CHAPTER 6

Adrian did not sleep that night.

He sat in his study with the lights off and his phone on the desk. Every twenty minutes it buzzed. Every time, he picked it up too fast.

Every time, it was Marcus. And every time, the news was the same.

"Nothing yet, sir."

By midnight, Marcus had checked every hotel near the university. By two in the morning, he had called three hospitals and two police stations. By four, he had called Elena's college friend, her old art teacher, and a woman she once bought paint from.

No one had seen her.

At six, the phone rang again.

"Sir, we have a small update," Marcus said. His voice was tired. "The taxi driver says he took her to a guesthouse near the bus station. But the owner says no one by that name stayed there. She paid cash. She left before dawn."

Adrian's jaw tightened. "Bus station?"

"We checked the cameras. There are too many people. We couldn't find her."

"Her phone?"

"Switched off. And the number is dead now, sir. It looks like she destroyed the SIM."

Adrian stood up and walked to the window.

*She destroyed the SIM.*

That wasn't an accident. That was planned. Elena, who didn't know how to argue with a waiter, had thought carefully about how to disappear from him.

He did not like that at all.

"Keep looking," he said. "Check her bank accounts. Check her family."

"Her family lives in a different city, sir. Should I call them?"

Adrian thought about it. If he called her parents, they would ask why. And then the news would spread.

"No. Not yet."

He hung up and rubbed his eyes.

It was only seven in the morning, and already the day felt wrong.

By nine, the house was full of noise.

Victoria arrived first, with Audrey and Isabelle behind her. She walked into the living room like a queen coming home. Adrian was standing by the fireplace with a cup of cold coffee.

"Mrs. Carter finally told me," she said. She was smiling. She was actually smiling. "Is it true? She left?"

"Mother."

"Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm not going to pretend I'm sad." She dropped into an armchair and crossed her legs. "That woman was never right for this family."

Audrey laughed. "Honestly, we should have a party."

"Audrey," Adrian said.

She stopped laughing.

Victoria looked at him closely. "You aren't happy? After five years of that girl sitting in this house doing nothing?"

"She is still my wife."

The room went quiet.

Isabelle looked at her mother. Victoria's smile slipped a little.

"Adrian. She left you. She signed the papers. What more do you want?"

He did not answer, because he did not know how to explain it. If he said, *I need her to stay a little longer,* his mother would ask why. And he could not tell her why.

"Until I sign, she is my wife," he said. "And no one speaks about her like that in my house."

Victoria stared at him for a long moment. Then she smiled again, but it was a cold smile.

"As you wish. But Sophia is coming today. I've already sent the driver for her bags."

Adrian looked up. "What?"

"She can't stay in a hotel. She's family." Victoria waved a hand. "The east guest room is ready."

"Mother, this is not the time—"

The doorbell rang.

Sophia walked in a few minutes later, in a cream coat, with a small suitcase and a soft smile. She looked like she belonged on a magazine cover. She went straight to Adrian and touched his arm.

"I'm sorry. I told Aunt Victoria it was too soon. I didn't want to be a burden."

"It's fine," Adrian said.

"You look tired." Her eyes searched his face. "Is it about Elena? Aunt Victoria told me. I'm so sorry. Maybe she just needs some space."

"Maybe."

"Did she say where she was going?"

Adrian looked at her. It was an ordinary question. But there was something under it, something quick and sharp, like a light that flashed and went out.

"No," he said. "She didn't."

Sophia nodded slowly. "Well. I'm sure she'll come back. People always do."

She smiled again.

Adrian stepped away from her hand. "Excuse me. I have work to do."

He walked out of the room and didn't look back.

He did not go to his office. He went upstairs to the bedroom.

It was quiet there. It was still full of her. A tray was on the dresser, with her hairbrush and a little dish of pins. The window was open a few inches, the way she liked it. Something in the room smelled faintly of paint.

*She must have a clue somewhere,* he told himself. *A friend's number. An address.* He was only searching. He was only being sensible.

He started with the desk by the window. It had two drawers. The first held pens, paper, and a few receipts. The second was stuck.

He pulled harder. It came open with a bang.

Inside was a thick black sketchbook with a rubber band around it.

Adrian picked it up.

He took off the band and opened the first page.

It was a drawing of a man sleeping. The face was turned away, but he knew the shoulders. He knew the hair. It was him.

He turned the page.

Him again. At the window, holding a cup of coffee. Him reading a newspaper at the dining table. Him with his back to the camera, taking off his watch. Him asleep on the sofa in the study with one arm over his eyes.

He kept turning. There were dozens. Fifty, sixty, maybe more.

Each one had a small date in the corner, in pencil. The first was from five years ago. The latest was from last week.

Adrian's mouth was dry.

He had never once looked at her for more than a few seconds. He had walked past her in the hall. He had skipped dinners. He had slept in the study. And all that time, she had been watching.

She had drawn him with so much care. The lines of his hands were gentle. The angle of his shoulders was right. In some of them, he looked almost kind.

In one, he was smiling.

He stopped on that page for a long time. He did not remember ever smiling at her. Not once. She had drawn it anyway, from her own mind, because it was the thing she wanted to see.

Something heavy sat on his chest.

"This is nothing," he said to the empty room. "It's just a hobby."

But he kept turning.

At the very back of the sketchbook, there was no drawing. Only a folded piece of paper tucked behind the last page. It was creased from being opened many times.

Adrian unfolded it.

It was a short note, written in her neat handwriting.

*Adrian,*

*If you ever read this, I want you to know something. I was never stupid. I knew you were hiding something from me. I could see it every time you looked away. I just loved you too much to ask.*

*I'm not going to ask anymore.*

*— E.*

His hand began to shake.

The date in the corner was from two years ago.

Two years ago. She had written this two years ago, and she had never said a word.

Adrian read the last line again. He read it a third time.

He heard footsteps in the hall, and Sophia's soft voice calling his name from the stairs.

He did not move.

Very slowly, he lowered the paper and spoke to the empty room.

"What exactly did you know, Elena?”