The Untouchable Widow's Ruthless Vengeance

Haden stormed out of the club, ignoring the shocked stares of the patrons. He ripped open the back door of the black Maybach waiting at the curb and threw himself into the leather seat. He slammed the door shut, sealing out the sound of the rain and the distant wail of police sirens.

Mitch Kowalski, his driver, adjusted the rearview mirror. His eyes flicked to the blood smeared on his boss's lip and the red handprint on his cheek.

Mitch reached over to the console and pulled out a heated towel. "Do you need a hospital, sir?" he asked quietly, holding it out.

Haden knocked the towel out of his hand. It fell to the floorboard, steaming. He didn't wipe the blood. He let it dry on his skin.

He yanked at his silk tie, loosening the knot until he could breathe. He turned his head and stared out the window at the club's flashing neon sign.

The image of Ember's face flashed in his mind. Her cold, dead eyes. Her absolute, suffocating control.

The feeling of powerlessness made him sick. He pulled his arm back and drove his fist into the leather armrest. The impact hurt his knuckles, but the pain barely registered.

Mitch didn't say a word. He hit the button to raise the privacy partition. The glass slid up smoothly, cutting off the front seat. He put the car in drive and merged into the rainy Manhattan traffic.

The cabin was quiet. The only sound was the rhythmic thumping of the windshield wipers and Haden's harsh breathing.

Suddenly, Haden laughed. It was a low, hollow sound, completely devoid of humor. It was the laugh of a man who had lost his mind.

"Three years, Mitch," Haden said, his voice raw. "Three years I've pictured destroying her. Every single day."

Mitch's voice came through the intercom, cautious. "Sir, personal vendettas aren't good for the stock price. The board is already nervous."

"I don't give a damn about the stock price," Haden snarled. "I want to burn it all down. I want to destroy everything Efford left her. I want to see her crawl in the dirt."

He leaned his head back against the seat. The memory of the night she left hit him like a freight train. The empty apartment. The note that smelled like her perfume. The absolute despair.

His hand moved on its own. His thumb rubbed against the cuff of his sleeve. The cold metal of the old silver cuff link grounded him.

It was cheap. Tarnished. The only gift she had ever given him. He hadn't taken it off in three years.

The love he had for her and the hate he had for her twisted together in his gut, making him want to vomit.

"Call Corbin Bancroft," Haden ordered, his voice suddenly flat and deadly.

Mitch hesitated. "The CEO of Allied Capital? Sir, they are our biggest rival. They've been trying to force a marriage alliance for months."

Haden smiled. It was a cruel, sharp expression. "Good. Let the wolf in the door."

"I'm going to back her into a corner," Haden said, staring at the rain sliding down the glass. "I want to see the look on my dear aunt's face when she has to beg me for mercy."

Mitch knew better than to argue. "Yes, sir."

The Maybach accelerated, the engine roaring as it hydroplaned slightly on the wet pavement. It took the corner sharply, heading straight for the Bancroft estate.

Haden closed his eyes. The red haze of rage faded into cold, hard calculation. He wasn't going to let her go this time. Never again.

The car vanished into the storm, leaving the club behind.