The glare of the setting sun hit George Whitemore"'s eyes from the tinted windows of the matte black Bentley, and blurred across his view into a dizzying muddle of concrete and light. He jolted with a slight tremor from the engine, though nothing from the vibrating rumble could penetrate the turmoil within his chest. Four years, it had been. Four soul-crushing years since she’d shoved his plain silver ring back into his fist in the bedroom. Her eyes was cold and hard as flint, and yet here she was-an item that the city, and for all intents and purposes, his own empire, had already learned-walking the floors of the Whitmore Group every single damn day. The nerve of it.'Terminate it,' his own internal voice, steely and absolute.But as the Bentley picked its way through the chaotic streets of downtown, it felt as though a suffocating fist was tightening around his throat. He saw Bianca again, standing with impossible defiance before her family’s dilapidated ancestral manse in the dyi