Chapter 1

Six years.

That' s how long they left me to rot. Six years, I counted every single day in the beginning, then the weeks, then just the seasons.

I remember that vacation like it was yesterday, the sun on my skin, the ridiculously expensive champagne Chloe insisted we order. We were in a small, beautiful coastal town in Southern Europe, celebrating our engagement. I' d just sold my small tech startup. The money was supposed to be our future, the foundation for the life she always talked about.

Then came the men with guns. They burst into our villa, their faces covered. They grabbed Chloe. She screamed my name.

I didn' t think. I just acted. I fought them, got myself beaten badly, and told them to take me instead. Leave her. Take me.

The last thing I saw was Chloe' s face, a mask of terror, as they dragged me away. "I'll get you back, Liam!" she cried. "I promise! I'll pay them anything!"

I believed her. For a long, long time, I believed her.

The next six years were a blur of confinement, hard labor, and a slow, grinding loss of hope. Until Victoria Thorne arrived.

She didn't rescue me in the traditional sense. She bought me. The people holding me were a small-time criminal outfit, and she was a tech mogul who needed an operative with my old skills-someone smart, untraceable, and utterly beholden to her. She made me a deal. "Work for me for six years," she said, her voice calm and sharp, cutting through the haze of my captivity. "Be my right hand. After that, you're a free man, with interest."

I took the deal. I had no choice. And I excelled. I became her shadow, her enforcer, her most trusted advisor. I learned her world of corporate warfare, of silent, ruthless efficiency. I learned how power really works.

Now, six years to the day I was taken, the wheels of Victoria' s private jet touched down on American soil. I was back. I was free. I was also, thanks to Victoria' s "interest," a very wealthy man. Wealthier than I had ever been.

The first thing I did was look for Chloe.

It wasn't hard. She was everywhere.

Chloe Miller wasn't just surviving; she was a star. A massive social media influencer, the founder and CEO of "Aura," a lifestyle brand on the verge of a massive IPO. Her face was on billboards, her articles about "overcoming tragedy" and "building an empire from the ashes" were all over the internet.

My heart pounded as I scrolled through her feed. There she was, smiling in a pristine white kitchen, a man' s arm around her. Mark Davis. Her "best friend" from college, the one who was always just a little too close.

And then I saw them. Two children. A boy and a girl. I did the math quickly. The boy looked to be at least five, maybe close to six.

A cold, heavy stone settled in my gut.

He was born less than a year after I was taken.

She hadn't just moved on. She had used the story of my "tragic disappearance" to build her brand, all while starting a family with the man who was supposed to be my friend. She had never even looked for me. The ransom money, the money from the assets I told her to sell, I knew instantly where it had gone. It was the seed money for her empire.

My love, the pure, self-sacrificing love I had held onto for two thousand one hundred and ninety days, curdled into something black and ugly.

I found her at the launch party for her new product line. The event was held in a sleek, glass-walled gallery in downtown Manhattan. She was holding a microphone, dazzling the crowd with a story about resilience. My resilience.

I walked straight through the crowd. People turned to look at the man with a hard face and cold eyes who wasn't clapping.

She saw me.

For a split second, her professional smile faltered. Her eyes widened, not with relief, not with joy, but with pure, unadulterated panic. She recovered in an instant, her media training kicking in.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she said, her voice a little too bright, "please excuse me for one moment."

She handed the mic to Mark, who was now staring at me with a pale, sweaty face. She walked towards me, her heels clicking on the polished concrete floor. She pulled me into a small, private alcove, her grip on my arm like steel.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed, her charming public face gone, replaced by a snarl.

"I came home, Chloe."

"You can't be here. You're supposed to be dead."

The words hit me harder than any physical blow I' d endured. "You left me. You never even tried to get me back."

She let out a short, cold laugh. "Get you back? With what? You were gone. Life moves on. I had to be practical. Crying over a lost cause wouldn't build this," she said, gesturing vaguely at the party, at her empire built on my bones.

"You used me. You used my memory to get rich."

"I did what I had to do to survive. You would have been useless to me anyway, broken and broke. Look at you." She eyed my simple, dark clothes with disdain. "What could you possibly offer me now?"

The last flicker of the man I used to be died in that alcove. The man who loved her was gone. In his place stood someone she didn't know, someone created by her betrayal and forged in Victoria Thorne' s world.

"You have no idea," I said, my voice quiet and dead.

I turned and walked away, leaving her standing there.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Victoria. I answered.

"How did it go?" she asked. No preamble.

"Exactly as you predicted," I said, stepping out into the cool night air. The city lights seemed harsh and alien.

"Good," Victoria's voice was calm, reassuring. "Now the real work begins. She thinks you're a ghost from her past. Let's show her you're the monster in her future."

A flicker of something dark and satisfying ignited inside me. Hope was gone, but revenge was a pretty good substitute.

"I'm ready," I said.