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 front foyer of the Kane mansion was framed by twin sweeping staircases and an eight-foot crystal chandelier. Standing at the top of the landing was Eleanor Kane, flanked by four of her private estate security guards.

When the massive oak doors splintered inward, the guards instantly drew their sidearms, training the red laser sights directly on Roman’s chest.

Roman didn't stop. He walked through the shattered doorway, leaving wet, bloody footprints on the Persian rugs. His clothes were soaked, his hair plastered against his forehead, his face set in an expression of terrifying indifference to the weapons pointed at him.

"Roman!" Eleanor called down, her voice trembling slightly, though she tried to maintain her aristocratic composure. "Stop right there! You are letting emotion blind you! That woman was mentally unhinged—she attacked my staff! We were forced to restrain her!"

Roman stopped at the base of the staircase. He looked up at his mother.

"Step down, Eleanor," he said. His voice was not loud. It was soft, almost conversational, yet it echoed through the high-vaulted ceiling like a death knell.

"I am your mother!" she snapped, gripping the carved mahogany railing. "Everything I have done, I have done to protect the integrity of this family! You married a peasant from Queens who brought nothing but disgrace to our name! Look at what she made you do—smashing my doors like a common criminal!"

Roman slowly ascended the first step.

The head guard, a burly man named Vance who had served Eleanor for ten years, stepped forward, his pistol trembling in his hands. "Mr. Kane... please don't come any higher. Mrs. Kane gave us strict orders—"

Before Vance could finish his sentence, Roman moved with blinding speed.

He closed the distance between them in a split second, grabbing Vance’s wrist with his left hand and twisting it backward until the bone snapped with a sickening CRACK. The gun fell from Vance’s fingers. Roman caught the weapon in mid-air, flipped it, and slammed the heavy steel butt of the pistol directly into Vance’s temple.

The guard collapsed like a sack of stones, rolling down the marble stairs.

The other three guards froze in sheer, unadulterated terror. They were men who were paid well to look intimidating at charity galas and guard private gates, but none of them were prepared to face Roman Kane when the civilized mask was ripped away.

"Drop them," Roman commanded, pointing Vance’s pistol at the second guard’s face.

All three guards immediately threw their weapons onto the floor and backed against the wall, their hands raised in absolute surrender.

"Cowards!" Eleanor screamed at them, her face twisting into an ugly mask of rage. "I pay you millions! Get him!"

Roman ignored the guards. He walked slowly, methodically, up the final steps until he stood three feet from his mother.

Eleanor flinched, taking a small step back, her hand clutching her pearls. "Roman... I am your mother..."

"Where are the shears?" Roman asked softly.

"What?"

"The shears you used on my wife," Roman repeated. His eyes were completely black, the pupils dilated with an unholy fury. "Where are they?"

"She... she was hysterical!" Eleanor stammered, her regal confidence completely evaporating as she realized the true depth of her son's wrath. "I had to... it was an intervention! She is not fit to bear a Kane heir!"

Roman reached out, his thick fingers wrapping tightly around Eleanor’s throat.

He didn't squeeze enough to crush her windpipe, but he squeezed enough to lift her heels off the carpet. Eleanor gasped, her hands clawing at his wrists, her eyes wide with sudden, terrifying realization: her son was not going to negotiate.

"You listen to me, Eleanor," Roman whispered, his face inches from hers. "From this second forward, you do not exist to me. You are not my mother. You are not a Kane. You are a ghost."

He dragged her down the hallway toward her private sitting room, throwing her through the open door onto the plush rug.

"This estate," Roman said, pointing to the walls, the art, the crystal, "was bought with my father’s life insurance and my labor. By tomorrow morning, every bank account bearing your name will be frozen. Every deed will be transferred to a public charitable trust in Bianca’s name. You will leave this house with the clothes on your back and nothing else."

"You can't do this!" Eleanor sobbed from the floor, clutching her throat. "The board will never allow it!"

"I am the board," Roman said coldly.

He turned to the shivering house staff standing in the corridor. "If any of you are still on this property in twenty minutes, I will ensure you are prosecuted as accessories to aggravated assault and kidnapping. Leave."

The maids and servants fled down the back staircases without looking back.