Harrison picked up the pen and casually tossed it onto the mahogany table.

The sharp clatter of the metal hitting the wood echoed like a gunshot in the silent room.

Iris flinched as if the sound had physically struck her chest.

The lead attorney nervously flipped through the heavy stack of documents.

"Mr. Torres," the lawyer asked, his voice tight. "How would you like to restructure the trust fund payout?"

Harrison kept his arms crossed. His dark eyes never left Iris's pale face.

"Make it a ten-year installment plan," Harrison said flatly. "To ensure the capital remains secure."

Iris sucked in a sharp breath.

Her hands shot down to her lap, gripping the fabric of her expensive silk skirt. Her fingernails dug so hard into her own thighs he was surprised she didn't draw blood.

She forced her facial muscles to relax.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and brimming with fresh tears.

"Harrison," she choked out, her voice dripping with disbelief. "Do you really have so little faith in me? After everything?"

Ten years?! her inner voice roared, vibrating against his skull. By the time I get that money I'll be old and wrinkled! You cold-blooded vampire!

The sheer toxicity of her thoughts felt like a physical slap to his face.

Harrison narrowed his eyes. The muscles in his jaw ticked. He had to force his hands to stay flat on the table to keep from reaching across and wrapping them around her neck.

Iris pushed her chair back and stood up.

She swayed slightly on her heels, looking as though the emotional weight was crushing her fragile bones.

She took two slow steps toward him.

She reached out and rested her hand gently on his broad shoulder.

"I gave up my entire life for this family," she whispered, a tear finally spilling over her lashes. "I just want to be able to start over."

Harrison inhaled the faint, familiar scent of her Jo Malone perfume.

This perfume cost me a fortune, her voice sneered in his head. I researched his ex-girlfriend's favorite scent just to hook him. Is it not working?

A wave of pure nausea hit Harrison's stomach.

He violently shoved her hand off his shoulder.

The force of his movement threw Iris off balance. She stumbled backward in her heels, her arms flailing as she nearly crashed into the floor.

The lawyer gasped and lunged forward to catch her.

Harrison shot the man a look so lethal the lawyer froze mid-step and backed away.

Iris caught herself on the edge of her chair. She collapsed into the seat, burying her face in her hands.

She began to sob loudly, her shoulders heaving with the effort.

Harrison stared down at her shaking form.

If I throw myself on the floor and get a bruise, can I sue him for another two million in emotional distress?

Harrison let out a harsh, bitter laugh.

He turned his head to the sweating attorney.

"Draft the addendum right now," Harrison ordered, his voice like cracking ice. "Put the ten-year installment plan in writing."

Iris's sobbing stopped instantly.

She lowered her hands. The vulnerability was gone from her eyes, replaced by a dark, desperate calculation.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. She wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand.

"Fine," Iris said. Her voice was suddenly steady, laced with a tragic resolve. "If that is what you want, Harrison. I accept."

Harrison blinked. He hadn't expected her to cave that quickly.

The second I get that first check, her mind hissed venomously, I am hiring someone to take a baseball bat to his limited-edition Porsche.

The extreme contrast between her tragic surrender and her violent mental threats was absurd.

Harrison felt a strange, twisted sense of amusement rise in his chest.

Letting her walk away with a structured settlement felt too easy. It was boring.

He wanted to see what else this two-faced woman was capable of. He wanted to watch her squirm in the wild.

As the lead attorney frantically typed on his laptop, his fingers a blur across the keys, the low hum of a portable printer in the corner filled the tense silence. It took three agonizing minutes for the machine to spit out the modified document. During that time, Harrison's dark eyes remained locked onto Iris. He watched the subtle twitch of her jaw, the way she carefully maintained her posture of defeat while her mind likely plotted arson and vandalism. He realized a slow bleed was less satisfying than a clean, brutal break.

Harrison reached across the table.

He grabbed the freshly printed addendum right out of the lawyer's hands.

He gripped the top of the paper and ripped it straight down the middle.

