Morning broke with polite sunshine the kind that pretends nothing's wrong.
Damien Hale sat in his office, a cup of coffee untouched beside him, his gaze fixed on the city skyline. The world saw him as they always had composed, immaculate, grieving perhaps, but noble.
A man abandoned by a troubled wife.
A husband left behind, tragically misunderstood.
He let them think so.
The news headlines helped.
> "Business Magnate Damien Hale Issues Statement on Wife's Disappearance."
"'I only want her safe,' says heartbroken husband."
The interviews were short, emotional, perfectly rehearsed. His voice broke in all the right places. His eyes glistened just enough.
The world applauded his dignity.
And Ayla, somewhere far away, would see it too.
He made sure of that.
"Track her phone again," he said without looking up.
Cole, standing a few feet away, hesitated. "Sir, it's been off for three days. The last ping was near a motel outside Brookville, but"
"Then find the owner," Damien interrupted smoothly. "Money talks. Fear listens."
Cole nodded, swallowing hard. "Yes, sir."
Damien finally stood, walking toward the window. His reflection watched him the perfect mask of concern, every detail sculpted to precision.
He adjusted his cufflinks. Smiled faintly.
"She'll come back on her own," he murmured. "But until then, we remind the world who the victim is."
By afternoon, his plan was already unfolding.
Ayla's friends received gentle calls.
> "She's not well," he told them with careful sorrow. "The doctors warned me about her instability… I just didn't realize how bad it had become."
The sympathy came flooding in. The doubt followed close behind.
Soon, whispers spread that Ayla had been distant, irrational, unwell. That maybe she had run away from the one man who truly loved her.
Damien didn't have to force the lie. He only had to let it breathe.
That evening, he visited the hospital again.
Mrs. Vernes was awake but frail, her body still recovering, her mind sharp with fear.
When he entered, the air seemed to recoil.
"Mr. Hale," she said tightly. "You've done enough."
He smiled, polite and devastating. "Mrs. Vernes, I'm here out of concern. For you. For Ayla."
"Stay away from her."
"Of course," he said softly. "But tell me if she were to contact you, surely you'd want her to be safe, wouldn't you?"
Her eyes flickered. He noticed. He always noticed.
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper that chilled the air.
"You know, hospitals can be dangerous places. So many accidents waiting to happen. You should be careful."
Her breath caught, but she didn't look away. "You're a monster."
He straightened, smiling again. "I'm a husband."
And then he left calm, unhurried, leaving only silence and terror in his wake.
That night, as rain began to fall again, Damien stood by the window of his empty mansion, his phone lighting up with a single message from Cole.
> Found something. Someone at the motel recognized her.
Damien's lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile.
"Good," he whispered. "Let's bring my wife home."
The storm outside began to rage once more
and somewhere, Ayla's brief sense of safety started to crumble.