Adrian’s POV
I return home briefly to handle business that can't wait any longer.
Three days back in New York. Three days of meetings I can barely focus on, contracts I sign without reading properly, phone calls where I have to ask people to repeat themselves because my mind is still in Geneva.
Still seeing Bellamy's face at that school, still feeling the rage of being so close and losing him.
Ayden stayed behind to continue the search. To canvass Old Town building by building. To find her while I deal with the empire that's been running on autopilot for over a month.
I'm in my study going through paperwork when I hear the front door open.
Claire.
Right. It's Monday. Her regular shift. My mother mentioned she'd been asking when I'd return, but I didn't think much of it. Too focused on Geneva, on Sophie, on getting back as soon as possible.
I expect her to go straight to Amelia. That's her job, that's what she's here for.
Instead, I hear footsteps approaching the study.
She knocks once, then enters without waiting for permission.
"Adrian." She smiles. It's not her professional smile. "I'm glad you're back. I've missed you."
The way she says it is unmistakable—the tone, the slight breathiness, the way she's looking at me. I'm too exhausted for this, too distracted. Too fucking done with everything that isn't finding Sophie.
"Claire, just…" I start, gesturing vaguely toward where Amelia should be. "Can you please..?"
She steps closer instead of leaving. Crosses the study until she's standing right in front of my desk.
"You look tired," she says softly. "You've been working so hard, searching for so long."
"I'm fine. Amelia needs…"
"Your mother is with Amelia." Another step closer. She's on my side of the desk now, invading my space. "I wanted to talk to you first."
Warning bells start ringing in my head.
"Talk about what?" I keep my voice level, professional. Maintaining the distance she's trying to close.
"About you." Her hand reaches out, touches my chest before I can move away. "You don't have to be alone through this. Sophie's gone, but I'm here. I've always been here."
I freeze. Did she really just…
"Claire." My voice is warning now. "Step back."
She doesn't. Instead, she rises on her toes, her face tilting up toward mine, her intention crystal clear.
She's trying to kiss me.
I grab her wrists, push her back firmly. Not rough enough to hurt but hard enough to make the rejection unmistakable.
"What the hell are you doing?" The words come out sharp, cold.
Her mask slips. The professional nanny veneer cracks, and underneath I see desperation, anger and something almost manic in her eyes.
"I'm offering you what you need."
She’s breathless now when she speaks. Still trying to press closer despite my hands holding her away.
"You've been alone for over a month, suffering, searching for someone who might never come back. But I'm here. I've been here the whole time, taking care of your daughter, supporting you, being exactly what you need."
"You're my daughter's nanny." Each word is ice. "That's your goddamn job."
"I can be more than that." Her voice gets desperate, pleading. "I can be better than her. I wouldn't leave you, wouldn't make you search for me. I'd stay, be everything you need. Everything Sophie wasn't."
The mention of Sophie's name from her lips makes rage flood through me.
"Sophie didn't leave." The words are deadly quiet. "She was taken. Stolen. And I'm going to find her and bring her home."
"But what if you don't?" Claire's face twists. "What if she's gone forever? What if she's with him and she doesn't want to come back? What then?"
"Get out."
"Adrian, please."
"You're fired." I let go of her wrists like she's contaminated. "Get your things and get out. Now."
Her expression shifts again. The desperation morphs into something uglier. Bitterness. Vindictive satisfaction.
"You'll regret this when she never comes back," she spits. "When you realize I was right. When you're alone and desperate and I'm not here anymore to offer you what she never could."
"Get. Out."
For a moment, I think she's going to argue more. Going to push this further. Going to make me call security to remove her from my home.
Then she turns on her heel and storms out of the study. I hear her footsteps in the hallway. Hear her grabbing something—her purse, probably. Her coat.
Then I hear it—the unmistakable sound of breaking glass.
I run out into the hallway just in time to see a ceramic vase—one of Sophie's favorites, a wedding gift from Cleo—shattered on the marble floor. Pieces scattered everywhere.
Claire is standing near the front door, her hand still extended from the throw. Her face is twisted with rage and satisfaction.
Our eyes meet.
"Oops," she says, her voice dripping with false sweetness.
Then she walks out. Slams the front door so hard the remaining vases on the hall table rattle.
I stand there in the hallway, looking at the broken pieces.
My mother appears from Amelia's room, Amelia in her arms. "What happened? I heard…" She sees the mess. "Was that Claire?"
"She's fired." My voice is flat. "Don't let her back in this building. Ever."
Mom looks at the broken vase, then at me. Understanding dawns on her face. "She made her move."
"She tried." I'm already pulling out my phone, texting building security. "She's not getting near this apartment again."
"Are you okay?"
Am I okay? My fiancée is missing. My daughter's nanny just tried to seduce me and then destroyed Sophie's property out of spite. I'm running on maybe ten hours of sleep over the past week.
And I'm flying back to Geneva tomorrow to continue searching for the woman I love while dealing with the knowledge that every day she's gone is another day closer to losing her forever.
"I'm fine," I lie.
Amelia reaches for me. "Dada."
I take her from my mother, hold her close. She smells like baby lotion and innocence, like everything I'm fighting to protect and preserve.
"I need to hire a new nanny," I say, kissing Amelia's forehead. "Someone you personally vet this time. Someone who understands boundaries."
"I'll handle it." Mom is already making notes on her phone. "You focus on finding Sophie."
Finding Sophie. Right. That's all that matters.
Not Claire's desperate grab for something she was never going to have. Not the broken vase that I'll have to explain to Sophie when—not if, when—I bring her home.
Not the fact that my home is falling apart while I search halfway around the world for the woman who holds it all together.
Just finding Sophie. Everything else can wait. Everything else has to wait.
I bury my face in Amelia's hair and breathe, let myself have this moment of peace before I return to the chaos.