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The Commander's Obsession for His Heiress Novel Cover

The Commander's Obsession for His Heiress

After years away, I returned to the Whitley Manor for one thing: my dead mother’s ruby necklace. I found it clasped around the pale, undeserving neck of my father’s new, pregnant wife. But when I put a knife to her throat to take it back, my own family turned on me. My father and grandfather didn't see a daughter defending her mother's memory; they saw a street thug threatening their precious new heir. They accused me of shaming their name and threatened to cut me off completely. To break my will, my father let my younger brother get arrested, hoping I’d come crawling back. Then, they summoned me to the hospital for my grandmother's "heart attack," where my father raised his hand to strike me for simply speaking the truth. He screamed that I was a monster, a cold-blooded killer. The raw hatred in his eyes told me everything. I wasn't his daughter anymore; I was just an obstacle to his new, happy family, a ghost he desperately wanted to erase. After their final pathetic performance, I turned my back on them forever. The Whitley name and its blood-soaked money meant nothing to me. I thought I was walking away alone, but as the hospital elevator doors closed, my brother Julian forced his way in. He had finally seen their masks, and he chose to follow the monster.
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Chapter 4

4

Jordan's black motorcycle tore through the dark streets, blowing past two red lights. The tires shrieked as she took a sharp corner.

She aggressively parked the heavy bike sideways, right in the middle of the red no-parking zone outside the NYPD's 75th Precinct in Brooklyn.

Jordan yanked the keys out of the ignition. She pulled off her helmet and spoke into the built-in mic, demanding Miles give her the exact details.

Through the encrypted channel, Miles spoke fast. Julian had been arrested because he tried to cover for a local street punk named Cody during a brawl.

Hearing that her brother stuck his neck out for a gangbanger, Jordan cursed him for being an absolute idiot under her breath.

She locked her helmet to the bike and pushed open the heavy glass doors of the precinct. The stale smell of cheap coffee and harsh bleach hit her nose immediately.

The lobby was pure chaos. Prostitutes, drug dealers, and angry victims packed the waiting area, screaming over each other.

Jordan ignored the noise. She walked straight past the crowd and stopped in front of the bulletproof glass of the duty desk.

A fat, exhausted white cop was staring down at a stack of paperwork. He didn't even bother to look up.

Jordan curled her knuckles and knocked hard on the marble counter. Three sharp, echoing cracks.

The fat cop snapped his head up, his face red with annoyance. He opened his mouth to yell, but the dead, freezing look in Jordan's eyes forced the words back down his throat.

Her voice was like ice. She gave him Julian Whitley's name and demanded the bail paperwork immediately.

The cop typed lazily on his keyboard. A mocking smirk spread across his face as he told her this was an aggravated assault with a deadly weapon.

He turned the monitor around. He pointed a thick finger at the bright red "BAIL DENIED" stamp on the screen, stating the case had already been transferred to Major Crimes.

Jordan's eyes narrowed dangerously. Her tactical brain spun. A basic street fight didn't get kicked up to Major Crimes this fast.

She instantly realized someone was using this case to set a trap, or Julian had stumbled into something much darker.

Without changing her expression, Jordan slipped her hand into her jacket pocket. She blind-typed an SOS command to Miles, ordering him to hack the precinct's intranet.

On the surface, she played the part of the arrogant rich girl. She leaned closer to the glass and coldly asked the cop if he was just looking for a bribe.

The fat cop slammed his hands on the desk and stood up. He pointed at her, warning her that this was a police precinct, not her daddy's country club.

Their argument drew the attention of the room. Several officers stopped what they were doing and started walking toward the duty desk.

Jordan's mind went to work. She calculated exactly how many seconds it would take to physically drop these cops and break her brother out of the holding cells.

Just as her muscles tensed for violence, the heavy electronic lock on the precinct's inner security door buzzed loudly.

A tall man wearing a dark grey trench coat walked out. He was flanked by two senior detectives who looked terrified of him.

The man's footsteps were slow, steady, and heavy. His leather shoes clicked against the terrazzo floor with a rhythm that commanded absolute submission.

Jordan's survival instincts screamed at her. She instantly abandoned her plan to attack the cops and turned her head toward the new arrival.

She recognized the imposing build and the overwhelming, predatory aura immediately. It was the exact same mysterious silhouette she had spotted watching her from the high-rise window near the manor earlier that night.

Blake Berry's deep, dark eyes cut through the crowded room. His gaze landed perfectly on Jordan's aggressive, tense face.

A brief flash of surprise crossed his eyes, but it was quickly swallowed by a bottomless, unreadable calm.

The fat cop saw Blake and instantly paled. His arrogant face morphed into pure submission as he stood at attention and nervously greeted, "Commander Berry."

Blake walked up to the duty desk. He didn't look at the cop. His eyes stayed locked on Jordan as his deep, low voice cut through the noise. "Are you having some trouble here?"

---

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