The uncertainty gnawed at me. Not finding her felt like a slow kind of hell.
And yet another truth lingered beneath it all, more dangerous because I had allowed myself to believe it.
That Loretta vanished because I had pushed her far enough—and when she could no longer endure it, she walked away.
That belief had destroyed me in ways no war, no business, no enemy ever could. Piece by piece, it stripped me down until I was nothing more than a shell moving through life out of habit.
Eight months of sleeping in a bed that still carried the faint trace of her perfume.
Eight months of waking in the dead of night with my hand reaching for a woman who was no longer there.
Eight months of wondering what crime I had committed that was terrible enough for her to erase me from her life entirely.
And now she was in labor, in severe pain, about to deliver a child... while I sat here signing property documents like a fucking idiot.
The chair shoved backward violently as I surged to my feet. It crashed against the marble floor hard enough to topple over entirely.
“Call the doctor back immediately,” I snapped. “I want the hospital’s name.”
Ramiro was already pulling out his phone before I finished speaking.
“We are leaving. Now.”
The air around me felt electrically charged as we stormed from the office.
My pulse thundered so violently in my ears it nearly drowned out the sound of our footsteps.
The estate staff scattered the second they saw my expression.
A maid nearly dropped an expensive crystal tray in panic before scrambling out of my path.
Two security men straightened immediately near the entrance hall, their hands clasping behind their backs with rigid discipline.
Men in my world learned quickly to distinguish between my anger and my fury.
Anger could be survived.
Fury usually ended in funerals.
Outside, rain hammered against the estate grounds in vicious sheets.
My matte-black Bugatti waited beneath the porte-cochère like a predator crouched for blood.
Normally the driver would already be standing beside it.
Tonight I didn’t have patience for formality.
I yanked open the passenger door and barked, “You drive.”
Ramiro slid behind the wheel instantly without questioning me.
The engine roared to life with a deep guttural snarl that perfectly matched the violence inside my chest.
Tires screeched against wet pavement as we tore down the private drive.
The massive iron gates of the estate opened automatically just before we hit them at dangerous speed.
Then we were flying down the highway.
