The man I loved for eight years refused to marry me—then he married my older sister. Three years later,

The tension in the penthouse was thick enough to choke on. The red laser dots danced across Dante’s chest, but he didn't flinch. His posture remained relaxed, balanced, lethal.

"You think my father’s ledger is just sitting in a safe waiting for you to claim it," Dante said, his voice dripping with casual contempt. "Julian, you spent eight years married to a woman whose family you helped destroy, and you still don't understand how the Carter syndicate operates. We don't write things down."

Julian’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. His eyes darted past Dante to me. "Elena. Be a sensible girl for once in your miserable life. Put the gun down. You really think this monster cares about you? He’s using you to get to the remaining assets in Zurich. The moment he gets what he wants, he’ll drop you back into the gutter where I found you."

"Shut up, Julian," I said, stepping out from behind Dante’s shoulder, raising the Beretta with both hands, my aim locked dead on the center of his chest. My hands didn't even shake. "I lived in your house for three years. I watched you bleed my family dry, manipulate Victoria into a loveless marriage, and cover up the murder of my father. You talk about monsters? You’re looking in the mirror."

Julian’s face darkened, the aristocratic mask slipping to reveal the ruthless corporate predator underneath. "You ungrateful little bitch. I pulled you out of the wreckage of your father’s ruined estate. I gave you a name, a roof, protection—"

"You made me a prisoner," I spat back. "And the moment I found out you were the one who sold Lawrence out to the federal prosecutors, I ran."

Before Julian could raise his hand to signal his men, the penthouse windows facing the Thames shattered inward with an explosive roar.

Flashbangs rained through the broken glass, detonating in blinding flashes of white light and deafening concussive booms. Julian’s mercenaries screamed, clutching their ears and dropping to their knees as the room filled with smoke.

From the shattered glass facade, figures dropped in on rappel lines—Dante’s inner circle, led by a scarred giant named Viktor, who immediately opened fire with suppressed submachine guns, neutralizing Julian’s guards with clinical precision before they could recover.

"Move!" Dante yelled, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the panic room corridor.

Julian scrambled backward, coughing in the smoke, his face contorted in rage. "Kill them! Kill them all!" he shrieked, but Viktor’s boot slammed squarely into his chest, sending the corporate boss crashing backward over a glass coffee table.