The wheels hit the runway with a jolt that snapped Lex awake from the half-sleep he never really fell into. Los Angeles rose ahead of them like a glittering lie — sunlight bouncing off glass towers, palm trees swaying lazily, a city pretending it wasn't hiding monsters under its perfect teeth.
Vanessa stretched in her seat like a satisfied predator.
Lex didn't even glance her way.
He had one priority: information.
The moment the seatbelt sign clicked off, Lex stood, grabbed his coat, and walked down the aisle without a word. Vanessa watched him with mild amusement, her boy toy scrambling to gather her bags. But Lex didn't slow, didn't look back, didn't breathe near her orbit.
He wasn't giving Vanessa Carlisle a single inch until he knew what battlefield he was walking into.
He stepped into the bright, chaotic terminal of LAX.
Noise crashed around him. Cameras. Tourists. Hustlers.
But his phone was already in his hand.
First call: Elias.
The line picked up before the first ring even finished.
"Lexington," Elias said, voice rough with sleeplessness. "New York's stable. You made the front page of every newspaper. Barnie's scrambling."
"I don't care about Barnie right now," Lex said. "Rose is still missing."
A beat.
Elias's voice softened.
"Tell me what you need."
"Hold New York," Lex said. "Every hour. Every damn minute. Nothing at Maddox can fall apart while I'm out here."
"It won't," Elias said firmly. "Elinor already sent me three reports. She's terrifying. She called the board's bluff twice before breakfast."
"Good," Lex said. "Keep them guessing. Keep them contained."
"And you?" Elias asked. "You sound… colder."
"I have reason."
Elias didn't push. He knew Lex well enough to hear the edge in his tone — the one that meant something personal had deepened into something lethal.
"Call if you need anything," Elias said quietly.
"I will."
He ended the call.
And immediately spotted two people waiting by the baggage claim — one frantic, one trying not to look guilty:
Benny and Marcel Trent, Rose's tour manager.
Benny saw Lex first.
"Lex!" Benny rushed forward, eyes bloodshot, clutching a manila folder like it was a lifeline. "Thank God— I didn't know if you— I mean— she— Lex, it's bad."
Lex gripped Benny's shoulders. Grounded him.
"We'll find her," he said. "Tell me everything."
Before Benny could speak, Marcel stepped forward — a thin man in his late forties, overdressed in all black, sunglasses inside like he believed his own PR legend.
"Lex," Marcel said quickly, "listen, this whole thing is just a misunderstanding, okay? Rose probably turned her phone off. These girls get overwhelmed. The studio says—"
Lex turned his head.
And let his expression do the talking.
Every word died in Marcel's throat.
"…or maybe," Marcel corrected, clearing his throat, "we should look into it more thoroughly."
"Good," Lex said. "Start talking."
Benny shoved the folder into Lex's hands. "This is her itinerary — the original. And this—" he pointed to the second folder Marcel tried to hide behind his back, "—is the altered one."
Lex snatched it from Marcel's hands.
He flipped through the pages, eyes scanning each line with surgical precision.
Events shifted.
Meeting times removed.
New names added — names Lex didn't recognize.
But one line made him freeze:
PRIVATE DINNER — SUNSET MARQUE HOTEL
With E.H.
E.H.
Eli Harrow.
Lex's jaw locked.
"Where's this hotel?" he asked.
Benny swallowed. "West Hollywood. The penthouse restaurant."
Of course it was a penthouse.
Men like Eli Harrow didn't descend into public spaces to conduct their business.
"Marcel," Lex said slowly, "when did you last see Rose?"
Marcel hesitated too long.
Lex stepped closer — just enough to make Marcel back up into the luggage carousel.
"When," Lex repeated.
"Two days ago," Marcel whispered.
"And you didn't report it."
"She's an adult," Marcel said quickly. "Sometimes talent changes plans. You know how actresses—"
Lex's hand shot out, fisting Marcel's shirt collar, pulling him close enough that Marcel could smell the cold fury behind Lex's breath.
"Don't finish that sentence," Lex said quietly.
Benny stared, stunned.
Marcel trembled. "L-Lex— I-I didn't know— I swear—"
"If you knew anything and hid it—"
"I didn't!" Marcel cried. "I swear! I was told the scheduling change came from above. From Harrow's people."
Lex released him so suddenly Marcel stumbled backward.
This wasn't just an actress disappearing.
This was a transaction.
Lex turned to Benny.
"We need her last known location. Phone records. Security cameras. Credit cards."
"Already on it," Benny said, voice steadier now that Lex was here. "Jason's calling in favors. Studio West is stonewalling but—"
"They won't stonewall me," Lex said.
Benny nodded hard.
Marcel straightened his wrinkled collar.
"What do you want me to do now?"
Lex didn't even look at him.
"Stay out of my way."
Marcel swallowed and took two careful steps back.
Lex started walking toward the exit, Benny right behind him.
"Where are we going?" Benny asked.
Lex pushed open the glass doors, sunlight hitting his face like a slap.
"To the Sunset Marque," Lex said, eyes cold.
"And after that?"
Lex didn't hesitate.
"After that," he murmured,
"We talk to Eli Harrow."
Benny stopped walking. "Lex… that guy—he's dangerous."
Lex didn't slow. He adjusted the collar of his jacket, eyes fixed on the curb where black cars idled like sharks waiting for blood.
"So am I."
"No, Lex, I mean really dangerous," Benny said, scrambling to keep up. "People disappear around him. Deals vanish. Careers implode. He's—he's not the type you just… confront."
Lex opened the back door of a waiting SUV, but didn't get in yet. He turned to Benny, shadows cutting across his face in sharp lines.
"We're not confronting him," Lex said.
Benny blinked. "We're not?"
"No."
Lex leaned closer, voice dropping into a cold, lethal whisper:
"We're warning him."
Benny swallowed hard. "Warning him… about what?"
"That I'm coming," Lex said. "And that whoever touched Rose—whoever moved her, hid her, or laid a finger on her—answers to me now."
The way he said answers made Benny's spine straighten.
"But Lex—" Benny started.
Lex cut him off.
"This isn't Wall Street," he said quietly. "And this isn't a negotiation. Eli Harrow runs his world through fear. Influence. Silence. He makes actresses vanish in paperwork. He makes men kneel by cutting their funding."
He stepped closer, eyes dark, voice like a knife sliding into velvet.
"And he thinks he can do that to someone connected to me."
Benny breathed out slowly. "He doesn't know who you are."
Lex's expression hardened.
"He will."
For a moment, the noise of the airport faded.
Lex's mind sharpened the way it used to before billion-dollar trades—everything icy, focused, silent.
"Lex…" Benny said softly. "You're scaring me."
"Good," Lex replied. "Stay alert."
He finally slid into the SUV. Benny hurried after him, slamming the door.
The engine hummed to life.
Benny buckled his seatbelt with shaking hands.
"So… we're going to Eli's office?"
"No," Lex said.
"His house?"
"No."
"Then—"
Lex cut him off, eyes fixed on the city ahead.
"First we go to her last location.
Then we talk to the people who lied.
And when we have enough to bury him,"
he paused,
"we talk to Eli Harrow."
"But not before," Lex finished. "I don't walk into a room without knowing exactly where the bodies are buried."
Benny shivered. "Lex… you sound like your dad."
Lex didn't blink.
"I know."
He reached for his phone, scrolling through the altered itinerary Marcel had tried to hide.
The SUV rolled away from the curb.
And Lex whispered—barely audible, more to the city than to Benny:
"Eli started a game he doesn't understand."
He looked up, watching Los Angeles rise like a glittering trap.
"And I'm here to end it."