ALEXANDER'S POV
The call cut off before I could speak.
Before I could ask where she was.
Before I could breathe.
Static filled the line for a split second, then silence.
And for the first time in years — years of keeping everything under control — I froze.
Not in fear. In fury.
In disbelief.
In something that clawed its way up my throat and burned hotter than reason.
I redialed immediately. No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
The third time, my hand was shaking.
Lucas's face still glowed faintly from the iPad on the desk, where the video call had ended a few minutes earlier. He was half-turned away, talking to someone off-screen when he noticed me.
"Alex? What's wrong?"
I didn't answer at first. I was already on my feet, grabbing my jacket, keys, phone. Every muscle in my body was tight enough to snap.
"She called," I said, my voice hoarse. "She said—she said help."
Lucas's expression changed instantly. "What? Where is she?"
"I don't know."
The words tasted like poison.
I pulled up the tracking app I'd quietly installed on her phone weeks ago — not because I didn't trust her, but because I didn't trust the world. The signal blinked once, then vanished.
"She's off the grid."
"Maybe her battery died—"
"No," I cut in. "That wasn't her battery. That was someone cutting it."
Lucas swore softly. "Then we need the police."
"I am the police," I snapped before catching myself. My voice was raw, too sharp. I rubbed my temples, breathing hard. "Send me a list of every precinct contact you know in Singapore. Quietly."
He was already typing. "You think she's been—"
"Don't say it." My tone was steel. "Not until I see her."
The next hour blurred. Calls. Orders. GPS triangulations. Surveillance pulled from street cameras.
My world — the one I kept structured and orderly — turned to chaos in the span of sixty minutes.
Every minute that passed felt like a noose tightening around my chest.
By the time the security team traced the last camera footage, I was already halfway out the door.
The last sighting — Chinatown Market, 5:12 p.m.
Then a small figure running into an alley.
Then — nothing.
Gone.
I didn't wait for backup.
Traffic lights, pedestrians, laws — none of it mattered. I drove like a man possessed, until the car screeched to a halt in front of the narrow lane flashing across the security feed.
It was darker now.
Quieter.
The air reeked of smoke and garbage.
I stepped out, scanning every shadow.
"Amara!"
My voice echoed off the walls. Nothing.
My hands curled into fists. "DAMN IT!"
A noise — faint, metal shifting — came from the left. I turned, flashlight cutting through the dark.
The place looked abandoned — rusted doors, broken glass, an old warehouse. I forced the lock, kicked the door open, and the stench of dust hit me.
Then I saw it.
A torn strap from her white purse lying near the doorway.
The world tilted for a second — the way it did when I was twelve and watched my father's empire collapse.
That same hollow, helpless sound rang in my ears.
But this time, it wasn't business.
It was her.
"Amara!" I shouted again, louder this time.
Nothing.
Only the creak of the building settling.
Only the sound of my heartbeat — loud, uneven, violent.
I was halfway through the room when I noticed the payphone in the corner — its receiver hanging loose, swinging slightly.
Still warm from the last call.
She'd been here.
And she'd been terrified.
I sank down beside it for half a second, forcing air into my lungs.
Then I stood.
When I called Lucas again, my voice was steady — too steady.
"Get every camera feed from this block. I want faces. Every single one."
"Alex—"
"If the police drag their feet, I'll burn their entire division down. You hear me?"
"Brother—"
"Find them."
He was silent for a moment. Then quietly: "We will."
I hung up.
And for the first time in a very long time, I prayed.
Not with words.
With desperation.
Wherever she was — whoever took her — they didn't know who I was.
But they would.
Because I was going to find her.
And when I did…
The world would remember why Alexander Voss was feared