He was waiting for her outside the Villa Aegea.
Damian Cole lifted his binoculars, watching the flower-strewn limousine wind its way out of the fishing village in a flurry of rose petals. From where he stood—beside the iron gate that shielded the village from the sharp sea winds on one side and the steep cliffs on the other—the world seemed carved in light and shadow, the horizon marked by the glitter of the Aegean.
Elena Hart. At last.
He had kept watch on her through her ten secluded years in private schools until she had returned to London last year. Since then, the wild young heiress had become the darling of the tabloids—always photographed on the arm of some wealthy admirer. The spoiled beauty was reputed to be the most accomplished flirt in England.
Breaking her would be his pleasure.
"The car's moving into position, sir," his chief bodyguard, Ryan, said quietly.
"Yes." Damian lowered the binoculars. He knew his men could have taken the Hart girl without his supervision—preventing her arrival at her wedding in the Greek tycoon's cliffside villa to the north.
If he'd chosen, he could be in Athens right now, drinking coffee and checking market figures in London and New York instead of standing here beneath the relentless Mediterranean sun.
But revenge had been his obsession for twenty years. And today was the culmination of everything. After he had the girl, both she and her family would be utterly destroyed. Finally. As they deserved.
Damian smiled grimly to himself. He almost wished he could see the expression on her bridegroom's face when he heard the news—the sanctimonious, black-hearted bastard.
The limousine left the village, gliding along the narrow coastal road that separated the sun-blasted cliffs from the deep blue Aegean below. Damian pulled the black mask down over his face and turned to Ryan.
Elena Hart had just sold her innocence to the highest bidder.
Her white bridal gown, intricately embroidered with silver thread and weighted with heavy jewels, felt less like a dress and more like a shroud as she gazed out through the tinted window. Beyond it, the sunlight shimmered over the winding Greek coastline — but she could find no beauty in it.
For a fleeting moment, she almost envied the old women selling oranges along the roadside. Their lives, simple and honest, seemed far kinder than the one waiting for her — marriage to a man who had already driven one wife to her grave.
She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. It doesn't matter, she told herself firmly. It's too late to turn back now.
She would endure Richard Vale's touch — his greedy hands, his stale breath, the press of his heavy, aging body. She would endure it all, because her family's survival depended on it.
But as recently as last month, Elena Hart had looked forward to falling in love — to marrying a man she could truly cherish.
She had dreamed of building a career, of one day having children of her own. For all her twenty-three years, she had lived for the promise of that day — the day her real life would finally begin.
Strange to think it was already over.
Saving her sister had been the best decision she had ever made. But even knowing that, part of her ached for all she would never have — the laughter, the romance, the years that would now belong to someone else. Her life, still so young, would be so very short.
"Elena! Stop fidgeting. You'll crease your dress!"
The sharp voice cut through her thoughts.
"Oh, you're doing it on purpose, aren't you? You ungrateful girl!"
Elena slowly opened her eyes, dark lashes heavy with kohl, and turned to face the woman seated beside her.
Claudia Hart — her late father's second wife — was twenty years older, her surgically smoothed skin stretched unnaturally tight across her face.
Elena regarded her coolly. "Did you pay for that facelift with my sister's money, Claudia?" she asked softly. "Is that why you let a ten-year-old girl go hungry — so you could look like a doll?"
Claudia gasped, her painted mouth twisting in outrage.
"Do not worry," said Sophia Vale, Elena's future sister-in-law, from across the seat. Her voice was smooth and pitiless. "My brother will soon beat that rebellious spirit out of her."
Elena's hands clenched in her lap. She wished the words weren't true — wished with all her heart they were just cruel lies. But they weren't. Whether before or after her wedding night, she would be beaten.
And still… she would endure.
Elena Hart stared out the tinted window as they passed through the rusted gates that marked the edge of the coastal village.
She should have slept with the first man who'd drunkenly kissed her at that college party. Maybe then it wouldn't hurt this much now—this strange, aching emptiness she couldn't name.
"What? No clever comeback?" Claudia sneered, leaning back against the seat. Her smile was sharp and cruel. "Not so brave now, are you?"
Elena blinked hard, forcing back the tears that threatened to rise. She'd die before she ever cried in front of Claudia. Turning toward the ocean, she focused on the fishing boats bobbing against the horizon, their faded paint shimmering in the salt air. The sea was endless and indifferent—and maybe that was why she envied it.
"The governor's wife was kidnapped," Sophia whispered from the front seat. "Taken in broad daylight."
Claudia perked up, her tone gleeful. "What's the world coming to? What happened to her?"
Traffic thinned as the limousine wound north along the Atlantic coast. The air inside was cold, but tension pressed down like a storm. Elena frowned when she noticed the driver's hands trembling on the wheel. Despite the air conditioning, sweat gleamed along the back of his neck.
"The governor had to sell everything he owned to pay the ransom," Sophia said softly. "The family's ruined. But at least the wife was returned."
"You mean they didn't hurt her?" Claudia's voice dripped with disappointment.
"No," Sophia murmured. "They just wanted money. It was—"
Her sentence cut off in a scream.
The driver jerked the wheel hard right. Tires shrieked across the asphalt as the limousine spun, sand spraying up against the windows. The world blurred into motion and noise before they crashed into a dune with a violent jolt.
Glass shattered. Metal groaned. Elena's breath caught in her throat.
Before she could even move, the driver threw open his door and bolted—running full-speed back toward Tarfaya.
"Where are you going?" Claudia screamed, clawing at the handle.
Her door was yanked open from the outside.
Three men in black masks and desert camouflage appeared, shouting orders in a language Elena didn't understand. One dragged Claudia out by the wrist while another pointed a rifle toward Sophia.
Elena's own door was ripped open.
She spun—and froze.
The man before her was taller than the rest. Power clung to him like a shadow. Beneath the mask, she glimpsed a hard mouth and eyes the color of steel—cold, merciless, knowing.
He reached for her, his gloved hand closing around her arm.
"Elena Hart," he said, his voice low, rough, and deliberate. It sent a shiver down her spine.
"At last," he murmured, almost to himself. "You're mine."