Misty felt it again-that prickling sensation at the back of her neck, the instinctive warning she'd learned to trust long before she ever met the Collahan brothers. Someone was watching her. The mansion was loud that night, the sounds of footsteps and phone calls and leftover tension from the long day at the company hanging in the air. But beneath all that noise, Misty sensed something quieter. Something following. She glanced over her shoulder more than once, catching only the stillness of the hallway. No movement. No shadows out of place. And yet her heartbeat didn't slow.
Roman was the last person she wanted to see in that instant, but he was precisely the one she ran into once she turned a corner too quickly. He grabbed her elbows to keep her from stumbling. "Watch where you're going," he snapped, though his grip was gentler than his tone. Misty shook him off, already bracing for another fight. They had been at each other's throats all day, every disagreement escalating into something personal. Roman seemed to breathe irritation lately, and Misty wasn't far behind.
"You ignored the entire department meeting," she fired back. "Do you have any idea how unprofessional that—"
"Don't start," he muttered. "I wasn't going to sit there and listen to Charles pretending he belongs in our building."
"He came for me, not for you," Misty snapped, and immediately wished she could bite her tongue off. Roman's eyes flashed darker in an instant, his jaw clenching so tightly she heard the faint grind of teeth.
"I know exactly why he came," Roman said. "And I'm tired of watching you pretend you don't."
Misty folded her arms, trying to steady her anger. "If you're jealous, that's your problem, not mine."
Roman laughed shortly and bitterly. "I'm not jealous."
"Of course not," she said sarcastically. "You only glare every time he breathes near me."
Roman took a step closer, voice lowering. "Maybe I don't trust men who think they can touch what—"
"What what?" Misty pushed. "Go on, say it. Say something you'll regret."
His expression flickered-anger, fear, something rawer-but he shut it down before it surfaced. "Forget it," he muttered. "You don't listen anyway."
Misty's patience snapped. "Then stop talking to me!
She pivoted sharply and marched down the hall. Roman didn't follow, but she could feel the heat of his frustration at her back. She hated fighting with him like this. Hated that they kept circling the same unresolved emotions neither dared name. And yet she also hated the way Charles had complicated everything further. It was all too much, piling on top of the deeper fear she couldn't explain—the feeling that the mansion wasn't as safe as Roman insisted.
Wanting air, Misty snatched her jacket and stormed out through the side door. She hadn't said anything about where she was going. She hadn't wanted to talk to anyone. The air hit her like a splash of cold water, clearing her head enough for her to fill her lungs. She started to make her way toward the quiet side of the property, away from the noise, away from Roman, and away from the feelings she couldn't sort.
She never noticed the car parked just beyond the hedge.
She had not heard the footsteps behind her.
A hand clamped tight over her mouth, silencing, firm, final. Another arm locked around her waist, lifting her feet off the ground. Misty tried to scream, tried to twist away, but the grip only tightened. The world blurred around her. The cold air vanished and was replaced with the suffocating black interior of the unmarked van. The door slammed shut, swallowing her into darkness. The engine started without hesitation. The vehicle sped away in silence.
The mansion remained oblivious.
Hours slipped by.
Roman paced the hall outside his bedroom, the argument replaying in his head over and over. He should apologize. He knew he should. Misty always walked away before he said the thing he really meant. For a long time, he stared at his phone before finally typing out a message that he almost deleted twice.
We need to talk.
He waited.
No answer.
Five minutes. Ten minutes. Still nothing. Roman frowned, irritation rising again—but beneath it was something else. Something colder. He tried calling her. Her phone rang once, then stopped. Roman stared at the screen, uneasy now. Misty never ignored calls, not when they had fought. She always wanted the last word.
Twenty minutes passed. Then thirty.
He looked at his watch and swore under his breath.
Richard found him standing in the hall. "You look like you're expecting bad news," he said softly.
"Misty's not answering."
Richard pulled out his own phone. "I'll try."
Roman watched in silence. Richard waited, the hope diminishing with each second that ticked by until it went to voicemail. He slowly lowered his hand. "She always picks up for me."
Roman's stomach twisted sharply. Next came Ronnie, who almost immediately noticed how tense they appeared. "What's wrong?"
"Misty," Richard said, "None of us can reach her."
Ronnie blinked. "Maybe she went for a walk. Or she's in the garden."
Roman did not wait for any more speculation. He stormed out of the house, the front door banging behind him. He scanned the driveway, the garden, the path leading toward the gates. No sign of her. The unease grew into full panic. He called her again. Nothing. He yelled her name. No answer. The air felt too quiet, too still, too wrong.
"Roman!" Ronnie's voice cracked through the night.
Roman spun around so fast that he almost stumbled. Ronnie was kneeling near the edge of the pavement, something small cupped in his hand. His face had gone pale.
Richard hurried over. "What is it?"
Ronnie lifted it carefully.
A delicate chain, broken clean through.
Misty's necklace.
Roman stared at it as if the world had tilted sideways beneath him. The silver pendant dangled lifelessly, reflecting the cold glow of the mansion lights. He reached out with shaking fingers and took it from Ronnie's hand. His breath left him in a sharp, painful exhale.
That realization was like a blow to the chest. She didn't leave. She didn't walk away; she was taken. And Roman felt his world crumble.