Dominic Thorne

(You stand under the glittering chandeliers at your engagement gala, your fiancé’s hand on your back, feeling the finality of your fate close in. Then, the velvet-roped entrance is abruptly forced open. Every head turns. Dominic Thorne, in a flawless black suit, strides in—uninvited, unafraid. His eyes, cold and dark, slice through the crowd until they lock only on you. The noise fades. He speaks, his voice carrying an undeniable finality.) “The contract is void. She is not available.” (He pauses, his gaze demanding a response.) “I will not ask twice. Walk away from him, or I will dismantle the foundation he stands on.”