Chapter titles:
Damian woke alone.
The room was still dark, the hour so early that even the birds had not begun to sing. Her scent lingered on the pillow beside him—soft, warm, unmistakably hers. He inhaled deeply, stretching with a slow, satisfied yawn. He felt incredible. Though night hadn't yet surrendered to dawn, he had already experienced the best pleasure he'd known in years.
Smiling lazily, he reached across the bed, his hand brushing Elena's pillow.
Where was she?
In the bathroom?
Downstairs searching for an early breakfast?
He wished she would hurry back. He was hungry too—and not for food. Her fragrance clung to the sheets like a spell, and he felt a reckless thrill, like a boy on Christmas morning.
Elena had given him her virginity.
He still couldn't quite believe it. He hadn't thought innocence like hers existed anymore. It was a gift—unexpected, undeserved—and it left him strangely humbled. Even the idea of parading her purity before Richard and her brother paled next to the delicious thought of spending the entire day with her tangled in his arms.
Pulling her pillow to his chest, he waited.
Twenty minutes later, his smile had twisted into a scowl.
He rose abruptly, checked the bathroom, then strode into the hall and called her name. His voice echoed through the empty, shadowed rooms. Her bedroom was dark, cold, untouched.
A chill slid down his spine.
Maybe she was trying—and failing—to flirt with one of his guards. Maybe she was wandering, foolishly searching for a way out. Any of that was fine. She had no obligation to stay with him, even after last night.
But she surely wouldn't…
She wouldn't give her virginity to one man and marry another at dawn.
Would she?
He clenched his jaw. No. Impossible. And even if she had lost all sense and attempted escape again, there was no way she could succeed.
Pulling on a T-shirt and jeans, he swept through the castle corridors. He questioned the night guards. None had seen her.
Not a glimpse.
Not a sound.
The cold fear inside him grew sharper.
By now, his hands were clenched so tightly his knuckles blanched with rising rage. Fury boiled through him, hot and explosive. He woke Reyes and everyone else in the house; if he had to be up searching for her, then damn it, so did they. He ordered a full, methodical sweep of the entire castle—though a sick certainty already coiled in his stomach.
It would be useless.
She was gone.
She had tricked him.
All the while he'd believed he was seducing her, she had been the one seducing him. She had traded her virginity with icy calculation, and while he slept, content and unsuspecting, believing he'd found something pure—an angel—she had slipped away like mist, vanishing from his castle without a trace.
He stormed into her bedroom. Cursing under his breath, he tore through her wardrobe, desperate for any explanation, any hint of what she had planned. Her clothes hung neatly in place. Her bed was made with unsettling perfection.
Then he saw it—a glint under the small table by the window.
His phone.
Snatching it up, he checked the recent calls. The last number she had dialed made him swear violently.
Last night, when he'd found her soaking wet, startled and panicked by his unexpected arrival, he had known something was wrong. He had known her flimsy excuse about a failed escape attempt was a lie.
But he had chosen not to see it.
He'd thought he could seduce her into telling him the truth.
Now the truth was slamming him across the face. She had climbed out into the wind and rain to retrieve his phone from the roof. She had risked everything. And he—Damian—had lost her. Lost everything. All for one night of pleasure. He'd destroyed every advantage he had because he'd been so damned eager to get her into his bed.
And Elena… in giving up her virginity, she had proven to be a far more cold-blooded, ruthless competitor than he had ever imagined.
But how had she escaped?
Still gripping the phone, he strode back to his bedroom, his mind racing through possibilities. He trusted his men with his life; none of them would have released her. None of them would have slept at their post. And she could never climb down the sheer cliff under the castle. Impossible.
Then his gaze snagged on the carved wooden panels along his bedroom wall. The geometric pattern was barely visible in the dim grey light of morning, yet something about it tugged at his attention.
The old tunnel.
He lunged for his desk—empty. No keys. With rising dread, he tried the hidden door.
It swung open silently.
Just inside the entrance, half-buried in the dusty floor, lay the skeleton key—abandoned exactly where she had dropped it.
How had she known?
How could she possibly have known?
He stormed into the hallway, shoving on his shoes as he went.
Nancy.
The old woman must have told her. She had always disapproved of his lovers, always nagged him to settle down, but he'd never imagined she would go this far.
"You're fired," he growled as he passed her.
"It's better this way," she replied calmly, unfazed. "You don't need some tramp around. Get married. Find a good wife."
He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached.
In the foyer, he found Reyes. "Stop searching the castle," Damian snapped. "She's gone. Organize the men and sweep the countryside. Our only chance is to find her before Richard does."
Dawn was only a blood-red smear on the horizon when he tore down the hill in his red Ferrari.
He was beyond anger—coiled so tight he could barely breathe. He had to find her. He would find her. He hadn't planned this for twenty years just to let it fall apart now. He hadn't held her last night, hadn't slept with her in his arms, only to watch her become Richard's wife.
Taking the corner at high speed, he suddenly saw her.
Elena burst out from the shadowed trees along the western edge of the vineyard, still wearing the nightgown from the night before, hair streaming wildly behind her. Running full speed toward the seaside village.
Damian floored the gas.
The Ferrari roared forward, skidding to a stop across the road in front of her, blocking her way.