The silence felt wrong, like the quiet before a storm, like the pause before everything falls apart. It was ridiculous how much this bothered me. My hands were shaking as I pulled up his contact again, his smirking face looking back at me from the profile picture where he’d stolen my phone to take a selfie just days ago.
I dialed his number, pressing the phone to my ear so hard it hurt. One ring. Two rings. Three—then that automated click that made my heart stop.
Straight to voicemail.
His rich, commanding voice telling me to leave a message felt like a cruel joke. “You’ve reached Matt Caine. Leave a message, and if you’re lucky, I might call back.” The casual arrogance in his tone, usually so amusing, now made my chest ache.
“No, no, no…” The words tumbled out as panic clawed up my throat. Something was wrong. I knew it with the same certainty I knew my own name, knew that despite how new this thing between us was, it was real and important and terrifying in its intensity.
I was moving before I realized it, my sock-clad feet sliding on the marble floors as I burst through the penthouse doors. Bruno and Tyrone stood like twin mountains of muscle and Kevlar, their usual stoic expressions firmly in place. But something in my face must have shown because Bruno’s hand twitched toward his concealed weapon.
“I can’t reach Matt.” The words came out strangled, desperate. “He’s not answering. He always answers. Something’s wrong. Something’s?—”
The sickening feeling in my stomach intensified, like my body knew something my mind hadn’t caught up to yet. Like some part of me recognized that the man I was in love withwas in danger, and I was standing here in silk socks and his borrowed shirt, useless.
Bruno’s face remained impassive, but his hand moved to his phone. Tyrone shifted slightly, his massive frame blocking my path back into the penthouse—standard security protocol when something went wrong.
“Call Eddie,” I demanded, my voice sharp with growing panic. “He was at the Cosmopolitan. The Palmer Project meeting. Something’s wrong. I know something’s wrong.”
Bruno was already dialing, his fingers moving with mechanical precision. The seconds stretched like hours as we waited for Eddie to pick up. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, could feel the terror rising like bile in my throat.
“When’s the last contact?” Tyrone asked, his deep voice cutting through my spiral of fear.
“Last text was ninety minutes ago. Said thirty minutes, tops.” My mind raced through the guest list Matt had mentioned earlier. “Xavier was there. And that creepy guy, what’s his name? Porter? The one who always stares at Matt like he’s a piece of meat?”
Bruno’s hand tightened on his phone, the plastic case creaking under the pressure. I watched, fascinated and horrified, as the stoic guard’s face did something I’d never seen before—it showed emotion. Fear. Real, genuine fear that made my blood turn to ice.
Bruno’s voice was carefully controlled, but I could hear the strain. “Boss is missing.”
The world tilted sideways, the opulent hallway spinning around me. “Missing?” The word tasted like ash in my mouth. “What do you mean missing? He’s Matt fucking Caine. He doesn’t just go missing.”
“Security footage shows him alone in the boardroom after the meeting.” Bruno’s words came out clipped, professional, but hiseyes betrayed his concern. “Then nothing. No exit footage. No elevator logs. Eddie’s team is searching now. He’s contacting Mr. Maxwell and Mr. Masuda.”
My mind whirled with possibilities, each worse than the last. Xavier, with his thinly veiled threats and obvious hatred? Some business rival Matt hadn’t mentioned? Or…
“Fuck.” I grabbed my phone again, fingers shaking as I scrolled to Ryan’s number. “I need to call Ryan. He needs to know. And?—”
Bruno caught my arm, his grip gentle but firm. “We’ll find him.”
I met the guard’s eyes, seeing my own fear reflected there. “Yes,” I said, voice hard as steel. “We will.”
Because whoever took Matt clearly didn’t know one crucial fact: I didn’t lose the people I loved. Not again. Not after my parents. Never again.
Pacing the length of the penthouse, my fingers trembled as I pressed Ryan’s contact, the sleek phone nearly slipping from my sweaty grip.
“Well, well, well,” Ryan drawled. “If it isn’t my favorite future brother-in-law. Let me guess, Matt’s being an overprotective ass again and you need my embarrassing childhood stories as leverage?—”
“Ryan.” Something in my voice must have given me away because he stopped mid-sentence.
“Andy? What happened?” All playfulness vanished.
“Matt’s missing.” The words felt like glass in my throat. “He was at the Cosmopolitan for the Palmer meeting and now?—”
“Fuck.” I heard rustling, then a crash. “Shit, sorry, knocked over my—never mind. Give me five minutes to throw stuff in a bag. There’s a red-eye out of JFK in two hours.”
“Ryan—”
“Already texting Daniel and Jeremy.” Keys clacked, drawers slammed. “Though Eddie probably called them first. You know how he is with the protocol shit. Parents too. God, where are my—found them!”
