"Sold to pay a seventeen-million-dollar debt, she ran barefoot into the pouring rain—and climbed into the car of her groom's most dangerous enemy."

Standing in the entryway, soaked in the cold morning mist and breathing heavily, was Damian Vale. His tuxedo was disheveled, his tie crooked, and in his right hand, he clutched a heavy black Sig Sauer P226 pistol with the safety clicked off.

“Luca! Moretti! Get your ass out here!” Damian roared, his voice echoing off the vaulted marble ceilings.

Within seconds, Marcus and four armed security operatives stepped out from the side corridors, their weapons raised and trained directly on Damian’s chest.

Damian didn't even blink at the guns. His wild, bloodshot eyes scanned the grand staircase until they landed on a single figure descending slowly down the marble steps.

Elena Vance.

She wasn't hiding. She wore a simple, elegant black silk dress, her head held high, her steps steady and sure as she walked down to the landing, stopping ten feet away from the madman who had tried to buy her.

Damian raised his pistol, pointing it straight at her heart.

“You!” Damian snarled, his voice cracking with hysteria. “You ruined everything! You bitch! You stole my empire, and now you’re going to pay for it!”

“Drop the gun, Damian,” a calm, icy voice echoed from the shadows of the study doorway.

Luca Moretti stepped out into the foyer, his hands casually tucked into his trouser pockets, looking completely unbothered by the loaded firearm aimed at Elena.

“Stay out of this, Moretti!” Damian screamed, his finger tightening on the trigger. “She’s my wife! By law, by contract, she belongs to me!”

“By contract?” Luca chuckled, a dark, dangerous sound. “Last I checked, Damian, a wedding ceremony requires two willing participants and a signed marriage certificate. You got neither. All you got was a runaway bride and a federal indictment delivered to your doorstep twenty minutes ago.”

Damian’s hand shook violently. He looked at Elena, the hatred in his eyes burning hot enough to melt steel. “You think you’re safe here with him? You think Moretti cares about you? He’s just using you to destroy me!”

Elena took a slow, deliberate step forward, ignoring the black barrel of the gun pointed at her chest.

“Maybe he is,” Elena said, her voice steady and crystal clear. “And maybe I’m using him to destroy you. But at least with Luca, I have a choice. With you, I was nothing more than collateral damage for a gambling debt.”

“I’ll kill you,” Damian whispered, his sanity finally snapping as he began to squeeze the trigger.

Bang!

The gunshot echoed like a thunderclap through the marble foyer.

But the bullet didn't hit Elena.

Before Damian’s finger could fully complete the pull, Marcus’s silenced pistol cracked from the balcony above. A clean, precise round struck Damian’s right shoulder, shattering bone and sending the Sig Sauer clattering harmlessly against the marble floor.

Damian shrieked in agony, clutching his bloody shoulder as he dropped to his knees, gasping for breath.

Marcus and the security team swarmed forward instantly, pinning Damian face-down to the floor and clicking heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists.

Elena didn't flinch. She watched without a shred of pity as the man who had terrorized her life was dragged away like a common criminal toward the estate's subterranean holding cells.

Luca walked over, stopping right beside her. He looked down at the spot where Damian had bled on his marble floor, then turned his gaze to Elena.