I didn’t wipe the blood from my nose. I let it drip onto the pristine white bodice of my ten-thousand-dollar wedding gown, watching the crimson bloom against the silk like ink on parchment.

His eyes were completely hollow, bloodshot, and wild. He looked like a ghost of the polished billionaire who had stood at the altar thirty-six hours ago.

"You took everything," Derek whispered, his voice trembling with manic rage. "My family's company. My reputation. My freedom."

I slowly backed up toward the kitchen, keeping my phone hidden behind my leg. "Derek, the police are on their way here right now. If you leave now—"

"They're coming because of you!" he roared, stepping into the apartment and slamming the door shut behind him. "You think I'm going to spend twenty years in a cell while you run my company with my money? If I'm going down, Claire, you're coming with me."

He raised the iron bar and lunged forward.

I didn't run away. I didn't scream.

Instead, I reached behind the kitchen counter and pressed the emergency silent panic button linked directly to high-end private security. Then, I grabbed a heavy copper skillet from the hanging rack and swung it with everything I had.

CLANG!

The pan struck the side of his jaw. Derek stumbled backward, roaring in pain, blood spurting from his lip. He recovered instantly, his size and weight tearing the pan out of my hands and throwing me against the granite island.

I hit the floor hard, winded, as Derek loomed over me, lifting the tire iron high above his head.

"Goodbye, Claire," he sneered.

BANG!

The apartment door was kicked off its hinges with explosive force.

Two heavily armed private security guards tackled Derek from behind, driving him straight into the glass coffee table, which shattered into a thousand pieces. Derek screamed as he was pinned to the floor, his weapon clattering across the tile.