Chapter 304

He looked at the paper one last time. Then, with a sudden, violent motion, he ripped it in half. The sound of tearing paper was loud in the quiet car. He pressed the halves together and tore again. And again. And again — his movements jerky, savage — until the legal document that was supposed to end their marriage was nothing but a pile of confetti on the floor mat.

He brushed his hands off.

“There,” he said.

“That doesn’t change anything,” Cailin said, her voice trembling. “Tearing it up doesn’t make us married.”

“Actually,” Hilliard leaned forward, placing a hand on the leather seat beside her head and boxing her in, “it does.”

Cailin stopped breathing.

“The divorce papers are gone,” he whispered. “The agreement is void. You are still my wife.”

“I’ll get a lawyer. I’ll file again,” she declared.

“Try.” His eyes dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes.

“You’re crazy,” Cailin whispered.

“I’m motivated,” Hilliard said. “Nobody plays me, Cailin. Nobody makes me look like a fool. And nobody takes what is mine.”

He wasn’t talking about the money.

“No lawyer in this city will touch you. Not when they see what I’m about to do to the person who forged my signature.”

The iron gates of Holloway Manor swung shut behind them. It sounded like a prison cell closing.

“Let me out,” Cailin said. Her voice was calm, but her hands were shaking in her lap. “Hilliard, this isn’t a game. Kegan will come for me.”

“Let him try,” Hilliard said, not even looking at her as he typed on his phone. “If his helicopter enters my airspace, my security team has authorization to ground it.”

The car stopped at the front steps.

Cailin didn’t move.

Hilliard got out, walked around to her side, and opened the door.

“I’m not going in there,” Cailin said.

He didn’t argue. He didn’t plead. He simply reached in, unbuckled her seatbelt, and pulled her out.

She stumbled, her heels scraping against the pavement. He caught her, swinging her up into his arms before she could regain her balance.

“Put me down!” Cailin hammered her fists against his chest. It was like hitting a brick wall. Each blow sent a dull, throbbing ache through her incision, but she didn’t stop.

The staff were lined up in the foyer, heads down. They had seen too much in this house. They knew better than to witness the master’s breakdown.

Hilliard carried Cailin straight to his study, kicked the door open, and deposited her on the leather sofa. He turned and locked the door.

“You are illegally detaining me,” Cailin said, standing up. “I will press charges.”

“This is a domestic dispute,” Hilliard said, walking to his desk. “Sit down.”

“No,” she insisted.

He ignored her. He picked up the landline. “Gavin. Get in here. Now.”

A moment later, a pale, sweating Gavin knocked on the door. Hilliard unlocked it, let him in, and locked it again.

“Sir?” Gavin looked between them — at the confetti on Hilliard’s suit, at Cailin’s furious face.

“Pull the security logs,” Hilliard said, his voice like ice. “Last night. 2:00 AM to 3:00 AM. The hallway outside this room.”

Gavin’s fingers flew across the keyboard of the desktop computer.

“Project it,” Hilliard ordered.

The massive screen on the wall flickered to life.

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