The sound of tearing paper made Iris jump.

She stared at the two halves of the document fluttering to the floor. Her mind raced with frantic confusion.

What is he doing? Did I overplay it? Does he know?

Harrison didn't look at her. He picked up his Montblanc pen.

He flipped to the signature page of the original, lump-sum agreement.

He pressed the nib down and slashed his signature across the line, pressing so hard the ink bled through to the next page.

He shoved the heavy stack of papers across the polished wood toward Iris.

"Take your money," Harrison said, his voice devoid of any human emotion. "And get the hell out of my life."

Iris stared at his signature.

She bit her inner lip hard to stop herself from smiling. She picked up a cheap plastic pen from the table with trembling fingers.

Maintaining her devastated expression, she slowly signed her name.

"The divorce is finalized," the lawyer announced quietly.

Harrison stood up. He adjusted the lapels of his suit jacket.

He didn't spare Iris a single glance. He turned on his heel and strode out of the conference room.

Iris dragged her feet as she followed him out into the hallway.

They stepped into the private elevator together. The doors slid shut, sealing them in a tight, soundproof metal box.

The air pressure in the small space was suffocating.

They stood back-to-back. Harrison stared straight ahead at his own reflection in the polished metal doors.

A slow, mocking smirk crept onto his lips.

Behind him, Iris stood with her head bowed, looking like a defeated prisoner.

But inside her head, a massive, deafening crowd was cheering.

Pop the champagne! I am rich! I am free!

The mental screaming was so loud Harrison actually felt a dull ache behind his eyes.

The heavy bass of the electronic music vibrated through the soundproof walls of the VIP booth.

Harrison sat deep in the plush leather sofa at The Core Club in Manhattan.

He picked up a crystal glass of neat whiskey and threw it back, letting the alcohol burn a path down his throat.

His friend, Caspian Thorne, swirled an amber liquid in his own glass. Caspian sighed and clapped a hand on Harrison's shoulder.

"You were too hard on her, man," Caspian said, shaking his head. "Iris didn't deserve that kind of cold exit."

Jax Dalton leaned forward from the opposite chair, nodding in agreement.

"She was a rare one, Harrison," Jax said. "On the surface, she was the perfect traditional wife. You have to admit, she played the part flawlessly. I just worry that without the Torres name protecting her, the mask might not be enough to keep her from getting eaten alive in this city."

Harrison stared at the empty glass in his hand.

He remembered the way Iris had cursed him out in the elevator. He remembered her plotting to destroy his cars.

A dark, sarcastic laugh erupted from his chest.

He slammed the heavy crystal glass down onto the marble table.

The sharp crack of glass against stone made Caspian and Jax jump. They exchanged a nervous look, assuming they had hit a raw nerve.

Harrison stood up. He waved off the cigar Jax was offering him.

"I need air," Harrison muttered.

He turned and pushed open the heavy wooden door of the private booth.

The moment he stepped into the hallway, the chaotic noise of the club assaulted his senses.

Neon laser lights sliced through the dim, smoke-filled air. The corridor smelled heavily of spilled vodka, sweat, and expensive cologne.

Harrison shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking toward the restrooms.

Suddenly, a voice sliced straight through the thumping bass and the chatter of a hundred people.

It was a sharp, ecstatic female voice, ringing directly inside his skull.

Twelve o'clock! That blonde guy by the bar! Those abs have to be an eight-pack. I am taking him home tonight!

Harrison's expensive leather shoes locked onto the floor.

A drunk man stumbled out of a doorway and slammed hard into his shoulder. Harrison didn't even blink.

He slowly turned his head.

That was Iris's voice. There was absolutely no mistaking it.

But it was impossible. His ex-wife wouldn't even wear a skirt above her knees, let alone step foot in a place like this.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He forced his brain to filter out the pounding music and the shouting crowds.

He focused entirely on the mental frequency.

God, these Christian Louboutins are literal torture devices, the voice complained loudly in his mind. Once that check clears, I'm buying a hundred pairs of flat sneakers.

