Damien.>>>>
The first sign something was wrong wasn't the empty house.
It was the silence.
The villa never truly slept. Even in the dead of night there was the hum of the air system, the shuffle of guards changing shifts, the faint drip of the kitchen tap Elena always forgot to close completely. But that morning, it was still. Too still.
I reached across the bed, fingers brushing nothing but cold sheets. She was gone. Not just stepped out, not just in the shower — just gone.
"Elena?" My voice cut through the room like a knife. No answer.
I stood, pulling on my shirt as I moved to the hallway. The guards at the end of the corridor stiffened when they saw me.
"Any leads yet?" I demanded.
The younger one hesitated. The older one, Lucas, my right hand for years, stepped forward.
"She hasn't been seen yet since before dawn, boss."
The blood in my veins ran cold.
"Show me the feeds again."
We were in the security room within seconds. Rows of monitors played back the night's recordings — except the ones I needed most were black screens. Files corrupted.
"Wiped clean," Lucas said, jaw tight. "Someone knew what they were doing."
I leaned closer, my eyes scanning for anything salvageable. On a backup camera in the east hallway, a shadow crossed the frame. Tall, broad-shouldered, suit sharp enough to cut glass. He turned his head slightly, just enough for the light to catch his face.
Adrain fucking Vale.
My hands clenched into fists so tight my knuckles cracked.
"Pull every scrap of data. Dock records, private marinas, the underground rail lines. He won't get far."
Lucas didn't even blink. "On it."
⸻
Two hours later, the villa had transformed into a war zone.
Phones rang nonstop. Maps and documents littered the dining table. Every man I trusted was armed, their eyes sharp with the kind of focus you only get when you know someone's life is on the line.
Every lead that came in, I chased.
Every lead that fizzled out, I cursed and replaced with two more.
But for every dead end, the pressure in my chest grew heavier.
I stared at my phone between calls, half expecting it to ring with her voice on the other end. Half expecting to hear nothing at all.
At noon, Lucas came back with an update.
"Checked all the docks. No sign of him. You should rest abit boss, you've been up since yesterday, you can't fight properly if your body's exhausted".
I knew that, gods did I know but I simply can't rest until I find her, I have to find her, she hasn't even been my wife for a day and then this happens. I needed to know she was fine. So ignoring him I asked.
"What about the private airfields?"
"Nothing. Either he's hiding close or he's gone ghost."
My jaw locked. "Vale doesn't hide. He flaunts. Which means he's still here. He wants me to come for her."
Lucas didn't argue. He knew I was right.
⸻
By mid-afternoon, my temper was a loaded gun.
I kicked a chair hard enough to splinter the wood. The sound echoed through the room, making two of my men glance over but quickly look away.
"Tell me you have something," I barked at Lucas.
He ran a hand through his hair. "Southern quarter. Street cams have been down since last night. Could be where he's hiding her."
Finally. A fucking thread.
"Send four teams," I ordered. "Check every warehouse, every basement, every sewer tunnel if you have to. And Lucas—" I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a low growl. "If you find anyone guarding her, put them down. Don't wait for my permission."
He nodded. "Understood boss"
⸻
Evening bled into night, and still nothing.
I stood in my office, staring at the rain streaking down the windows. In my hand was the photo I kept in my drawer—Elena on the beach, hair tangled from the wind, eyes squinting against the sun as she laughed. I took this picture when she was seventeen, that felt like ages ago, we were so in love, I swore nothing would ever tear us apart, now look at us and the mess I've dragged her into, she's missing because of me, because I couldn't let go of the hurt her family caused, she caused me.
I remembered that day. She'd run ahead of me into the waves, shoes in one hand, daring me to catch her. And I had, dragging her back against me while she kicked and laughed and told me I was impossible.
Now the thought of her out there, alone, terrified, unprotected … it made something primal claw at my insides.
Lucas came in again. "Two warehouses cleared. No sign."
I slammed my fist against the wall. The sound was a dull thud, but the pain was sharp enough to steady me.
"Then we keep looking."
He hesitated. "Boss… you haven't eaten. You haven't—"
"I'm not sitting down while she's in his hands," I snapped.
Lucas didn't argue, just nodded and left to rally the teams again.
⸻
Around midnight, my phone buzzed. Not with a lead, but with a message from Vale himself.
A single image.
Elena. Bound to a chair, her eyes wide and red from crying. A bruise blooming on her cheek.
The caption read: Come find her. If you're fast enough.
My vision tunneled. Every sound in the room dulled except for the thundering of my heartbeat.
I didn't shout. I didn't curse. I simply said, "Trace it."
And Lucas was already moving.
Within minutes, we had a location. An old arena on the outskirts of the city — abandoned for years, except for the fights Vale hosted there in the shadows.
I looked at the map, committing every wall, every exit to memory.
"Surround the building. No one in or out. I'm going in myself."
The men didn't argue. They knew better.
By the time the first light of dawn broke, I was standing in the rain outside that arena, my gun heavy in my hand, my heart heavier in my chest.
And I swore, right there, that if he'd touched her — even once — I would make Adrian Vale wish for death.