Adrian’s POV
My apartment—our apartment with Sophie—is full of people.
Cleo is at the dining table with her laptop, coordinating with the private investigators Vincent recommended. Ayden sits across from her with a stack of papers—property records, financial transactions, anything that might lead somewhere.
My mother is on the phone in the kitchen, speaking in rapid Spanish to one of my father's old contacts. And on my laptop screen, Madison cries.
"I should have been there," she sobs. "I should have stayed home for the wedding. Maybe I could have…"
"Madison." I keep my voice gentle. "This isn't your fault. There's nothing you could have done."
"But Sophie—she's not just my sister. She’s my best friend, Adrian."
"And we will find her." I promise, keeping quiet about the fact that after so many days we have no leads.
After a few more minutes, Cleo takes over the call while I step away. I can't handle Madison’s grief on top of my own.
"Any progress?" I ask Ayden.
He shakes his head, not looking up from the papers. "We've checked every property Bellamy ever had access to, every contact we can trace, every transaction that might indicate where he went."
"And?"
"Nothing. He's vanished completely. No digital footprint, no paper trail, no witnesses." Ayden finally looks at me, and I see the frustration in his eyes. "His every move was calculated to make tracking impossible."
I had no doubts he did. Bellamy isn't stupid, he knows how these systems work, knows how to disappear.
The front door opens. Claire enters with grocery bags, her expression immediately shifting to concern when she sees me.
"Mr. Lewis, you look exhausted." She sets the bags down and crosses the room, placing her hand on my shoulder with unnecessary sympathy. Her touch lingers. "When's the last time you ate a proper meal? Let me make you something."
I'm about to respond when Cleo's voice cuts across the room.
"Claire, I think Amelia's bottles need to be checked. The schedule's on the fridge."
It's a dismissal disguised as a request. Claire's smile tightens but she removes her hand from my shoulder. "Of course. I'll take care of that right away."
She leaves for the kitchen with one backward glance at me that I don't acknowledge. The moment she's out of earshot, my mother appears from the hallway where she finished her phone call.
"Adrian, we need to talk about the nanny."
"Not now, Mom."
"Yes, now." Her tone brooks no argument. She sits down across from me, Cleo joining her. "That woman has romantic intentions toward you. Very obvious ones."
I blink. "What?"
"The touching, the lingering looks, the constant offers to help with things that have nothing to do with Amelia." Cleo ticks them off on her fingers. "She's been flirting with you since day one."
"That's ridiculous."
"It's not." My mother's voice is firm. "Every woman in this room has noticed it. The only person who hasn't is you."
Ayden clears his throat. "I've noticed it too, man. She's not subtle."
I stare at them: at their serious faces, at their genuine concern about something that feels completely irrelevant.
"I don't care." The words come out flat. "I don't care if she's interested in me or flirting or whatever you think is happening. She takes care of Amelia competently. That's all that matters."
"Adrian…"
"I only care about finding Sophie, about keeping our daughter safe and sound until her mother comes home. That's it. That's all I have energy for."
My voice rises despite my effort to stay calm.
"Claire could strip naked and throw herself at me and I wouldn't care because the only woman I see is Sophie. The only woman I want is God knows where, being held by someone I trusted."
The room falls silent. Mom reaches across and squeezes my hand. "I know, darling, we all know. But you need to be aware of what's happening in your own home."
"Fine. I'm aware. Can we get back to finding Sophie now?"
They all exchange meaningful looks between each other but say nothing.
We spend another hour going over everything: Vincent's contacts have found nothing, the private investigators have hit walls, the media coverage has generated thousands of useless tips.
Zero results. Bellamy has vanished completely.
Eventually, people start leaving. Ayden first, promising to check in tomorrow. Cleo hugs me hard. Madison's call ends with more tears. Claire is dismissed after getting Amelia to sleep.
Only my mother stays.
"You should sleep," she says, picking up empty coffee cups.
"I can't."
"When's the last time you did?"
I don't answer because I don't remember. The days blur together—moments of desperate hope when a lead looks promising, crushing disappointment when it goes nowhere, the constant ache of Sophie's absence.
My mother sets down the cups she's collected. "Adrian. Come here."
I let her hug me. Let myself be held like I'm still a child who skinned his knee, like her comfort can fix anything.
"We'll find her," She says against my hair. "I promise you, we'll find her."
I want to believe her, but promises feel hollow when you're drowning. After she leaves, I find myself standing in my and Sophie's bedroom.
Our bedroom. The bed we shared. The closet still full of her clothes. Her side of the dresser with jewelry and perfume and all the small things that make up a life.
I pick up the perfume bottle, the same scent I smelled in the cabin. The scent that proved she'd been there even when she was already gone.
"Adrian?"
I turn. My mother is in the doorway, coat on but not yet gone.
The question comes out before I can stop it. Raw and vulnerable and terrified. "What if she doesn't want to come home to me?"
Mom’s expression softens with pain. "What?"
"What if Bellamy convinces her that I'm the villain in this story? That I'm connected to criminals and violence and everything bad?" My voice cracks. "What if by the time we find her, if we find her, she's been so twisted around that she believes him instead of me?"
"Oh, darling… Sophie loves you."
"She did, a month ago. But how long can that last when she's isolated with someone who saved her life once? Someone who's probably telling her every day that I'm dangerous, that she's better off without me, that…"
I can't finish, can't voice the nightmare scenario that plays in my head at three in the morning.
That we'll find Sophie and she won't want to be found. That Bellamy will have succeeded in making her believe his version of reality. That I'll have lost her not to death or distance but to his manipulation.
My mother is quiet for a long moment.
"I don't know," she finally says, and the honesty is somehow worse than false reassurance. "I don't know what state she'll be in when we find her. I don't know what he's told her or how it's affected her. But I know Sophie. I know her strength, her love for Amelia, her commitment to you. That doesn't just disappear."
"It could fade. With enough time and pressure and…"
"Adrian." She crosses the room, takes my face in her hands. "You can't control what's happening to her right now, you can only control what you do. So do everything you can to find her. And when you do, be ready to fight for her. Not against her, but for her. For both of you."
I nod because it's all I can do. After she leaves, I lie down on Sophie's side of the bed. Breathe in the faint scent of her that still lingers on the pillow.
And wonder if I'm going to lose her twice—once to Bellamy's kidnapping, and once to his lies.