Chapter Three

Toby

Three months later.

Silence filled the penthouse, the kind of silence that should have brought peace.

Instead, it pressed in on me heavy, suffocating me.

I stood by the floor to ceiling windows, a glass of untouched whiskey in my hand, my gaze fixed on the city below. Everything was exactly as it should be.

My company was secure.

The internal leak had been contained.

The traitor exposed.

There was no longer any threat to Anetakis International and yet, there was no satisfaction.

My jaw tightened as I turned away from the glass, my attention falling to the documents spread across my desk.

Contracts, blueprints, reports.

All of it proof that I had regained control.

All of it meaningless.

Because despite everything, I still didn’t have answers.

Naila.

Even thinking her name irritated me, or at least, that’s what I told myself.

Three months, and she had completely disappeared, no calls, no attempts to defend herself, no explanation.

I should have been relieved, but Instead

A muscle ticked in my jaw.

I hadn’t even cleared out her belongings.

They were still here In my apartment, In my space and that irritated me even more.

Like a quiet reminder I refused to acknowledge it.

I had told myself I was waiting for her to come back for them.

That I wanted the chance to confront her again.

To demand answers from her about why she would betray me like that.

But the truth was far less convenient.

A part of me had expected her to return three months ago but she never did. 

The television droned in the background, noise I hadn’t bothered to turn off.

Until her name cut through the air like a blade.

“Naila Jameson” and I froze.

For a second, I thought I had imagined it.

But then it came again, this time cleat and unmistakable.

Slowly, I turned toward the screen.

A reporter stood outside a hospital, speaking rapidly as footage rolled beneath him.

My pulse quickened the moment I saw her.

My grip tightened around the glass as the image sharpened, Naila.

She was being carried out on a stretcher, her body limp, her face pale, too pale.

She was unrecognizable.

Something unfamiliar twisted uncomfortably deep inside me.

I set the glass down without realizing it and stepped closer to the screen, my focus locked.

What the hell? 

The reporter kept talking, words blurring together until she said

“rescued earlier today”

“suspected abduction”

“held for an extended period”

And my body went completely still.

Abducted? Naila had been abducted? 

A cold sensation slid down my spine as the footage replayed.

This time, I didn’t miss anything, the hollow look in her eyes, the way she didn’t move or react. 

This wasn’t the woman who had stood in my bedroom, defiant even as I accused her of being a thief three months ago, this was someone else entirely.

And then something else caught my attention. 

“both mother and child are reported to be in stable condition”

Everything stopped when I heard that, mother and child? 

I stared at the screen, certain I had misheard the reporter.

But the reporter continued, oblivious to the storm crashing through me.

“early estimates suggest she is approximately four to five months pregnant”

Pregnant.

The word echoed in my mind, sharp and disorienting.

Naila was four to long Five months pregnant. 

My stomach dropped as I calculated the time line in my head. 

My jaw clenched hard enough to ache, there was only one possibility and I didn’t like it.

I was moving before I fully registered the decision, grabbing my phone and striding out of the apartment.

“Get the car,” I snapped the moment I stepped outside.

My driver didn’t hesitate.

The hospital was only minutes away from my house and the roads were clear at this time of day, I was there under ten minutes. 

“I am here to see Naila Jameson.” I said to the receptionist who barely looked up at me. 

“I am sorry, sir, but”

“I’m not asking,” I said coldly cutting her off mid sentence.

It took less than five minutes and one carefully chosen lie for me to get access to see her. 

Fiancé, the word left a bitter taste in my mouth but it worked, it got me access to her files and her. 

“Her physical condition is stable,” the doctor said.

I stared at him, impatience simmering just beneath the surface.

“And the rest?”

He hesitated and I didn’t like that.

“She has suffered significant trauma,” he continued carefully. “We believe she was held for an extended period, over two to three months.”

My hands curled into fists.

“Was she harmed?” I managed to ask trying not to sound as responsible for all this as I felt. 

“Physically, there are no signs of abuse.”

A small, sharp breath left me before I could stop it.

“And mentally?”

The doctor’s expression grew more serious.

“That’s where our concern lies.” the doctor said pausing, “She has no memory of what happened to her.”

The words didn’t make sense.

“What?”

“She remembers her name,” he clarified. “Very little else, not the abduction or her life before the abduction.”

My mind went blank.

“That’s impossible.”

“It’s not uncommon in cases of severe trauma,” he replied calmly. “The mind protects itself.”

I ran a hand through my hair, frustration mounting.

“She remembers nothing?” I pressed.

He shook his head.

“And the pregnancy?” I asked tightly.

“She was unaware of it.”

Silence stretched between us.

“She is still fragile,” the doctor continued. “Both emotionally and physically. Stress could be dangerous for her and the baby.”

My jaw tightened.

“Then she won’t be stressed.”

His gaze sharpened slightly, as if assessing me.

“I would strongly advise that you don’t overwhelm her,” he added. “No details about her abduction, no pressure to remember her life before that, she needs time.”

“And if she asks?”

“Keep it simple, familiar and afe.”

Safe, the word felt foreign.

“Can I see her?” I finally asked.

The doctor hesitated for a brief moment then nodded.

“Yes. But remember what I said.”

I didn’t respond, I was already turning toward the door.

Because for the first time in three months, I was about to see her again.