Gone

Adrian came down the stairs at six in the morning, coffee in hand, already mentally sorting through his schedule.

The front door was wide open.

He stopped mid-step. Cold air poured into the foyer. The alarm wasn’t beeping. Someone had disarmed it.

“Kira?”

No answer.

He walked to the doorway and looked out.

The driveway was empty. But at the gate, taillights disappeared around the corner. Not one car. Multiple. Black SUVs in a neat line, like some kind of motorcade.

What the hell?

Adrian closed the door and locked it. Probably nothing. Maybe a neighbor’s security detail. Rich people and their paranoia.

He climbed the stairs back to check on the kids. Ethan’s door was closed. He pushed it open quietly.

His son was asleep, sprawled across the bed.

Then he walked to Lily’s room.

Empty.

The bed was made. Her stuffed rabbit was gone. Her backpack. Her favorite books.

His daughter was gone. His chest tightened.

He walked quickly down the hall to Kira’s bedroom and pushed open the door.

The suitcases were gone.

He stood there, staring at the empty space by the closet where they’d been sitting last night. His eyes moved to the bed.

A piece of paper sat on his pillow.

A note.

**Adrian,**

**I’m done begging for crumbs in my own marriage.**

**Nine years ago, I signed a contract. I gave you heirs.**

**I’m taking Lily.

**Don’t look for us.**

**Kira**

Adrian picked it up and skimmed it quickly. His frown deepened with each line, then he let out a short laugh.

*I’m done begging for crumbs.*

Dramatic. That was the word that came to mind. Kira was being dramatic again.

Nine years. The contract was finally complete.

He remembered the night he’d proposed, if you could call it that. Kira six months pregnant, his mother’s ultimatum ringing in his ears: *“Marry her or lose your inheritance. The Westbrook name doesn’t produce bastards.”*

He’d drawn up the contract himself. Nine years. Two children. She’d play the perfect wife, he’d provide security. Clean. Transactional.

She’d signed without argument, those warm brown eyes full of something he’d chosen not to examine too closely.

Love, maybe. He’d thought it was naive.

She’d asked only one question: *“Will you try? To make this real?”*

He’d said yes. He’d meant it, then. But somewhere between late nights at the office and his mother’s constant criticism of Kira, “trying” became “maintaining.” Maintaining became ignoring.

Nine years later, the contract was fulfilled. His inheritance, secured. Heirs produced.

She’d held up her end.

He’d forgotten what his end even was.

Adrian crumpled the note and tossed it on the bed. This was ridiculous. She was upset. She’d be back by tomorrow once she’s realized she had nowhere to go.

He pulled out his phone and dialed her number.

*“You’ve reached Kira, please leave a message.”*

He frowned and tried again.

Same message.

Adrian set his phone down. Dramatic. This was some kind of statement. She wanted him to panic, to chase her.

He wasn’t playing that game.

Adrian went to work.

His secretary asked if everything was alright. He said yes. He had back to back meetings. Calls with investors. Lunch with potential partners.

Normal day. Normal life.

His mother called around two.

“Adrian, darling. I’m coming by for dinner tonight. I haven’t seen my grandson in days.”

“Fine. Six o’clock.”

“Where’s Kira? I tried calling her.”

“She’s visiting family.” The lie came easily.

“Family? She doesn’t have family. They disowned her years ago.”

“She reconnected with them, apparently.”

Catherine made a disapproving sound. “Well, good. Maybe some time away will give her perspective. That scene at the gala was mortifying. I hope she’s reflecting on her behavior.”

Adrian said nothing.

“I’ll see you tonight,” his mother said and hung up.

He tried Kira’s number again during his afternoon meeting.

Still disconnected.

By the time he got home, it was past seven. His mother’s car was already in the driveway.

Inside, Catherine sat in the living room with Ethan, who was picking at his dinner on a tray.

“Where’s Mommy?” Ethan asked when Adrian walked in.

“She’s away for a bit.”

“When’s she coming back?”

“Soon.”

His son’s face crumpled.

“She’ll be back soon.” Adrian loosened his tie. “Eat your dinner.” He said walking to the kitchen.

Catherine followed him. "Where is she really?”

“I told you. Visiting family.”

“For how long?”

“A few days. Maybe a week.”

His mother’s sharp eyes studied him. “Did you two have a fight?”

“No.”

Catherine’s expression shifted to something almost satisfied. “Well. Perhaps this is for the best. You’ve been too lenient with her. A little distance might remind her how fortunate she is to be a Westbrook.”

Adrian poured himself a drink. “Maybe.”

“She’ll come crawling back within the week. Mark my words. Please. Where else would she go? She has no money of her own, no career, no family who wants her. This is just a tantrum.”

“Adrian said nothing, but his mother was right. Kira had nowhere to go. This was temporary. A dramatic exit to get his attention.

He didn’t have time for this.

“She’ll be back,” Catherine said confidently. She always is. “Remember last year when she said she needed space? Took Lily to a hotel for the afternoon? She was home by dinner. She always comes back.”

Adrian had forgotten about that. Kira made these empty threats sometimes when she felt neglected. She’d disappear for a few hours, then come home and act like nothing happened.

“She probably just needs attention,” Adrian said.

“Good riddance if you ask me,” Catherine said, buttering her toast. “A week away might remind her how good she has it here. Maybe she’ll come back with a better attitude.”

“When she’s done sulking, she’ll come home,” he said, standing up. “She has nowhere else to go.”

After his mother left, he went upstairs. Ethan was already asleep, tear tracks still visible on his cheeks. The house felt too quiet.

Adrian stood in the hallway, staring at Kira’s closed bedroom door.

The house was too quiet. No soft footsteps. No humming from the kitchen. Just silence.

He pushed it open and walked inside.

The scent of her perfume hit him - lavender and vanilla - but the racks were half empty.

He walked to the closet and pulled it open.

The breath left his lungs.

It was half empty. Not just a few outfits for a weekend trip. Entire sections were cleared out. Her dresses. Her shoes. Her coat.

This was planned.

Adrian pulled out his phone and opened the banking app. Their joint account. If she’d withdrawn money, he could trace it. Track where she went.

He scrolled through the transactions from the past week.

Nothing.

No withdrawals. No purchases. Not a single charge.

She hadn’t touched his money.

How was she surviving? Where was she staying? Did she hire the SUVs this morning? How did she afford them?

Unless someone was helping her. But who? Her family had disowned her. She had no friends, no one she could turn to

Ungrateful. That’s what she was. He’d given her everything, the house, the lifestyle, his name. And this is how she repaid him? By running away like a child?

Fine. Let her come crawling back when she realized no one else would put up with her.

Adrian’s jaw tightened. He slammed his phone on the desk, picked it and pulled up her contact and called again.

The automated voice felt like a door slamming in his face.

*“The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again.”*

Adrian hurled his phone across the room. It hit the wall and clattered to the floor.

The screen cracked.

Just like everything else.