25

Someone needed to explain to Richard why he was out when the sun was barely peeking over the horizon, casting long, bruised shadows across the pavement of the Heights, looking for Giselle like she was missing rib.

The longer time slipped by,the more worried he became. Richard hadn't slept; his eyes were rimmed with red, his jaw covered in a fine silver stubble that made him look less his usual self and more like he looked scruffy. He sat in the back of his black car, parked a block away from Serayah’s apartment, watching the main entrance through the windows.

"Target on the move," his lead security detail, Miller, whispered from the front seat.

Richard’s gaze hasted. It wasn't Giselle. It was the friend—he quickly connected the dots and recalled he had seen that one from the bar. It was want solidified his belief that he was in the right place, the person he had seen step out was Lawrose. He was dressed in an oversized designer hoodie and sunglasses, carrying a reusable shopping bag. He looked jittery.

"Follow him," Richard commanded. "Keep distance. Don't let him spook."

The car trailed Lawrose’s neon-colored Vespa at a distance until he pulled into the parking lot of a high-end organic supermarket. Richard watched as Lawrose went inside, then waited. Ten minutes later, Lawrose emerged with a bag of groceries—likely breakfast for the "prisoner" back at the apartment.

As Lawrose reached his scooter, Richard stepped out of the car. The click of his leather soles on the asphalt was the only warning Lawrose got.

"Lawrose, isn't it?"

Lawrose jumped, nearly dropping his bag of almond milk. He spun around, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. His eyes went wide as he took in the towering figure of Richard Hemingway.

"You," Lawrose breathed, his voice knocked out with surprise and immediate recognition. "The guy from the bar. I remember you and .." He stopped himself, his face hardening. "Why on earth are you stalking me?"

"I’m not stalking you. I’m looking for someone," Richard said, his voice as smooth as velvet and just as heavy. "And I think you know exactly who."

Lawrose didn't answer. He turned on his heel and started walking toward the store entrance, his pace frantic. "I don't know you, I don't want to know you, and I certainly don't want to talk to you. Get lost."

"Five minutes," Richard said, his voice projecting across the lot with an effortless authority that made Lawrose stop in his tracks. "That’s all I’m asking. Five minutes of your time, and I’ll let you go back to your shopping."

Lawrose turned back, his lip curling. "I don't owe you five seconds. You’re the father-in-law, right? Giselle has gone through so much in the hands of your son. You guys need to leave her alone."

"So you have spoken to her," Richard noted, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips.

"I didn't say that," Lawrose snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. "I said I know who you are. Now, if you’ll excuse me—"

"I’m looking for her, Lawrose. She left the house in a state of distress. Her husband is an idiot, but I am not. I know she’s safe because she’s with you and the other one—Serayah. But I need to hear it from someone directly"

Lawrose scoffed, leaning against his Vespa. "You’re really something. You come here in your $500,000 car and think you can just demand answers? I haven't heard from Giselle in days. She’s probably halfway to another state to get away from your family."

Richard stepped closer, entering Lawrose’s personal space. He didn't use a physical threat; he didn't need to. His presence was a mountain. "Lawrose, I know you’re a stylist. I know your brand is struggling to find its footing in the high-fashion sector. I know you’ve been looking for a lead sponsor for your gallery showing next month."

Lawrose froze. "How do you know that?"

"I make it my business to know the people who surround my family," Richard said. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, embossed card. "Confirm for me that she is safe. Tell me she’s eating, tell me she’s okay. In return, I will personally fund your entire show. I’ll make sure the editors of Vogue and GQ are sitting in the front row. I’ll give you the career you’ve been dreaming of."

The silence that followed was loud enough to deafen a room. Lawrose looked at the card, then at Richard. The temptation was visible in the way his fingers twitched. It was a career-making opportunity, a golden ticket out of the struggle.

"Loyalty is a rare currency," Richard murmured. "I respect it. But so is opportunity. I’m not asking you to betray her. I’m asking you to reassure a concerned man."

Lawrose took a deep breath, his eyes flickering. For a second, he looked like he might break. But then, he straightened his shoulders and pushed the card back toward Richard’s chest.

"You’re good and cheesy," Lawrose said, his voice trembling slightly. "But you’re not that good. I don't know where Giselle is. And even if I did, I wouldn't sell her out for a front-row seat at a fashion show. I’d appreciate it if you stopped following me before I call the actual police."

Richard’s smile didn't fade; it hardened. He tucked the card back into his pocket. "No problem, Lawrose. I admire the conviction. Truly."

Lawrose didn't wait for another word. He hopped on his Vespa, kicked the engine into gear, and sped out of the parking lot without looking back.

Richard watched him go, his eyes cold and calculating. Miller stepped up beside him. "Should we follow him back to the apartment, sir? He’s clearly heading there."

"No," Richard said, checking his watch. "He’ll be on high alert now. He’ll take a winding route. He might even go to a second location to throw us off."

"Then what’s the plan, sir?"

Richard turned toward the sedan, his face a mask of grim determination. "He thinks he’s protecting her. He doesn't realize he’s just confirmed she’s within a three-mile radius. I promised to find her, and I will. By hook or by crook. If I can't buy her friends, I’ll find another way to make them talk."

"He was very defensive, sir," Miller noted.

"Because he knows I’m the only one who can actually take her away from them," Richard said, sliding into the back seat. "Drive. I want a 24-hour watch on that apartment building. If a pizza is delivered, I want to know what’s on it. If a light goes out, I want to know why. She’s in there. And she’s going to realize very soon that the Hemingway walls go much further than the estate."

As the car pulled out of the lot, Richard stared at the some apartment complex down in the distance and took a deep breath, shaking his head.

"You're making this difficult, Giselle," he whispered to himself before ordering the driver to take him back to the Hemingway mansion.