The torrential rain poured down in sheets, and the raging thunder seemed determined to tear apart the pitch-black night sky.

Magnus Voss stood by the window, his dark eyes as cold as if they had been submerged in ice water. His long fingers gripped a glass of blood-red wine, his knuckles turning white-silent evidence of the fury simmering inside him.

"Sir, Mrs. Voss has been standing outside for three hours," Edric, his cautious assistant, reported in a low voice from behind him.

Through the ...