The Mediterranean sun beat down on the private terrace of the luxury resort. Bradley lay on a lounge chair behind dark sunglasses, swirling a glass of champagne.
Kristal stepped out of the infinity pool in a tiny bikini, water dripping down her tanned legs. She walked over and leaned her wet body against his shoulder.
Bradley instinctively shifted away.
A flash of pure annoyance crossed Kristal's eyes, but she hid it fast. She picked up a piece of sliced fruit and offered it to him with a sweet smile.
Before Bradley could respond, his private cell phone vibrated violently on the glass table. He glanced at the screen—his mother, Priscilla Allsworthy.
He answered. His mother's shrill voice pierced his ear instantly.
"Bradley! Your wife has not shown her face at the family estate for three days! How dare she disrespect the elders like this!"
Bradley sat up so fast his champagne sloshed onto his white robe. Ice-cold liquid soaked into the fabric, but he barely noticed. Three days? He thought Herminia was just throwing a tantrum in the Manhattan apartment. He never imagined she would skip the mandatory family gathering.
He muttered a quick excuse and hung up. A tight, suffocating pressure gripped his chest.
"Is sister making mother angry again?" Kristal asked, trying to sound innocent.
Bradley ignored her completely. He opened his contacts and dialed the number he hadn't called in three days.
No ringing. A cold, robotic female voice spoke: "The number you have dialed is no longer in service."
Bradley thought the signal was bad. He stood, walked to the edge of the terrace, and dialed again. The exact same robotic voice. She hadn't just blocked him. She had canceled her number entirely.
Ice-cold panic and hot anger twisted in his gut. His fingers squeezed the phone so hard the casing creaked.
He immediately dialed his executive assistant, Connor Hayes. "Go to the penthouse right now. Find out what she's doing."
Five minutes later, Connor called back. His voice was shaking. "Sir... the apartment is empty. Dust everywhere." He swallowed hard. "Madam took all her personal clothes. It looks like... she really moved out."
A high-pitched ringing filled Bradley's ears. That woman actually dared to leave him.
He turned and marched back into the suite, ripping off his robe and throwing on a dress shirt.
Kristal ran after him. "Bradley, what's wrong? We have the yacht party tonight!"
Bradley's face darkened. "The trip is canceled. We're going back to New York. Now."
Kristal bit her bottom lip and reached out to grab his sleeve. "But you promised—"
Bradley slapped her hand away without a second of hesitation. His eyes were flat and cold.
"Get the jet ready," he ordered Connor over the phone, ignoring Kristal entirely. He couldn't breathe in that room another second.
Kristal watched his back as he rushed out, her fingernails digging into her palms until they bled.
Two hours later, a private jet bearing the Elliott Capital logo tore through the European night sky, heading straight for New York.
