FORCED ATTEMPT

RAYNA

Seven days.

Outside the window of the Sunset Ridge Resort Villa, the world looked completely normal. The morning sun was shining down on the mountain highway, cars were driving past the estate gates, and people down in the city were going to work, sipping their morning coffee, completely unaware that they were standing on the edge of an extinction-level freeze.

Only I knew. Only I held the terrifying truth of what was coming in seven short days.

That made every single second precious.

"Boss," Mike’s voice crackled through the speakerphone on the counter. He was down at the commercial distribution center in the city. "The grain shipments are locked in. They're being loaded onto the third transport truck right now."

"What about the medical supplies?" I asked, tapping my pen against the marble.

"Secured," Mike replied, sounding breathless but triumphant. "Antibiotics, surgical kits, trauma bandages, and twenty years' worth of pediatric supplies for Sera. Plus, I managed to buy out three different industrial fuel suppliers. We have enough heavy-duty drums of high-grade diesel sitting in the convoy right now, heading up the mountain."

"Good," I said, my voice cold and focused. "Keep the trucks moving. I want every single supply unloaded into the basement before the week is out."

"Will do," Mike said. "Oh, and Rayna... you were right about the corporate accounts. The legal freeze went through yesterday. Michael's primary business accounts are completely locked. His financial backers pulled out every cent as soon as our clawback notices hit."

A cold, thin smile touched the corners of my lips. "Oh please, do let him panic. He's about to find out what it feels like to be completely broke."

I hung up the phone and looked down at the tablet. We were moving fast, but there was still so much to do. The wine cellar needed to be reinforced into a zero-degree storage vault, the solar generators on the roof had to be wired into the master grid, and every single outer door needed heavy steel shutters installed.

Just as I reached for my coffee mug, a sharp, familiar sound echoed through the front foyer.

The electronic intercom at the main security gate chimed.

I frowned, walking over to the wall-mounted security monitor near the kitchen. I tapped the screen and pulled up the live camera feed of the front entrance.

Standing outside the heavy iron gates was Michael.He was dressed in one of his expensive tailored designer suits, his hair neatly styled, holding his briefcase in one hand. But his face was twisted into an ugly mask of sheer panic and furious disbelief.

He pressed the intercom button again, his voice crackling roughly through the speaker.

"Rayna! I know you're in there! Open this damn gate right now!"

I pressed the talk button, keeping my voice flat, calm, and utterly devoid of emotion.

"Michael. You're trespassing on private property. Turn around and leave."

"Trespassing?!" Michael shouted back, his voice cracking with rising hysteria. "This is my resort! I bought this property! What the hell is wrong with your security guards? They won't let me in, and when I tried to check my accounts this morning, the bank told me my funds were frozen under some emergency legal clause!"

I leaned closer to the intercom mic, letting out a soft, mocking laugh.

"Your funds aren't frozen by magic, Michael. I pulled every single dollar back. The accounts, the hidden investments, the credit lines—they belong to me. You were just using my money to play big shot."

Silence hung over the intercom for three seconds. I could see him staring at the camera, his eyes bulging as my words sank into his brain.

"You... you did what?" Michael choked out, his face turning pale with sudden rage. "You pulled the money?! Are you insane?! Do you have any idea what my board of directors is going to do to me?! My company is collapsing right now because of this!"

"Then I suggest you start packing your things," I replied smoothly. "Because your company isn't the only thing you're going to lose."

"Open this gate, Rayna!" Michael shrieked, slamming his fist against the intercom post. His polite, arrogant executive mask had completely shattered, revealing the desperate, greedy parasite underneath. "We are married! By law, half of everything you own is mine! You can't just cut me off! Let me inside right now so we can talk about this like civilized people!"

"Civilized?" I repeated, the word dripping with venom. "You spent five years lying to my face, treating me like a servant, and living off my wealth while sleeping with your stepsister. We were never legally married, Michael. The certificate was a fake, and you know it."

Michael froze. The color drained entirely from his face. He stared up at the security camera lens as if he were looking straight into the eyes of a ghost.

"How... how do you know about that?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

"I know everything," I said quietly. "And you will never, ever step foot inside this house again."

Before he could scream another threat, I hit the mute button on the intercom console, cutting him off completely.

