"My husband left me stranded in freezing rain while taking his ex to his Christmas gala—unaware I signed divorce papers and disappeared before his shipping empire crumbled."

My hair was styled in soft, glossy waves, my skin radiant, my eyes holding a calm, weightless peace I hadn't felt in seven years.

Sitting across from me was Arthur Sterling and my newly appointed chief of private security, Marcus Vance—a six-foot-three former federal agent who had managed security for international diplomats.

Marcus set an encrypted tablet flat on the table between us.

"Vincent's motorcade has been driving in circles around the Gold Coast for two hours, Claire," Marcus reported smoothly. "He's personally visited three luxury hotels trying to check the guest registries. He looks completely manic."

I took a slow sip of my sparkling water, setting the crystal glass down with a soft click. "He isn't manic because he misses me, Marcus. He's manic because he's losing control."

"Vanessa Reed attempted to enter the River Forest estate two hours ago," Arthur added, pulling out a legal file. "She thought she could move her belongings into your master suite while you were gone. Vincent’s head of security, Marco, denied her access at the front gates and served her with a permanent restraining order signed by Vincent himself."

A cold, dry smile touched my lips.

"Vanessa spent three weeks convincing Vincent that I was replaceable," I murmured, leaning back in my chair. "She wanted my title, my mansion, and my diamonds. Now she gets to watch the house burn from the sidewalk."

My burner phone chimed on the table.

The display showed an incoming encrypted call from an unlisted Chicago number.

I picked it up, set it on speaker, and placed it flat on the table.

"Claire...?"

Vincent’s voice echoed through the high-definition speakers.

It didn't sound like the voice of the feared king of Chicago. It sounded rough, ragged, broken, and thick with a terrifying, raw desperation.

"Hello, Vincent," I spoke smoothly, my tone as calm and polite as if I were answering a stranger asking for directions.

A heavy, shuddering gasp sounded over the line.

"Claire... my God, Claire... where are you?!" Vincent wept, his voice cracking into sharp, pathetic pieces. "I'm at the house! I'm standing in your closet... it's empty, Claire! Why are your clothes gone?! Why did you leave your ring on my desk?!"

"You told me last night that you weren't going to turn the car around, Vincent," I replied softly. "So I decided to stop waiting for you to turn around."

"Claire, please! Listen to me!" Vincent begged, his baritone shaking uncontrollably. "I was wrong! I was an idiot! Vanessa lied to me! She removed your name from the transportation sheet! She set a trap!"

"Vanessa removed my name from a piece of paper, Vincent," I corrected deadpan. "You were the one who answered my call. You were the one who told me she was with you. You were the one who told me to take a cab in the freezing rain."

Silence fell over the line for three agonizing seconds.

"Claire..." Vincent whimpered softly. "I love you... I've always loved you... please come home... we can fix this... I'll give you anything you want... I'll put the entire shipping company in your name..."

"I already own forty-one percent of your shipping company, Vincent," I stated cleanly. "And as of ten o'clock tomorrow morning... my legal team is filing the default foreclosure papers with the Chancery Court."

"Claire! No! Don't do this to us!" Vincent shrieked over the phone.

"There is no 'us', Vincent," I whispered softly. "There's just the wife you left in the rain."