Lana woke up to the morning sun slanting through her curtains, her apartment quiet except for the gentle hum of the city outside. She lay still for a moment, letting the silence stretch around her. The night before floated in her mind like a soft breeze — Derek's smile, the warmth of his touch on the back of her hand, the ease of conversation over candlelight. He had made her laugh. He'd listened. He'd made her feel... seen.
For the first time in days, she hadn't dreamt of Kieran.
Still, the second her phone vibrated on the nightstand, her heart betrayed her, skipping a beat as she reached for it, hoping. But it wasn't him.
It was Derek.
Good morning, beautiful. Last night was perfect. I hope you slept as well as you smiled.
Her lips parted with a soft sigh, fingertips hovering over her screen. The message was sweet. It made her smile — but not in the all-consuming way Kieran made her feel when he looked at her like she was his entire world. She wanted to feel that now. But he hadn't texted. Not even a damn "good night" after what had happened between them in his office.
Maybe I was just a moment of weakness for him. A mistake he regrets.
She rubbed her eyes and dragged herself out of bed, trying to shake the thoughts. As she made coffee, the morning news played in the background, the anchor's voice reporting something about another missing girl found in the river. Lana barely listened — her mind too full, too confused. Derek was sweet. Attentive. And he wasn't messing with her head.
Maybe he's the one I should be letting in, she thought. Maybe this chaos with Kieran isn't love at all.
But miles away, chaos was stirring.
Kieran sat at the edge of his bed, hands clenched, phone to his ear. His private investigator — the one he had quietly hired to tail Derek — hadn't checked in for two days.
That wasn't normal.
"Call me the second you hear anything," he barked to his assistant, then hung up.
Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.
He didn't wait.
In less than thirty minutes, Kieran was in his car, speeding across the city. He didn't care how it looked. He didn't bother texting. He just showed up at Lana's apartment building, buzzed her door, and when she opened it, eyes still sleepy, he grabbed her hand.
"You're coming with me."
"What—wait—Kieran? What's going on?"
He didn't answer. His jaw was tight, his eyes unreadable.
"Kieran, talk to me. What the hell is happening?"
Still nothing.
Lana, though confused and annoyed, followed. His grip was firm but not cruel, his silence more haunted than angry. She didn't understand it — and he didn't offer her a single word of explanation.
When they arrived at his penthouse, he led her inside and shut the door behind them. And just like that... he walked away. Vanished into one of the rooms. No conversation. No attention. No emotion. Just cold, maddening silence.
She stayed that night, sleeping in the guest room. She didn't know what else to do — he wouldn't even look her in the eye. But the next morning, her patience snapped.
"I'm leaving," she told him from the doorway of his study. "I don't know what this is. But I won't be dragged around like some... possession you can ignore. If you don't trust me enough to tell me why you brought me here, then I don't need to be here."
He didn't stop her.
He watched her go. Jaw clenched. Mind spinning.
Three days passed.
Kieran didn't sleep. He barely ate. He threw himself into work by day and sat in the dark by night. He told himself he'd overreacted. That Derek was clean. Harmless. His investigator had finally messaged: Nothing unusual. He just eats ramen, works, and watches TV. Probably boring her to death.
Kieran exhaled, still not believing it, but trying to accept it. He turned on the television Saturday morning, hoping for a distraction.
What he saw froze the blood in his veins.
"This just in — the body of an unidentified man was recovered from the eastern docks earlier this morning. Sources say local fishermen found him tangled in their nets. Authorities report his eyes were missing, his skull fractured, and his leg severed. No ID was found."
But Kieran didn't need one.
He knew that face.
His PI.
Kieran stared, unmoving, the remote slipping from his fingers.
His voice came out barely a whisper.
"…He's back."