Kyle Grant's fingers tightened around Bruno Dimucci's collar, his knuckles turning white as the fabric crumpled beneath his grip.

"Last chance. Who sent you?"

Blood streaked Bruno's face as his trembling lips formed the words, "N-no one... I swear..."

The metal chair screeched against the floor with his frantic struggles.

A glacial glint flashed in Kyle's eyes before he abruptly released his hold.

Bruno crashed to the ground, chair and all, the impact echoing dully through the interrogation room.

"Track all his contacts." Kyle turned to the officer, his voice cutting through the stale air. "I want answers within twenty-four hours."

The officer instinctively straightened. "Yes, sir!"

The reflexive response surprised even himself—this man held no official rank, yet commanded unquestionable authority.

Kyle's gaze flickered to the wall clock.

2:07 AM.

"He's your responsibility now." Adjusting his cufflinks, he added icily, "Attempted rape carries severe penalties."

The officer nodded vigorously. "Rest assured, we'll prosecute to the fullest extent of the law."

Harsh fluorescent lights bleached the corridor outside.

Sophia Laurent stood at the corner, her fingers absently tracing the strap of her handbag.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, she looked up.

Kyle's suit jacket bore dark stains, his tie slightly askew.

"Are you hurt?" Her voice barely rose above a whisper.

He shook his head, studying her for a prolonged moment. "Still shaken?"

Sophia pressed her lips together, offering no reply.

The night wind carried a biting chill as they stepped outside.

A bodyguard's phone vibrated violently. The screen flashed "Mr. Sullivan"—two words that drained all color from the man's face.

"Madam..." His voice quavered. "About tonight..."

Sophia understood the unspoken plea.

"I won't volunteer the information." She paused. "But this can't be hidden."

The bodyguard exhaled as if granted clemency, murmuring frantic thanks.

When the call connected, Ethan Sullivan's voice could have frozen hell itself. "Where is Sophia?"

The bodyguard swallowed hard. "Mrs. Sullivan is resting—"

"Is that so?"

Two simple words beaded cold sweat down the man's spine.

Hanging up, his knees nearly buckled.

The guesthouse hallway swam in dim lighting.

The concierge's eyes darted away when Sophia approached. "Ah, Ms. Laurent. You've returned."

Nodding her thanks, Sophia froze upon noticing fresh scratches around her door's lock.

She pushed it open—and stopped breathing.

Ethan sat perfectly still on the sofa, long fingers drumming the armrest.

"Enjoy your evening?" He lifted his gaze, the question a blade.

Sophia stood paralyzed.

Of all possible reunion scenarios, this seething hostility hadn't crossed her mind.

"Ethan, I—"

"Meeting your old flame?" His laugh held no warmth. "Even my men lie for you now."

The words doused her like ice water.

Her nails bit into her palms as fury, hurt, and betrayal choked her voice.

Kyle stepped forward abruptly.

"She nearly got raped." His tone could have shattered diamonds. "And you're here playing prosecutor?"

The air crystallized.

Ethan surged to his feet, his jacket upending a glass on the coffee table.

The shattering sound pierced the silence.

"Say that again." Each syllable carried lethal precision.

Kyle met his glare unflinching. "The perpetrator's in custody."

Ethan's jawline turned to granite.

He yanked Sophia toward him—the force nearly toppling her.

"Are you injured?" The roughness in his voice betrayed something raw.

Sophia turned her face away. A tear struck the floorboards.

When Ethan reached to touch her cheek, she flinched.

The rejection made his pupils contract violently.

Kyle turned toward the exit. "She's your concern now."

The door slammed shut just as Ethan's fist connected with the bodyguard's jaw.