By the time my husband reached the gates, I was eight months pregnant, barefoot in freezing rain, and nearly bald because his mother had ordered my hair hacked off inside the mansion. Every person under that roof had watched in silence, but none of them knew what Roman Kane would do when he saw me.

The roar of a twin-turbo V8 engine shattered the curtain of falling rain before the car even rounded the iron gates.

The black sedan didn't stop at the security booth. It smashed through the heavy wooden gate arm, sending splintered wood flying across the wet asphalt, its tires screaming as it drifted sharply around the fountain and slammed to a halt six feet from where I stood.

The driver’s side door didn't just open; it was thrown back with such violent force that the heavy steel hinges groaned.

Roman stepped out into the storm.

He wasn't wearing his suit jacket. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, soaked through in seconds by the torrential rain, clinging to his broad chest. His face—a face I had kissed every morning for three years—was transformed into something utterly terrifying.

It was not anger. Anger was loud. Anger was human.

What looked out from Roman’s eyes in that moment was an ancient, predatory darkness—the ruthless lineage of the Kane empire stripped of all civilization.

He saw the water rushing over my bare feet.

He saw my thin, cream-colored dress clinging to my trembling, swollen body.

He saw my hands wrapped tightly around our unborn daughter.

And then his eyes moved to my head.

A low, guttural sound tore from his chest—a sound that did not belong to a man, but to a wild beast watching its mate being torn apart.

He crossed the distance between us in two massive strides. He didn't care about the rain. He didn't care about his shoes soaking in the muddy river. He dropped to his knees right there in the gravel and water, sliding his massive, warm arms around my hips, pulling my frozen body directly against his chest.

"Bianca," he choked out. His hands—shaking violently—lifted to gently touch the jagged, bleeding stubble of my scalp. He pulled back slightly, his dark eyes searching my pale, numb face. "Bianca... my God... my God..."

"Roman..." My voice was a tiny, rasping thread. My jaw was locked so tight from the freezing cold that I could barely articulate the syllables. "Our... our baby... she's okay. I kept her safe."

Tears mixed with the rain streaming down his cheeks. He pressed his forehead against mine, his hot breath washing over my freezing lips.

"You're safe," he whispered, his voice trembling with an agonizing grief. "I'm here, my love. I'm here."

He stood up smoothly, lifting all one hundred and forty pounds of my pregnant weight into his arms as if I weighed nothing at all. He held me close against his chest, tucking my head beneath his chin to shield my bare scalp from the stinging rain.

David, his chief driver, rushed out of the car holding a heavy wool blanket. His face was white with pure terror as he saw what had been done to me.

"Get the heater on high," Roman ordered. His voice was unnaturally low, flat, and quiet—a deadly calm that made David instantly shudder.

"Yes, Mr. Kane," David stammered, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders as Roman carefully placed me in the leather back seat of the car.

Roman did not get in beside me.

He stood in the rain, staring up at the massive stone mansion. Light spilled from the high arched windows of the grand drawing room. Figures were moving behind the glass—Eleanor, her guards, her domestic staff—watching from above like spectators at an execution.

"Roman..." I whimpered from inside the car, reaching my hand out through the open door. "Don't... please..."

Roman turned his head slightly. The rain was running down the sharp angles of his jaw, his dark eyes glowing with a terrifying, absolute clarity.

"Stay with David, Bianca," he said softly. "I have to settle my father's house."

He didn't wait for my reply. He turned around and walked up the wide stone steps toward the front doors of the Kane estate.

He didn't knock. He didn't use a key.

When he reached the massive double doors of carved oak and iron, Roman raised his boot and kicked the lock right out of the frame. The heavy doors exploded inward with a sound like a cannon shot, crashing against the grand marble foyer.