12

Darian’s Pov

The phone in my hand felt heavy, vibrating against my palm. I stared at the screen, watching Elara's name flash over and over again, but my thumb wouldn't move to press the answer button.

For days, I had tried to convince myself that she was just being dramatic. I had told myself that she simply needed a few days away from the massive, suffocating halls of the Rooke mansion to calm down. But reality had slowly stripped away every single excuse I had hidden behind. The walk-in closet was missing her basic clothes and her worn leather suitcase. The untouched, folded letter sat right beside Lyra’s bedside lamp. And the heavy, terrified crying in my daughter's voice made it impossible to keep pretending everything was under control.

It was Lyra who had found the letter first. She had walked into my study hours after Elara left, holding the small piece of folded paper with trembling hands. “Daddy, why did Mommy write goodbye?” she had asked, her big eyes swimming with tears. “She didn't even wake me up.”

Reading those words had shattered something deep inside my chest. Elara hadn't run away because of a passing argument or a silly fight. She left because she genuinely believed she had no place, no value, and no love in the family she had spent eight years building.

For the very first time in my life, I was forced to look at the ugly truth I had spent years ignoring. I had to face how often my mother insulted Elara right in front of me. I had to face how frequently I dismissed my wife's quiet tears as mere weakness. I had convinced myself that paying for expensive dresses, luxury cars, and unlimited credit cards was enough to prove my love. I was a billionaire CEO who could solve any corporate crisis on Wall Street, but I had completely failed the one person who actually mattered.

Then came the news about the crash.

When my private security team reported that Elara's car had been run off the road and dragged down a steep, rocky ravine, cold panic had clawed at my throat. I ordered my men to find the hospital where she had been taken immediately. But the trail went cold. The local hospital records didn't list Elara as a confirmed patient, leaving me trapped in a nightmare of not knowing whether my wife was alive or dead.

Driven by blind fury and terror, I stormed into my mother's sitting room. Octavia was sipping her black tea as if nothing in the world were wrong.

"Have you heard anything about Elara?" I demanded, my voice sharp and loud enough to make her drop her teacup.

Octavia merely sighed, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "Darian, stop panicking. She's probably just staying at a hotel somewhere, trying to throw a tantrum for attention. You know how emotional she is."

Her words cut through me like glass. Even now, when my wife might be lying in a ditch or bleeding in a hospital bed, my mother was more interested in protecting her own pride than finding out if Elara was safe.

"She is my wife!" I shouted, slamming my hand down on the wooden table. "And she was in a terrible accident! Stop calling her unstable!"

"If you're so worried about heirs, we should focus on arranging the surrogate with Mirelle instead of wasting time searching for a woman who has always dragged this family down," Octavia shot back coldly, her eyes narrowing.

That was the breaking point. The invisible leash my mother had held over me for my entire adult life finally snapped.

"The surrogate arrangement is permanently suspended," I said, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "I don't want to hear Mirelle's name ever again. Do you hear me?"

Octavia gasped, standing up from her chair in absolute outrage. "Darian! You cannot cancel this! You need a proper heir—"

"I need my wife," I interrupted, turning my back on her without a second thought.

It was the first time I had openly defied my mother in thirty-two years. But the small, rebellious victory brought me zero relief. Finding Elara was all that mattered.

Later that evening, little Lyra had walked into my office. She stood by the doorway, hugging her stuffed rabbit tightly against her chest, her chin wobbling. “Daddy... do you think Mommy is ever coming back?” she whispered, tears spilling over her lashes. “I miss the way she used to tuck me into bed. I miss when she read stories to me before Grandma said I was too old for it.”

I had no answer for her. I couldn't lie, and I couldn't bear the truth. Watching my daughter suffer because of my blindness left me feeling more helpless than any corporate bankruptcy ever could.

I paced back and forth across my study, preparing to call every private hospital in the state, when my phone finally rang. It was my security chief.

"Sir, I've got a lead," the chief said quickly over the line, his voice breathless. "A private, high-security medical facility on the edge of the city admitted an unidentified woman who was pulled out of a severe car crash late that night. The hospital is locking down all patient lists, but my team found a match between the wrecked vehicle's serial number and Mrs. Rooke's registration."

My heart pounded heavily. A massive wave of relief washed over me, so strong it made my knees weak.

"Give me the exact location," I ordered, my voice trembling with urgency as I grabbed my car keys off the desk. "I'm going right now. I'm going to bring my wife home."

I turned toward the heavy oak door, my mind racing with a hundred things I needed to say to Elara the second I saw her face. I was going to apologize. I was going to beg for her forgiveness. I was going to throw my mother out of the mansion and spend the rest of my life proving that she was my only priority.

Before I could take a single step forward, the security chief's voice stopped me dead in my tracks, cold and tense.

"Sir... you need to listen to me carefully," the chief warned, hesitation thick in his tone. "The hospital perimeter isn't ordinary. A powerful private security organization has already locked down the entire facility. And the owner of that security team has given strict, direct orders..."

I clenched my jaw, my patience wearing thin. "Orders from whom? Tell them who I am! I am Darian Rooke!"

"That's just it, sir," the chief swallowed hard over the phone. "The owner explicitly commanded that nobody—and I mean nobody—connected to the Rooke family is allowed anywhere near the patient.”