"If you ever touch her without permission again, you'll regret coming back alive."

"Ethan, hide!" Brooke gasped, shoving me toward the heavy velvet drapes masking the balcony access. "There are men with him! Dozens of them!"

Too late. The bedroom door flew open with a deafening crash, splintering the oak frame into kindling.

Trevor Vance stood in the doorway, flanked by four armed enforcers carrying suppressed submachine guns. Trevor wasn't wearing my combat jacket anymore; he wore a pristine silk bathrobe over a custom-tailored suit, his hair slicked back, a cruel, triumphant smirk plastered across his face.

"Well, well, well," Trevor mocked, slowly clapping his hands together as he strolled into the room. "I told you to stay away, Captain. But heroes never listen, do they? They always have to crawl back through the window to save the damsel in distress."

I stepped in front of the bed, putting my body between Brooke and the armed men, keeping my hands empty and visible, buying precious seconds to calculate my escape routes.

"You're a coward, Vance," I said, keeping my voice steady, projecting utter calm. "Hiding behind lawyers and hired thugs to torture a defenseless woman."

"Coward?" Trevor laughed, his eyes flashing with manic arrogance. "No, Captain. I am a realist. I take what I want. And your wife was a very compliant acquisition—at least until you decided to stick your nose where it didn't belong."

Trevor snapped his fingers. Two of the enforcers stepped forward, their submachine guns leveling directly at my chest.

"Tie him up to the radiator," Trevor ordered smoothly. "And make sure he has a front-row seat. After all, a husband should always bear witness to what happens when he fails to protect his property."

The enforcers lunged forward before I could react. They hit me like a freight train, driving me to the floor. I fought back with everything I had, landing a brutal elbow into one guard's ribs and sending him crashing into the nightstand. But the second man caught me from behind, slamming my head hard against the hardwood floor. Stars exploded behind my eyes, a warm trickle of blood running down my temple.

They hauled me up by my arms, dragging me across the room and chaining my wrists to the heavy cast-iron radiator beneath the bay window.

"Ethan!" Brooke screamed, thrashing against the bedsheets as the other two guards pinned her down, pressing a cold steel blade against her throat to keep her quiet.

"Look at him, Brooke," Trevor purred, walking over to the bed and tracing a finger down her bruised cheek. "Look at your brave soldier. Completely helpless. Just like he was when I watched him through the scope of a sniper rifle in Kabul last November."

My breath hitched. The words hit me like a lightning bolt.

"Kabul?" I choked out, staring at him in sheer disbelief. "You... you were there?"

"Oh, I wasn't just there, Captain," Trevor smiled, leaning down so his face was inches from mine. "I was the one who funded the local insurgent cell that ambushed your patrol unit. I was the one who made sure your radio communications jammed right before the firefight. I wanted you dead a year ago, Ethan. But then I realized death is too easy. Letting you live while I systematically broke your wife's spirit, piece by piece, day by day... that was true art."

The blood in my veins turned to liquid fire. Every drop of restraint I had cultivated over years of military service shattered into a million pieces. The rage that filled my chest wasn't a hot spark; it was a roaring, uncontrollable supernova.

Julian—Trevor turned his back, walking back toward the center of the room, raising a small silver remote control in his hand. "Now, let's wrap this up. I have a 9:00 AM board meeting, and I need to clear out the trash before the cleaning crew arrives."