On the screen, I watched him lose his mind. He began kicking the iron gate, screaming obscenities into the air, waving his arms frantically at the security camera before storming off toward his car parked down the road.

I turned away from the monitor, taking a slow, deep breath to steady the dark satisfaction burning in my chest.

Later that afternoon, after ensuring Sera was safely napping upstairs in the secure, soundproofed second-floor playroom with her cartoons playing softly, I walked down to the lower service level to inspect the inventory logs.

The steel security doors were being fitted into the lower corridor, and the air smelled of fresh metal shavings and grease.

"Boss," one of the estate guards said, walking over to me with a clipboard. "We've locked down the outer Motion sensors are active along the entire ridge."

"Make sure the secondary generator is tested. We can't afford any power drops."

"Understood."

As the guard walked back toward the main security desk, a sudden, heavy crash echoed from the rear service alcove down the hall.

I froze. My eyes narrowed.

I walked cautiously around the corner into the dim concrete service corridor.

The service door—which had been left unlatched for a moment while the maintenance crew carried in boxes—was pushed wide open. Standing just inside the threshold was Michael.

He had managed to sneak past the front gates on foot, hiking up the steep, unguarded service trail behind the estate. His hair was messy, his tie pulled loose, and his face was purple with unadulterated rage.

When he saw me standing there alone, his eyes flashed with a dangerous, unhinged light.

"Rayna," he snarled, his voice low and vicious. He took a hard, fast step toward me. "You think you can ruin me? You think you can freeze my accounts, lock me out of my own home, and cut me off like a piece of garbage?"

I didn't back down an inch. I looked him dead in the eyes, my voice cutting and absolute. "You never owned this house, Michael. And you're done stealing from me."

That was the final straw. All his fake charm, all his manipulative acts vanished, replaced by the ugly, violent monster he truly was.

With a roar of pure fury, Michael lunged forward. Before I could move, his hand shot out and clamped brutally around my throat, slamming me backward against the hard concrete wall.

"You ungrateful bitch!" Michael hissed, his fingers tightening around my windpipe, cutting off my air. "I made you! Everything you have belongs to me! You think you can walk away?!"

I clawed at his wrist, gasping for air, but his grip was like a steel vice.

"You're going to fix this right now," Michael spat, his eyes wild and bloodshot as he pinned me to the wall. "You're going to transfer every cent back to my accounts. And if you don't..." He let go of my throat with one hand and delivered a vicious, open-handed slap straight across my face.

The sharp crack echoed off the concrete. Pain flared hot and blinding across my cheek, splitting my lip and sending me stumbling sideways.

Michael grabbed the collar of my sweater, twisting the fabric tight, his face twisting into a sick, degrading sneer. "You've been acting high and mighty lately, haven't you? Thinking you're untouchable. But you're nothing without me. You know what you need? You need to be put back in your place. I'm going to fuck you right here on this floor—get you knocked up just like old times when you'd stay docile and quiet with my baby in your belly. You love being my obedient little breeding cow, don't you?!"

Revulsion and white-hot fury surged through my veins. In my past life, his sick dominance had kept me trapped. Now, it only made me want to tear his throat out.

"Get away from me, you sick bastard!" I spat, raising my hands to fight back, but he shoved me hard, pinning me back against the wall, his hands tearing at my clothes.

"Shut up!" Michael snarled, raising his hand to strike me across the face again.

Before his hand could land, a massive shadow erupted from the dark archway of the corridor.

A heavy, military-grade boot slammed straight into Michael’s chest with bone-crushing force.

Michael flew backward through the air, coughing up a violent spray of blood as he slammed hard into a metal storage rack and collapsed into a broken heap on the concrete.

I stood panting against the wall, clutching my bruised cheek, my eyes snapping toward the dark hallway.

Standing there was a towering, broad-shouldered man in a dark military rig over a combat shirt. His face a jagged scar cutting across his left cheekbone, and his dark eyes burned with lethal, unbridled fury.

Michael groaned in agony on the floor, clutching his crushed ribs, spitting blood onto the clean concrete. He forced his head up, his swollen eyes glaring up in sheer terror and disbelief at the massive stranger standing over him.

Michael choked out a bloody cough, clutching his chest as he glared at the intruder, his voice trembling with blind rage and pain.

"Who... who the hell are you?!"