Zade Hale had reviewed the same report five times.
Still, none of the words made sense.
He leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the glowing monitor in front of him. Numbers bled into each other. Charts warped into noise. All he could hear was the echo of her voice—sharp, amused, biting in all the ways that kept his attention tethered to her like a bad habit.
Alex Steel.
She shouldn’t have this kind of effect on him. Not anymore. Not after everything.
And yet…
His eyes drifted to the corner of his desk where a single photo lay facedown—the one he’d caught her examining the day before. The one of his father, long buried in the family archive. He’d meant to toss it. Burn it, maybe. Instead, he’d left it there.
Mocking him.
With a grunt, he grabbed his phone, fingers flying across the screen before his brain could protest.
"Got any new ideas on how to stab me in the back?"
He smirked at the message. It wasn’t kind. Wasn’t fair. But it was them—barbed and bold, two jagged edges sparking whenever they clashed.
He imagined her seeing it. Rolling her eyes. Typing something back like, Only if your ego survives the first one.
But the screen stayed still.
No typing bubble. No read receipt. Just silence.
Fine.
Maybe she was ignoring him. Or maybe she was just buried in her usual stack of schedules, spreadsheets, and damage control. She’d always been obsessive about work. He should’ve known better.
Still, an hour passed.
Then two.
He refreshed the screen. Still nothing.
By evening, that familiar twist of annoyance began curling beneath his ribs. He tried to dismiss it. She was stubborn. Maybe she just didn’t want to talk. Maybe she was still mad about the gala. The photos. The secrecy. They both had plenty to be mad about.
But by seven-thirty, irritation blurred into unease.
Zade stood abruptly, grabbed his keys, and walked out of his office without a word.
***
The Steel company lobby was mostly empty by the time he arrived. The security guard gave him a nod of recognition. Upstairs, the fluorescent lights in the executive wing buzzed quietly—most of the team already gone for the night.
Alex’s office door was open.
But the lights were off.
Zade knocked anyway.
Her assistant, a brisk woman in glasses and a navy blazer, appeared from around the corner, startled. “Mr. Hale. Good evening. Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Alex,” Zade said, already frowning. “Is she still here?”
The assistant shook her head. “No, she left a few hours ago. Around five, I believe.”
Zade checked his phone again. Still no reply.
“Did she say where she was going?” he asked casually, voice clipped.
“No, sir. Just that she had personal matters to take care of.”
He muttered a thanks and turned away, jaw tightening.
Next stop: the penthouse.
***
Luca Steel opened the door wearing reading glasses and an expression of mild surprise. He was still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. Behind him, the apartment lights glowed soft and golden—homey in a way Zade hadn’t expected.
“Zade,” Luca said, stepping aside. “Didn’t expect to see you.”
Zade nodded once. “Is Alex home?”
Luca blinked. “No. She’s not with you?”
The words hit him harder than they should’ve.
“She never came back?” Zade asked, his voice suddenly thinner.
Luca stepped further into the hallway, concern replacing confusion. “She left early today. Said she had something important to follow up on. But no—she hasn’t returned.”
Zade’s jaw clenched.
“She’s not answering her phone,” he muttered, already pulling it out again and pressing redial.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Luca sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s probably fine. Maybe running late. You know how she gets when she’s caught in something. Give it an hour or two. She’ll show.”
Zade didn’t respond. His mind was already spinning, a thousand scenarios painting themselves behind his eyes.
“She’ll be fine,” Luca repeated, then retreated inside, leaving the door cracked just slightly before closing it completely.
But Zade didn’t leave.
He couldn’t.
Instead, he walked slowly down to the building’s ground floor. The city buzzed beyond the tall glass windows, but the apartment lobby was empty. Silent. He lowered himself onto the wide seat near the entrance and sat, elbows on his knees, staring out into the dark.
It wasn’t like her.
Not to vanish.
Not without a word.
Not without a fight.
He had insulted her, blamed her, pushed her buttons so hard he expected her to scream back—maybe even slap him again. But never disappear.
He dialed again.
Voicemail.
Again.
Ten minutes later, he called Brenda.
It took three rings before she picked up. “Zade?”
“Is Alex with you?”
Brenda paused. “What? No. Why would she be? I haven’t seen her in weeks.”
Zade’s brows furrowed. “She’s not answering. She left the office hours ago and didn’t come home.”
Brenda’s voice sharpened. “That’s… not like her.”
“No,” he said quietly, “it’s not.”
There was silence.
“Zade,” Brenda added carefully, “what the hell did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything this time,” he replied, standing again, pacing toward the elevators. “But someone might have.”
In the car, Zade hesitated before making the next call.
The name on the screen sent a ripple of disgust down his throat.
David Brown.
He hit dial.
David answered on the fourth ring. “Hale.”
“I need to know if Alex is with you,” Zade said, voice curt and cold.
David snorted. “You think I’d be answering my phone if she was?”
“She’s missing.”
That made David pause. “Define missing.”
“She left work. Never made it home. Phone’s off. No one’s heard from her.”
Another pause. “You check hospitals?”
“She’s not there.”
David’s tone shifted, suddenly serious. “I’ll look for her.”
Zade hung up without a thank you.
He didn’t care.
He just drove back, engine humming low, the city lights swimming past in streaks of gold and blue.
***
Back at the Steel building, he returned to the lobby and took a seat again.
He didn’t go upstairs.
Didn’t call anyone else.
He just sat—silent, still, one hand curled into a fist against his knee.
Because no matter how much he tried to tell himself otherwise…
Something was wrong.
Not petty-argument wrong.
Not bruised-pride wrong.
Not another game.
This felt different.
Heavy.
Final.
He should have told her everything. Long ago. Should’ve held onto her when she was begging to be seen. Should’ve fought for her instead of against her. But now… now all he had was silence and a gut-deep knowing that he might’ve already waited too long.
He didn’t know if she was alive.
He didn’t know if she was safe.
But he knew one thing for sure.
He wasn’t going anywhere.
Not until she came back.