The night she left him, rain lashed the penthouse windows, a relentless rhythm that sounded like accusation.
Xavier Williams stood alone in the darkness, staring at the set of divorce papers spread across his desk. Her signature—her final act of defiance—sat there in black ink, neat and unshakable.
He should have felt nothing. He’d built an empire on never letting anyone matter. Even marrying her had been a decision calculated to protect his interests. At least, that’s what he’d told himself.
But now, standing in the wreckage she’d left behind, he couldn’t pretend anymore.
She’d walked away, and she’d taken something he could never replace.
Ariana.
Her name was a wound he couldn’t close.
He picked up the papers, his knuckles whitening. For a moment, he imagined tearing them to pieces, lighting the fragments on fire, and watching them burn to ash. But destroying them wouldn’t change anything.
She was gone.
And he had no one to blame but himself.
A gust of wind rattled the window, cold air slipping through the crack she’d left when she stormed out. He could still see the outline of her suitcase by the door, could still hear the echo of her voice, soft but breaking.
I can’t do this anymore, Xavier. You don’t love me. Maybe you never did.
He’d let her leave that night, too proud—or too afraid—to stop her.
He told himself she was a mistake. A weakness.
But in the years that followed, he searched for her in every shadow, every headline, every passing face.
He never found her.
Until now.
And this time, he wouldn’t let her go.