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My lungs burned, my hands curled into fists.

She didn’t understand. She didn’t see it yet. What I’d done for her. What I’d destroyed to keep her safe.

But she would.

I stalked back toward the door, every step a vow. I was done asking.

Now?

Now I was taking her back.

And God help anyone in my way.

I dialed Callista’s number.

Once.

Twice.

Each time her voice—too calm, too cold—slid through the line like a knife to the gut. Voicemail. She didn’t even have the decency to hear me breathe before I ended her.

“Callista,” I growled into the silence, my voice low and seething, “you have one chance to give her back. One.”

I didn’t bother calling again.

The phone—her phone—was still in my hand.

I hurled it across the foyer.

It shattered against the wall in a burst of glass and sparks, pieces raining down like shrapnel. The echo of impact was a balm, but not enough. Not nearly enough.

Rage gripped me by the throat.

I turned on the nearest object—the vase she’d once said looked “nice” in the entryway. I grabbed it with both hands and slammed it to the ground. Ceramic exploded like bone under pressure, dried flowers scattering like ashes across marble.

I was breathing hard now—shoulders rising and falling, chest tight with something that felt too much like grief.

I wanted to burn the world down and start over.

The table next. A single sweep of my arm and it was stripped bare—books, bottles, framed photos, all crashing to the floor in a glorious, chaotic crescendo. Glass. Wood. Paper. Nothing was safe.

Then the mirror.

I saw my reflection for half a second—my wild eyes, blood already rising in my cheeks, chest heaving like I’d just walked off the ice after a fight.

She’s gone.

The thought snapped whatever was left of my restraint.

I drove my fist into the glass.

It cracked—deep and jagged down the center like a scar splitting a face. My knuckles split with it, pain shooting through my hand, but I welcomed it. I needed it. I punched again. And again.

Blood bloomed down my forearm, dripping into the glass, slicking the floor beneath me in red.

The foyer looked like a warzone now.

Good.