The crystal whiskey tumbler shattered against the brick wall of Silas’s private office, raining glittering shards onto the Persian rug.

"Boss, you need to calm down," Marcus, Silas’s head of security and right-hand man, said from his position near the heavy oak door

The silence in Silas Thorne’s sprawling penthouse was usually a heavy, suffocating thing, but this morning, it felt like a loaded gun.

Clara Vance kept her head down, her hands moving in rhythmic, mechanical circles as she polished the mahogany dining table. The rag in

Clara didn't wait for Silas to demand an answer.

The moment his grip loosened in his shock, she ripped her wrists out of his grasp, scrambled backward over the remaining glass, and bolted.

"Clara!" Silas roared, his voice echoing off the high ceilings, but she was alread