Lucien Drake stopped getting enough sleep.
At first, he told himself that the divorce, the stalled negotiations, and the sudden change in the city's power dynamics were just temporary problems. He has done worse things in the past. Sleeplessness was always there.
But his behavior was not the same.
This was a fixation.
He stayed in his office until after midnight, with the city below him shining like a living thing that wouldn't sleep. There were files on his desk that he hadn't touched. He kept changing his mind about the same empty space and the same unanswered question.
Who is she?
Everyone was talking about the Quinn heir without saying it out loud. People acted like they didn't know, but Lucien could tell by the careful wording of letters, the new politeness of his rivals, and the fact that doors didn't open as quickly as they used to.
Power was changing.
And power always left marks.
"Bring me everything," Lucien asked on the phone. "Not just what is public. I want private paths. Old records. Anything that came before the announcement."
His intelligence chief stopped. "Sir, the Quinns sealed most of it. No matter who she is, they did a fantastic job of keeping her safe.
Lucien's eyes hardened. "Then you'll dig deeper."
"Yes, sir."
He put two fingers on his temple and leaned back after hanging up the phone.
Twenty-three.
Woman.
Raised in a different place.
The details kept circling in his mind, forming a shape that he could not grasp.
The next morning, Lucien saw the change right away at the Drake Group's headquarters.
It was hard to notice the change unless you had built an empire on reading rooms, but it was definitely present. Before they spoke, the executives looked at each other. The assistants helped double-check directions that would have previously been taken without question.
"Sir," a senior director said carefully during a briefing, "the Quinn Consortium has asked for new terms."
Lucien didn't look up from the paper in front of him. "On what basis?"
"They've added a clause that says the heir must give direct permission."
Lucien's pen stopped.
"When will it start?"
"Right away."
The room got quiet.
Lucien carefully put the pen down. "Then talks are put on hold."
The director thought about it for a moment. "Sir, if we wait—"
Lucien said again, "I said suspended," with a steady, firm voice.
No one disagreed.
But when the conference was over, the silence felt heavier than usual.
Later that day, Lucien's helper came up to him with a tablet in hand.
"We followed several financial transactions linked to the Quinn heir," he said quietly. Trusts that are based outside of the US. Foundations from the past. Most of it happened years before the announcement.
Lucien's eyes got smaller. "Years?"
"Yes. Whoever she is, she has been in that spot for a while.
Lucien took the tablet and looked over the information. Days. Moving. Accounts that had been dormant were suddenly turned on.
Ready.
He looked up. "School?"
"There are no records from the Ivy League. No elite schools. The assistant paused and said, "In fact..." "There is a gap. "Almost five years are missing."
Lucien's jaws tightened.
A gap meant hiding.
Or, you could start over.
"Look at the timeline," Lucien said. "All of it. I want to know where she was living five years ago.
The helper nodded. "Yes, sir."
Lucien said, "And make the private search bigger," as he turned to leave.
The helper stopped. "For Quinn's heir?"
Lucien didn't answer right away.
"No," he finally said. "For my ex-wife."
The assistant's eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly got over it. "Got it."
Lucien went back to the mansion alone that night.
It looked like the house was bigger than before. Less noise. The absence of furniture made the space feel constricted.
He stopped in front of a door to a bedroom that was closed.
He hadn't been inside since Elara left that night.
The room was impeccable inside. Too clean. It seems like no one ever lived there.
Lucien walked across the room and opened a drawer on the nightstand.
Nothing inside.
He opened the door to the closet.
Her side was showing.
He felt irritation in his chest for reasons he would rather not look into.
She hadn't left anything behind.
No letters.
No gifts.
There's no sign.
It was like she had never been there.
Lucien's head of intelligence sat in a dark office across town, looking at timelines that were on top of each other on different screens.
Admissions to the hospital.
Money transfers.
Records of travel.
He frowned.
"There's overlap," he said in a low voice.
One of his analysts leaned in. "How does the overlap happen?"
"Dates," he said. "The Quinn heir's activation happens at the same time as Lucien Drake's ex-wife goes missing."
The analyst raised an eyebrow. "You think—"
The man quickly said, "No." "I'm saying the timing is... interesting."
He sent a brief message and highlighted the data.
It took Lucien a few minutes to get it.
He read the summary once.
Then again.
His heart rate slowed, not because he was calm, but because he was focused.
He told himself that coincidence does not mean connection.
Elara had been poor. Dependent. Be quiet.
The Quinn heir did not fit either of those descriptions.
But the numbers wouldn't line up any other way.
Lucien stood up and closed the file.
"Get the car ready," he said.
"Sir, where to?" asked his assistant.
Lucien stopped.
He didn't have an answer ready for the first time since his divorce.
"Nowhere," he finally said. "Cancel."
He went back to the window and watched the city pulse below.
She had gone away for a purpose.
He was more upset by this than if she had begged, cried, or come back.
I felt a change in the beach town, but I didn't know why.
That morning, the air felt heavier. The gulls are louder. There are fewer empty streets.
The nurse smiled at me as she gave me my chart in the clinic. "Everything seems to be in order."
I nodded in relief.
When I went outside, I saw a man standing across the street who was pretending to look at his phone.
My heart sped up.
I told myself not to go overboard.
He didn't follow me when I turned a corner.
But the feeling stayed.
I checked the locks again that night.
I pulled the curtains shut.
I turned off my phone.
Lucien Drake was pulling on threads that were too far away for him to understand.
And if he kept pulling—
I put my hands on my stomach and whispered the same promise.
"I won't let them find us."
In the city, Lucien stood alone in his office with the lights off. The skyline was only slightly visible in the glass.
He said in a calm voice, "She's still alive," without looking at anyone in particular.
He didn't understand why he was so sure.
That was him.
And that faith wouldn't let him turn away.