Adrian’s POV
Three days of watching.
Three days of surveillance from the room across the street. Cameras trained on windows, binoculars ready, logging every movement, every pattern, every detail.
Bellamy leaves at 8:15 AM to take Noah to school, returns at 8:45. The route is the same every day—down Rue de l'Hôtel-de-Ville, left on the main street, straight to the school.
Leaves again at 3:00 PM for pickup, back by 3:30. Groceries on Wednesdays at the market two blocks away. Walks in the park on weekends when he has Noah.
I've watched him through the scope: memorized his face, the way he moves. The careful way he checks his surroundings—old security habits he can't shake even when he thinks he's safe.
And Sophie… I've seen glimpses of her through windows.
Dark hair catching the light. Her profile as she moves past the kitchen window. The way she stands on the balcony sometimes, looking out over the city like she's searching for something.
She looks thinner than I remember, paler. But alive, moving. Real. She's there, right there—twenty feet above where I'm standing.
For three days I've watched that apartment, learned the patterns, waited for the perfect moment.
Today. I'm done waiting.
Every hour I've spent watching has been torture. Knowing she's so close. Knowing Bellamy is up there with her, breathing the same air, looking at her, talking to her.
Knowing that every moment I wait is another moment she's trapped. Another moment she thinks no one is coming for her. Another moment she's away from Amelia.
No more.
"Adrian." Ayden's voice is cautious as I check my weapon one more time. Make sure everything is ready. "We should wait until Bellamy takes Noah to school. Fewer variables. Less chance of the kid getting caught in the middle of this."
"No." I cut him off. "We go now, this morning. I'm not waiting another hour."
"If we wait until 8:15, we have a cleaner extraction. Bellamy leaves, we go in, get Sophie, and we're gone before he even…"
"I said no." My voice is steel. Final. "I've waited over a month. I've been patient. I've done the surveillance and learned the patterns and made the plan. I've sat in that fucking room for three days watching that apartment. Now I'm going to get her."
Ayden studies my face. Sees something there—the barely contained violence, the desperation that's been building since the wedding day, the absolute certainty that I'm not waiting another second.
He's known me long enough to recognize when I'm past the point of reason.
"Okay," he says finally. "We go now. But we do it smart, no rushing in blind. We approach carefully, assess the situation, and extract Sophie with minimal confrontation if possible."
"And I'm getting Sophie back." That's all that matters. "That's what's happening."
He nods. Doesn't argue further, just checks his own weapon and follows me to the door.
We cross the street toward the building. Morning light catches on the old stone facade, making it look almost beautiful. Peaceful. Like a normal Geneva building housing normal lives.
Not a prison. Not the place where my fiancée has been held captive for over a month.
A few early risers pass us on the sidewalk. A woman with a dog who nods politely. A man in a business suit heading to work, coffee in hand.
They have no idea what's about to happen. No idea that the normal-looking building they're walking past harbors a kidnapping victim.
Normal Geneva morning, normal city life continuing around us, oblivious. But my heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. Can feel every beat like a drum.
Sophie is up there, in that building, on the third floor, corner apartment. I counted the windows from our surveillance position. Memorized which ones are hers.
After over a month of searching. After Geneva and surveillance and dead ends and false leads and the crushing weight of not knowing if I'd ever find her. After that neighbor's words—"such a lovely couple"—that made me want to tear the world apart.
She's there. And I'm about to get her back.
The anticipation is almost painful. Like every nerve in my body is electrified, screaming at me to move faster, to run, to smash through whatever stands between me and Sophie.
But there's rage too. White-hot, consuming rage at Bellamy for taking her, for stealing her from our wedding day, for keeping her from Amelia, for every second she's been gone.
For making her seem like a willing participant to strangers. For the neighbor who thought they looked happy together.
I've planned what I'll say to him. What I'll do to him. How I'll make him understand what he's taken. How I'll make him pay for every moment of Sophie's captivity.
The violence I've been suppressing for over a month is right there, barely leashed, waiting to be unleashed.
One wrong move from Bellamy and I'm not sure I'll be able to control it. One word, one gesture, one hint that he's hurt her in any way and I'll…
But first—Sophie.
Before Bellamy. Before revenge. Before consequences. Before the rage takes over completely.
I need to see Sophie, hold her, touch her face. Look into her eyes and know she's really okay.
That whatever he did to her hasn't broken her completely. That she's still my Sophie underneath whatever survival mechanisms she's had to develop. That I found her in time.
That I haven't lost her to more than just physical distance.
The thought terrifies me more than I want to admit: what if Bellamy had brainwashed her, made her believe in something that wasn't really there?
The possibility that prolonged captivity changes people. That Sophie might look at me like a stranger. That Bellamy might have convinced her of his twisted version of reality.
No. I push the thought away. Sophie is strong, she's a survivor and she's waiting for me. She has to be.
We enter the building. The lobby is small, typical Old Town architecture. Narrow stairs winding up. An old elevator with brass fixtures and a cage door.
"Elevator or stairs?" Ayden asks quietly.
"Elevator." Faster, more direct. I can't wait even the extra minute it would take to climb three flights of stairs.
I press the button. The elevator descends with mechanical groans. Old building, old systems. Everything here is old except the nightmare that's been playing out on the third floor.
The ride up feels eternal.
Three floors shouldn't take this long. Shouldn't feel like hours between each floor. But my entire body is wound tight and the elevator is moving so goddamn slowly.
First floor passes. Then second.
Third floor. The doors open with a mechanical clunk.
We step into the hallway. Narrow corridor. Old wooden floors. Doors marked with apartment numbers.
Corner unit. I counted the windows. Should be—there.
Apartment 8.
I walk toward it, Ayden behind me, both of us ready.
My hand goes to the weapon at my hip. Not drawing it yet. Not unless necessary. But ready.
We reach the door. Number 8. Brass numbers slightly tarnished. A welcome mat.
Behind this door is Sophie. After over a month—she's right there.
I can hear sounds from inside. Someone moving around. Water running. Normal apartment sounds.
My hand trembles slightly as I reach for the door.
I don't knock. Knocking gives them warning. Gives Bellamy time to react, to grab Sophie, to do something desperate.
I try the handle instead. It turns… Unlocked.
For a fraction of a second, I'm surprised. After all Bellamy's planning, his paranoia—he left the door unlocked?
But I don't pause to think about it. Don't stop to question the gift.
I push the door open and it swings inward silently.