The silence in the master suite was not the silence of peace, but the deafening roar of a void. My rage was so absolute, so complete, that it felt cold, sharper than any blade I carried. I had dropped to my knees in the center of the room, not in prayer, but because my legs could no longer bear the weight of my failure.

She was gone. Isabella. My anchor. The mother of my twins.

The sheer audacity of Damon Salvatore. He had not only touched my most precious asset; he had annihilated my ...