The Mediterranean sun beat down on the private terrace of the luxury resort. Bradley lay on a lounge chair behind dark sunglasses, swirling a glass of champagne.

Kristal stepped out of the infinity pool in a tiny bikini, water dripping down her tanned legs. She walked over and leaned her wet body against his shoulder.

Bradley instinctively shifted away.

A flash of pure annoyance crossed Kristal's eyes, but she hid it fast. She picked up a piece of sliced fruit and offered it to him with a sweet smile.

Before Bradley could respond, his private cell phone vibrated violently on the glass table. He glanced at the screen—his mother, Priscilla Allsworthy.

He answered. His mother's shrill voice pierced his ear instantly.

"Bradley! Your wife has not shown her face at the family estate for three days! How dare she disrespect the elders like this!"

Bradley sat up so fast his champagne sloshed onto his white robe. Ice-cold liquid soaked into the fabric, but he barely noticed. Three days? He thought Herminia was just throwing a tantrum in the Manhattan apartment. He never imagined she would skip the mandatory family gathering.

He muttered a quick excuse and hung up. A tight, suffocating pressure gripped his chest.

"Is sister making mother angry again?" Kristal asked, trying to sound innocent.

Bradley ignored her completely. He opened his contacts and dialed the number he hadn't called in three days.

No ringing. A cold, robotic female voice spoke: "The number you have dialed is no longer in service."

Bradley thought the signal was bad. He stood, walked to the edge of the terrace, and dialed again. The exact same robotic voice. She hadn't just blocked him. She had canceled her number entirely.

Ice-cold panic and hot anger twisted in his gut. His fingers squeezed the phone so hard the casing creaked.

He immediately dialed his executive assistant, Connor Hayes. "Go to the penthouse right now. Find out what she's doing."

Five minutes later, Connor called back. His voice was shaking. "Sir... the apartment is empty. Dust everywhere." He swallowed hard. "Madam took all her personal clothes. It looks like... she really moved out."

A high-pitched ringing filled Bradley's ears. That woman actually dared to leave him.

He turned and marched back into the suite, ripping off his robe and throwing on a dress shirt.

Kristal ran after him. "Bradley, what's wrong? We have the yacht party tonight!"

Bradley's face darkened. "The trip is canceled. We're going back to New York. Now."

Kristal bit her bottom lip and reached out to grab his sleeve. "But you promised—"

Bradley slapped her hand away without a second of hesitation. His eyes were flat and cold.

"Get the jet ready," he ordered Connor over the phone, ignoring Kristal entirely. He couldn't breathe in that room another second.

Kristal watched his back as he rushed out, her fingernails digging into her palms until they bled.

Two hours later, a private jet bearing the Elliott Capital logo tore through the European night sky, heading straight for New York.

Bradley shoved his thumb against the biometric lock. The heavy door of the Manhattan penthouse clicked open. He stormed into the dark apartment.

He didn't bother with the lights. The neon glow from the city outside lit up dust particles floating in the stagnant air. The faint, comforting smell of citrus—Herminia's scent—was completely gone. The place smelled like a tomb.

He took long, aggressive strides across the living room and threw open the master bedroom door. He walked straight into the walk-in closet. The corner that used to hold her plain clothes was stripped bare. Not a single hanger remained.

Bradley's breathing grew heavy and ragged. He turned and marched back into the living room. His eyes locked onto the glass coffee table.

Sitting perfectly in the center was the document. Resting heavily on top of it—the brilliant diamond wedding ring.

He walked over and stared at the ring. He remembered telling his assistant three years ago to just buy whatever was expensive.

He snatched the document and flipped to the last page. There, in sharp, elegant strokes, was Herminia's signature.

The sight of that ink burned his eyes. She really hadn't taken a single penny.

A violent, uncontrollable rage consumed him. He grabbed the thick stack of papers and ripped them in half. It wasn't enough. He tore them again and again until they were nothing but confetti, hurling the shreds onto the carpet.

He pulled out his phone and called Connor. His voice was ice. "Use every contact we have. I want Herminia's exact location in ten minutes."

