Chapter 3

After that day at my apartment, Andrew operated under the arrogant assumption that everything was firmly under his control. His plan was bulletproof.

But three days came and went, and I still hadn't surfaced.

He sat on the imported leather sofa in the living room, his index finger tapping a rapid, anxious rhythm against the glass coffee table.

The screen of his iPhone continuously lit up with emails and work notifications, but there was absolutely nothing from me.

Tina padded down the grand staircase, her brow pinched in genuine concern.

"Still haven't heard from Claire?" she asked with anxiety.

"Why are you panicking?" Andrew scoffed, maintaining his hardened exterior, though a brief flicker of uncertainty betrayed his eyes. "She can't hide forever. She'll turn up when she runs out of cash."

Tina grumbled, "But the debt collectors are getting impatient. If we keep stalling, I'm terrified they're going to show up at our front door."

She looked a bit restless.

Almost as if the universe were confirming her worst fears, the heavy oak front door shuddered under a barrage of violent pounding.

"Tina! Get your ass out here and pay up, you lying bitch!" a coarse voice roared from the porch.

Tina's face instantly drained of all color. She practically dove behind the sofa, grabbing Andrew's arm in a death grip.

"Oh my god, they're here! It's the collectors!" she hissed, trembling uncontrollably.

Andrew's body went rigid. He quickly forced a mask of calm, pressing a finger to his lips.

"Keep your voice down! Don't make a sound."

The two of them crouched behind the expensive sofa, holding their breath as the muffled, furious shouts and the heavy thud of fists against the mahogany door echoed through the foyer.

"Where the hell are you hiding?"

"I swear to God, if you don't open this door, we're going to torch this whole fucking house!"

The screaming and banging dragged on for several agonizing minutes. Finally, after a frustrated string of curses, the heavy footsteps began to retreat down the driveway.

Tina exhaled a long breath. A sheen of cold sweat glistened on her forehead.

"How did they find this address?" she whimpered.

Andrew didn't answer her. He just stared blankly at the black screen of his phone, his brow knitting tighter and tighter.

A sudden realization hit him.

If I were just hiding from him, why couldn't the underground syndicates find me either?

If I were still alive, I never would have let them track the debt back to Tina. I would have taken the heat.

He began to suspect that something had truly happened to me.

The thought sent an electric shiver down his spine. His fingers trembled slightly against the glass table.

But he aggressively shoved the creeping dread down, hardening his features.

"I'll go find her myself," he declared, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Tina looked up at him, still shaking. "Where are you going to look?"

"Everywhere she used to go. I'll check every single spot," Andrew snapped, grabbing his keys from the console.

He threw on his tailored overcoat. There was a frantic, restless edge to his movements that he refused to acknowledge.

"There is no way she just vanished into thin air. I don't believe it," he muttered to himself.

As he strode out to the garage, he hit the speed dial for his executive secretary, Mason Bean.

"Run a full sweep on Claire's whereabouts. I want you checking hospitals, police precincts, and homeless shelters; leave no stone unturned!" Andrew barked.

There was a heavy pause on the other end of the line. "Mr. Sterling," Mason asked cautiously. "Are you sure you want me to check the city morgues as well?"

Andrew's grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles popped. A sudden, suffocating weight pressed down on his chest.

He swallowed hard, immediately reverting to his dictatorial tone.

"Check them! I want to know exactly what kind of sick game she's playing!"

He hung up the phone and slammed his foot on the gas. He drove straight to the dilapidated apartment complex we used to live in when he was still starting his company.

The security guard at the gate just shook his head. He hadn't seen me in years.

Andrew drove to my favorite indie coffee shop. He drove to the botanical gardens. He even drove to the exact park bench where we had our first date.

Every single location was painfully, entirely empty. It was as if I had been thoroughly erased from the earth.

Finally, as the sun began to set, he pulled his sports car into the parking lot of Lifecare Hospital.

He stared up at the massive, illuminated hospital logo, his jaw locked in determination.

If I were still refusing to show my face, he would just have to use his ultimate trump card. It always worked before.