My husband slapped me in front of the whole charity gala, then wrapped his arm around his mistress and sneered, “Apologize to her, or get out.” I touched my burning cheek and smiled through the tears, because the three men standing silently behind him weren’t guests. They were my brothers—the judge, the billionaire, and the police captain—and none of them had moved yet.

Adrian was cornered. His bank accounts were frozen. His company board had ousted him. The media was camped outside his mansion, demanding answers about his abuse. And now, Vanessa wasn't answering her phone.

Desperation, toxic and dangerous, clouded his mind. He needed his punching bag. He needed Elena to publicly retract her statements. He needed to control her one last time.

Using a private investigator he still had on retainer, Adrian tracked the license plate of the SUV that took Elena away from the gala. It led him to a luxury high-rise apartment.

He slipped past the concierge, taking the service elevator up to the penthouse. He found the door surprisingly unlocked.

He stepped inside. The apartment was vast, dark, and silent. And there, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline, was Elena. She was alone.

"You thought you could destroy me?" Adrian snarled, locking the door behind him. He stalked toward her, his fists clenched, the polished veneer completely stripped away, revealing the violent coward underneath.

Elena didn't run. She turned around. She was wearing a simple, sharp white pantsuit. She looked strong, radiant, and utterly unafraid.

"You destroyed yourself, Adrian," Elena said calmly.

"You're nothing without me!" he shouted, closing the distance, raising his hand. "You're weak! I'll make you go on television and tell them you made it all up! You're going to fix this!"

He lunged for her, grabbing her arm violently.