Harrison snapped his eyes open.

His gaze locked onto the far end of the club, toward the sunken VIP dance floor guarded by heavy velvet ropes and two massive bouncers.

He started walking. His strides were long and aggressive.

He shoved past two socialites who tried to grab his arm, his face set in a terrifying scowl.

The bouncers at the VIP entrance recognized the CEO of the Torres Group instantly. They scrambled to unhook the velvet rope, bowing their heads as he stormed past them.

The VIP section was a massive, sunken pit of writhing bodies.

Harrison stood at the top of the carpeted stairs. His eyes scanned the chaotic crowd like a sniper looking for a target.

Her voice kept feeding into his brain, offering explicit, filthy commentary on the bodies of the men dancing around her.

Finally, his eyes cut through the flashing strobe lights.

He locked onto a woman in the dead center of the floor.

She was wearing a silver sequined dress so short it barely covered her thighs. She was grinding her hips against a tall male model.

Her back was to Harrison. Her normally sleek, straight hair was styled into wild, voluminous waves that whipped through the air as she danced.

Harrison narrowed his eyes. He watched the fluid, highly practiced roll of her hips.

His heart hammered against his ribs. The sheer audacity of it made his blood boil.

Right then, the woman spun around.

She grabbed a champagne flute from a passing tray and threw her head back, downing the drink in one gulp.

A sweeping spotlight hit her face.

Heavy, dark smoky eye makeup. Glossy red lips.

It was his fragile, helpless, heartbroken ex-wife. Iris Cooper.

Harrison felt all the blood in his body rush straight to his head.

His jaw clamped shut so hard his teeth ground together. He gripped the metal railing beside the stairs, his knuckles turning pure white.

He spun around and marched back the way he came.

He kicked the door of his private booth open. It slammed against the wall with a deafening bang.

Caspian and Jax dropped their drinks, staring in shock at the absolute murder in Harrison's eyes.

Harrison snatched his suit jacket off the back of the sofa.

He glared at his two best friends, his chest heaving with suppressed rage.

"Get up," Harrison commanded, his voice a lethal growl. "Both of you."

"What's going on?" Caspian asked, standing up nervously.

"I'm going to show you exactly what kind of helpless, traditional wife she really is," Harrison spat.

Caspian and Jax exchanged a bewildered look, but the terrifying aura radiating from Harrison left no room for argument.

They followed him out of the booth.

Harrison led the charge back toward the VIP dance floor, his eyes fixed on the silver sequins flashing in the dark.

The storm was about to break.

Harrison tore through the crowded VIP section like a bulldozer.

The sheer violence radiating from his posture forced the dancing bodies to part, clearing a direct path to the center of the floor.

Caspian trailed behind him, complaining loudly over the music. "Harrison, it's too loud in here, what are we-"

Caspian's voice died in his throat. His eyes caught the silver sequined dress grinding against the male model.

Harrison was less than fifteen feet away.

Iris threw her head back, laughing at something the model said. She spun around in a fluid dance move.

Her eyes swept across the crowd and slammed directly into Harrison's lethal stare.

Iris's pupils contracted to pinpricks.

Her lungs seized. It felt like a giant, invisible hand had just crushed her windpipe.

Her wild dancing froze instantly, leaving her suspended in an awkward, mid-air pose.

Oh my god! Oh my god! her mind shrieked in absolute terror. What is the devil doing here?! My reputation is ruined!

But Iris's survival instincts were terrifyingly fast.

In less than a second, she shoved the male model away.

She let out a sharp, fake cry of pain and deliberately twisted her ankle.

She collapsed dramatically onto the edge of a curved leather booth, clutching her leg.

She blindly grabbed a half-empty bottle of Tequila from the table and took a massive, reckless gulp.

The cheap liquor burned her throat. She coughed violently, forcing real, stinging tears into her eyes.

By the time Harrison, Caspian, and Jax reached the booth, the wild party girl was gone.

