The Ex-Wife's Burning Elegance

Harry suffered just as he'd been warned-enduring torment that went far beyond anything human.

His face was ruined, his hands shattered, and even his dignity was ripped away, with photos and videos taken to immortalize his humiliation.

Shame burned so fiercely inside him that, for a moment, Harry wished he were dead. But the truth was, he didn't have the courage.

When it was finally over, Harry collapsed on the floor like a gutted fish, staring up at the ceiling, utterly lifeless.

A handsome, almost angelic face leaned into his line of sight.

The man's lips curled in a gentle, harmless smile, the kind you'd expect from the boy next door.

And yet there was nothing in his demeanor to betray just how ruthless he truly

was.

Harry glanced at his own mangled hands.

Not only had the tendons been severed, but his fingers had been sliced off entirely to prevent even the slightest hope of recovery.

He would never play the violin again.

His brilliant career, his genius-destroyed.

Barely audible, he muttered, "Did Stella hire you to do this?"

lost to her. Do you really think she'd

kindled in Harry's

then who are you? Why are you doing this to me? Don't you realize how many powerful people I know? You'll pay for this-I promise

Stella wagered is none of my concern. But you crossed a line when you forced her

but there was a dangerous glint in

to decide whether

snuffed out in an

nearly forgotten-this man was

didn't actually leave the scene, did

looked at

and

No, she didn't. But

anything-or

over

"No, she didn't.

Harry, aren't you the one who always believed in destroying genius before it takes

regretful, as

Harry, you should be grateful you live in a

still alive. Where I come

off, but

ran through