Adrian’s POV
I'm drowning. That's what it feels like: underwater, struggling for air, every breath shallow and insufficient.
The press conference was a nightmare.
Cameras everywhere, flashing lights that made Amelia flinch. Reporters shouting questions. "Mr. Lewis, do you have any leads?" "Is there a ransom demand?" "Do you suspect foul play?"
I had to stand there performing grief and desperation, which wasn't hard because I am grieving and desperate, while holding my daughter and trying to sound coherent.
Cleo helped coordinate it. She thought media attention might generate leads. Someone must have seen something.
So far, nothing. Just thousands of useless tips. People claiming they saw Sophie everywhere. Conspiracy theorists. Psychics.
All useless.
I'm in the apartment now, staring at the wall, cold coffee in my hand.
"Mr. Lewis?"
Claire's voice pulls me back. The nanny is standing in the doorway, Amelia on her hip. My daughter is fed, clean, content. Claire is competent.
"Amelia's ready for her nap," Claire says. "I thought you might want to say goodnight?"
I reach for my daughter. Amelia settles against my chest. She smells like baby soap and milk. "Thank you, Claire."
"Of course." She lingers, watching me. "Is there anything else you need? I could make you lunch. You haven't eaten."
"I'm fine."
"Are you sure? Because…"
"I said I'm fine."
Claire's smile doesn't falter. "I'll be in the nursery if you need anything."
She leaves, finally.
There's something about the way she watches me that makes me uncomfortable. Nothing overt, just lingering glances. Standing slightly too close when handing me things, her hand brushing mine for too long.
Maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe exhaustion makes normal interaction feel wrong. I barely register it anyway. Can't focus on anything beyond Sophie.
I carry Amelia to her room, rock her until her eyes close. When I set her in the crib, she stirs but doesn't wake. I stand watching her breathe.
My phone rings. I answer without checking. "Lewis."
"Adrian, it's Vincent."
I straighten. "Did you find something?"
"No." The word drops like a stone. "We've hit walls everywhere. Bellamy vanished completely after the cabin. No credit card usage, no phone signals, no border crossings we can trace. It's like they evaporated."
"People don't just evaporate."
"People with military training and resources do. He's gone dark. Burner phones, cash, probably false documents. Professional-level evasion."
"So what are you saying? We give up?"
"I'm saying this might take longer than we hoped. He could be anywhere: different state, different country. Without a trace…"
I hang up. Can't listen to more reasons why finding Sophie is impossible.
My phone rings again immediately, different number. I consider not answering but something makes me pick up. "What?"
"Adrian, darling. Have you seen the news today?" Lolita's voice is controlled, but I hear the tension underneath.
My stomach sinks. "What now?"
"Lisette's intermediary leaked something to the press. About your 'questionable business dealings.'"
She says the phrase like it's in quotes.
"Carefully worded to avoid libel, but damaging nonetheless. They're not naming sources, just citing 'anonymous insiders' who have concerns about Lewis Enterprises' connections to organized crime."
The rage that hits me is immediate and white-hot. "She's using Sophie's disappearance to attack me?"
"She's using everything she can. The story's already been picked up by several tabloids. And Adrian—it gets worse."
"How could it possibly get worse?"
"Some of them are running with a different angle. The headline is 'Missing Bride or Runaway Bride? What Was Sophie Hale Escaping?'"
The words don't make sense at first. Then they do, and the rage intensifies into something violent.
"They're saying she left willingly?"
"They're insinuating it. Carefully. Questions about whether Sophie had second thoughts about marrying into a family with 'alleged criminal ties.' Whether she might have fled rather than going through with the wedding. It's all speculation, but…"
"But people will believe it." I'm pacing now, my free hand clenched into a fist so tight my knuckles are white. "They'll think she ran away from me, that she didn't want this. That I'm some monster she was trying to escape."
"That's the implication they're banking on, yes."
The thought of people believing Sophie left me voluntarily, that she would abandon Amelia, abandon us, makes me want to put my fist through the wall.
"This is Lisette."
"Almost certainly. The timing is too perfect. She knows you're vulnerable right now, distracted by the search. She's striking while you can't effectively defend yourself."
"I'll destroy her." The words come out cold, flat. "I don't care what it takes. She wants to play this game? Fine. I'll end her."
"Adrian."
"Find out who her intermediary is. I want a name. I want to know who she's working with, who's feeding the press these stories. Get me everything."
"I'm working on it. But Adrian, you need to be careful. If you go after Lisette openly right now, while Sophie is missing, it'll look exactly like what they're implying—that you're dangerous, volatile, someone Sophie would want to escape from."
She's right, I know she's right. But the rage doesn't care about optics or strategy. "Then I'll be subtle about it."
"Will you?" Lolita's voice carries a hint of doubt. "Because right now you sound like you want to commit murder. Which, for the record, I wouldn't necessarily discourage on a personal level. But professionally speaking, it's a terrible idea."
Despite everything, that almost makes me laugh. Almost. "Just get me the information, Lolita. Let me worry about what I do with it."
"Fine. But Adrian—the press conference helped in some ways. People are looking for Sophie. The story is everywhere. If Bellamy makes a mistake, if they're seen somewhere, someone will recognize them."
"Unless people think she left willingly. Then they won't report seeing her. They'll think she's exactly where she wants to be."
"That's why we need to control the narrative. Push back on the runaway bride angle. Emphasize the evidence that she was taken against her will."
"What evidence? The empty cabin? The burner phone message?" I run my hand through my hair. "It's all circumstantial."
"Then we create better evidence. Testimony from people who knew Sophie, who can speak to how happy she was. We emphasize her relationship with Amelia—no mother abandons her infant daughter. We paint a picture that makes the runaway theory impossible."
"You want me to put my private life on display."
"I want you to get Sophie back. Right now, public opinion matters. If people believe she's a victim, they'll help find her. If they think she ran away, they'll assume she's fine."
I hate that she's right. "I'll think about it."
"Don't think too long. Lisette is moving fast. We need to move faster." She hangs up then.
I stand there, phone in hand, rage and exhaustion warring inside me. Sophie didn't run away. She was taken, cruelly kidnapped, carried off by a man obsessed with her.
But proving that to the world? Fighting Lisette's manipulation while searching for Sophie?
I look down at Amelia, sleeping peacefully, unaware that her mother is being turned into a tabloid story.
"I'll fix this," I whisper. "I'll find her and bring her home and make everyone who hurt us pay. I promise."
But promises are easy. Keeping them is harder.