Instead, they found a shattered, broken woman, her makeup smeared with tears, desperately trying to drown her agonizing sorrow in alcohol.

Jax stared down at her, his jaw practically hitting the floor. He couldn't reconcile this half-naked, sobbing mess with the elegant Mrs. Torres.

Iris slowly tilted her head up.

She looked at Harrison with eyes full of unbearable agony and desperate, lingering love.

"Harrison?" she whimpered, her voice trembling violently. She reached out a shaking hand toward him, as if he were her only salvation.

Caspian's heart broke. He turned and shoved Harrison hard in the chest.

"Look at what you did to her!" Caspian yelled over the music. "You drove her to this!"

Harrison didn't even blink. He didn't move an inch.

He stared down at Iris's tear-streaked face. His lips curled into a cruel, sickening sneer.

Because right at that moment, her inner voice was broadcasting loud and clear.

Yes! Good boy! Yell at him! Make him feel guilty so he doesn't try to take back my fifty million!

The pure, concentrated hypocrisy made Harrison's stomach churn with physical disgust.

He stepped forward, his shadow falling over her trembling body.

Iris shrank back against the leather cushions. She pulled her knees to her chest, sobbing loudly.

"Please," she cried out. "Don't look at me like that! It hurts so much... I just wanted the pain to stop!"

If he grabs my arm and leaves a bruise, I am definitely suing for assault, her mind calculated coldly.

Harrison's remaining patience snapped.

He lunged forward.

His large hand clamped around her delicate wrist like a steel vice.

Iris let out a genuine, sharp gasp of pain as his fingers dug into her skin.

Jax stepped forward to intervene. "Harrison, stop!"

Harrison snapped his head toward Jax. His eyes were completely black with rage.

"If either of you touches me," Harrison snarled, his voice dropping to a terrifying register, "we are done."

Jax froze, stepping back with his hands raised.

Harrison yanked Iris upward.

He didn't care that she was wearing six-inch heels. He didn't care that she stumbled and nearly fell face-first onto the sticky floor.

"Harrison, please! Let me go!" Iris screamed, thrashing against his grip.

Watch the dress! Watch the dress! You're going to rip the sequins, you brute!

Harrison ignored her. He wrapped his thick arm tightly around her waist.

He practically lifted her off the ground, carrying her out of the VIP section by sheer force.

People stopped dancing. Dozens of eyes stared in shock.

The moment he grabbed her, two of his plainclothes security detail materialized from the crowd. They moved with lethal efficiency, instantly forming a solid, impenetrable barrier around Harrison and Iris, physically shoving onlookers back to clear a direct path toward the exit. "No photos! Back away!" one of the guards commanded, his voice cutting through the thumping music like a whip. Someone pulled out a phone to record the scene. One of Harrison's security detail instantly stepped in, snatching the phone and crushing it under his heavy boot.

Iris buried her face in Harrison's shoulder, weeping uncontrollably. She played the victim perfectly, cementing Harrison's public image as a ruthless monster.

Caspian and Jax stood frozen by the booth, watching the brutal exit in stunned silence.

Harrison kicked open the emergency exit door in the back alley.

The cool night wind hit his face, carrying the smell of exhaust fumes and wet asphalt.

A sleek black Maybach was idling by the curb.

Harrison ripped the back door open and shoved Iris roughly inside.

He climbed in right behind her and slammed the heavy door shut. The sound echoed like a vault locking.

The driver took one look at Harrison's face in the rearview mirror and instantly pressed the button to raise the soundproof partition.

The back of the Maybach became a sealed, silent tomb.

Iris huddled in the far corner of the leather seat. She kept her face buried in her hands, letting out soft, pathetic whimpers.

Harrison reached up and violently yanked his silk tie loose.

He turned his head. In the dim, ambient lighting of the car, his eyes looked dead.

"How long," Harrison said, his voice slicing through the silence like a razor blade, "are you going to keep acting?"

Iris's heart skipped a violent beat.