The rain fell like knives the night they buried Arden Blake's father.
The black dress clung to her skin, heavy with water and grief, but nothing weighed more than the rage burning in her chest.
Her father's coffin lowered into the ground, and every shovelful of dirt sounded like betrayal. She swore silently: I'll find the man who killed you. I'll make him bleed.
But when she lifted her eyes, he was there.
Dominic Veyron.
Tall. Cold. Dressed in a black suit sharp enough to cut glass, he stood under an umbrella as if the storm itself dared not touch him. His dark gaze locked onto hers, and for a moment, Arden's heart froze.
Whispers rippled among the mourners. Why was he here? Why would he, the man everyone whispered was behind her father's mysterious "accident," dare to show his face at the funeral?
After the burial, when everyone else left, Dominic approached her. His presence was suffocating, his voice smooth and cruel as silk.
"Arden," he said, lowering his umbrella so the rain splashed between them. "You hate me. I can see it in your eyes. But hate won't bring your father back."
Her fists clenched. "You killed him."
A faint, dangerous smile curved his lips. "Perhaps. And yet… you're going to marry me."
Arden staggered back, the ground tilting beneath her. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Dominic leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear despite the cold rain.
"Your father owed me everything. His life, his company, his legacy. With him gone, that debt falls to you. And the only way you can pay…" His fingers brushed her wrist like shackles. "…is by becoming my wife."
The storm raged around them, but it was nothing compared to the hurricane inside her chest. Hate. Fear. And something else she didn't dare name.