He hung up and paced the living room like a caged animal. He kicked a tall floor lamp, sending it crashing into the wall.

Nine minutes later, his phone rang. Connor's voice was hesitant, trembling.

"Speak!" Bradley roared.

"Sir... she's at a private villa in Beverly Hills," Connor stammered. "It belongs to Ignacio Combs. The Hollywood actor."

The name made something snap inside Bradley. He knew Ignacio. That hypocrite was always smiling at Herminia at charity galas.

Jealousy clawed at his chest, hot and toxic. He thought she'd be starving on the streets, but she'd run straight into another man's arms. He kicked the glass coffee table. A loud crack echoed as the surface fractured.

He spun around and marched out the door, dialing his driver. "Get the jet ready. Now. I want to be in Los Angeles in five hours."

Hours later, after a tense, sleepless flight across the country, Bradley threw himself into the back seat of a waiting black Maybach at LAX. "Beverly Hills. Drive as fast as you can."

The Maybach tore through the night streets. Bradley gripped the edge of the leather seat, knuckles white. Images of Herminia smiling at that actor flashed in his mind. The jealousy made him want to tear the world apart.

He was going to drag her back. He'd break her legs and lock her up if he had to.

The Maybach let out a screeching wail as the brakes slammed hard, stopping aggressively in front of the brightly lit iron gates of the hillside villa.

Inside the villa, the fireplace crackled warmly. Herminia leaned back against the plush sofa, rubbing the space between her eyebrows.

Ignacio walked over holding a steaming cup of chamomile tea. He placed it gently on the table. Noticing she was shivering slightly, he picked up a thick cashmere shawl from the armrest. He stepped close and draped it carefully over her shoulders.

Herminia looked up and gave him a tired, grateful smile. "Thank you."

At that exact moment, a deafening crash exploded from the front of the house.

The heavy solid wood door was kicked open with brutal force. A gust of freezing wind and dead leaves blew into the living room. Bradley stood in the doorway, his silhouette dark against the light, fury twisting his face.

His eyes locked onto the two figures on the sofa. From his angle, Ignacio's arms looked wrapped around Herminia in a tight embrace.

Rage blurred his vision. He stepped inside, body radiating raw, violent energy, and walked straight toward them with heavy, rapid steps.

Herminia's smile vanished. She shot to her feet, body rigid.

Ignacio frowned. He stepped forward, shielding Herminia behind him. "What gives you the right to break into my house?"

Bradley didn't even look at him. He grabbed Ignacio by the collar of his expensive sweater and shoved him violently to the side. Ignacio crashed into the coffee table. Hot tea spilled everywhere.

Bradley lunged forward. His massive hand clamped down on Herminia's wrist like an iron vise.

The crushing pain made her gasp. She tried to yank her arm back. "Let go of me!"

Instead, Bradley pulled her hard. She crashed into his rock-hard chest. He leaned down, his voice a vicious, guttural growl in her ear. "You couldn't even wait three days to find a new bed?"

Herminia shook with fury. She raised her free hand, aiming a hard slap at his face. Bradley caught her wrist mid-air. He twisted both her arms behind her back, pressing her flush against him, completely trapping her.

Ignacio scrambled to his feet, rushing forward to help. Before he could take two steps, three massive bodyguards in black suits flooded into the room and slammed Ignacio against the wall, pinning him by the neck.

Bradley stared at the actor with dead, venomous eyes. "If you want to keep your career in Hollywood, stay out of my business."

Ignacio struggled against the guards. "We're just friends! Let her go, you psycho!"

Bradley let out a dark, cruel laugh. "She is my wife. She will always be my wife."

Ignoring Herminia's screaming and struggling, Bradley bent down and threw her over his broad shoulder like a sack of dirt. She pounded her fists into his back, but hitting his solid muscles did nothing.

Bradley carried her out of the villa, strides long and angry. He shoved her roughly into the back seat of the Maybach. He climbed in after her and slammed the door shut, cutting off the outside world.

"Lock the doors and drive," Bradley ordered. The Maybach shot forward into the dark mountains.