The millionaire was ready to call the police on his fiancée—until the police arrived first with evidence claiming the injured maid was actually the criminal.

Three weeks later.

The Cole family empire was undergoing a massive restructuring. Nathan had liquidated all assets associated with the Hale family, donating tens of millions to victims of corporate fraud and establishing a national foundation for domestic violence survivors in Grace’s name.

At the Cole shipping terminal on the Boston waterfront, fog rolled heavily off the black Atlantic waters.

Nathan was finalizing the sale of a cargo warehouse when his encrypted phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Arthur Vance.

“Nathan, where are you?” Arthur’s voice came through the speaker, laced with urgent panic.

“I’m at Terminal 4 checking the late shipment,” Nathan replied, frowning. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Chief Miller!” Arthur yelled over the static. “He skipped bail an hour ago! The FBI just discovered he accessed a private weapons stash in South Boston! He knows his life is over, Nathan—he’s looking for leverage!”

Before Nathan could reply, a loud crash echoed from the dark interior of Warehouse 4.

Nathan froze. He had brought Grace and Lily with him to the waterfront today so they could go on his private yacht afterward for a weekend trip to Nantucket. They were supposed to be waiting inside the VIP executive lounge near the docks.

“Grace!” Nathan yelled, dropping his phone and sprinting into the fog toward the warehouse.

Inside the vast, shadowy warehouse, giant shipping containers loomed like steel monsters.

Near the center bay, Grace stood in front of four-year-old Lily, her arms spread wide.

Standing twenty feet away was former Police Chief Thomas Miller. He looked wild, unkempt, his uniform torn, holding a heavy tactical shotgun trained directly on Grace’s chest.

“You ruined me!” Miller screamed, his voice bouncing crazily off the metal walls. “I had ten years until my pension! Now the feds are seizing my house! My life is over because of you and your brat!”

“Thomas, please,” Grace begged, keeping her voice steady despite the terror freezing her blood. “Nathan will give you money. He’ll give you a boat, a plane—whatever you want. Just let my daughter go.”

“I don't want his money! I want him to suffer like I’m suffering!” Miller yelled, raising the shotgun, his finger tightening on the trigger.

“Miller!”

Nathan’s roar cut through the dark warehouse like a thunderclap.

Nathan charged out from behind a red shipping container, throwing himself straight into Miller’s line of sight just as the shotgun discharged.

BOOM!

The deafening blast echoed through the steel rafters.

Nathan tackled Miller at full speed, slamming the two-hundred-pound former chief against the concrete floor. The shotgun clattered away across the slick tile.

Nathan didn't hesitate. Driven by pure, protective instinct, he delivered two devastating right hooks to Miller’s jaw, knocking the corrupt cop instantly unconscious.

Nathan gasped for breath, dropping to his knees. A sharp, searing line of pain ran down his upper left arm where three pieces of shotgun shrapnel had grazed his suit coat.

“Nathan!” Grace screamed, rushing to his side, tears streaming down her face. She dropped to her knees, frantically checking his bloodied arm. “Oh God, you’re hit! You’re hit!”

Nathan grabbed her face with his good hand, pulling her against his chest, kissing her forehead over and over. “I’m okay... I’m okay, Grace. Are you hurt? Is Lily hurt?”