a few more hours studying her. This could be my catch today, I thought to myself.

I watched her movements. The way she shifted in her seat. The way she looked around, trying to find something familiar. The way she tried to blend in, but failed.

She looked like she was trying to hide her fear behind confidence.

I watched as she ordered drinks, took shots, and tried to act like she belonged.

But I could see the truth.

She was broken.

She was trying to heal.

And that was exactly what I needed.

Something to take my mind off my dad.

Something to take my mind off the deal.

Something to take my mind off the pressure.

I needed her.

I needed someone who would let me release my anger.

Someone who would let me be the man I was.

Someone who would let me be in control.