Mission Impossible (Literally)

(AURIANNA'S POV)

"Hey, Chels. What's up?"

Chelsea's face fills my screen, her hair tied in a messy bun, a face mask smeared unevenly across her cheeks. Classic.

"Nothing," she says, popping a chip into her mouth. "Just calling to check up on you. It's nearly been a whole day since I've seen your emotionally unavailable face."

"Aww," I grin, flopping back on the bed. "Is that how much you love me?"

She rolls her eyes dramatically. "Please. I just needed to make sure you haven't gotten murdered yet."

I laugh at that.

She snickers, then squints at me through the screen. "So, spill. How's the new mission going? I heard it was some big deal."

I groan, dragging a pillow over my face. "Ugh, you are not going to believe what happened."

"Oh, this I gotta hear."

I toss the pillow aside and sit up. "So, apparently, I've been assigned to protect one of O.A.S.I.S.'s high-profile clients from a Mafia Don that wants him dead."

"Okay, that's pretty standard."

"Yeah. Except the client happens to be the guy I beat up at the club last weekend."

Her jaw drops. "Wait-Zayne Beaumont?!"

I blink. "Well... yeah."

"Are you kidding me?" Chelsea screeches so loud I wince and move my phone away. "You met Zayne fucking Beaumont?!"

"Calm down, Jesus," I say, laughing.

"I can't calm down! He's literally been on the cover of Forbes, GQ, People's Sexiest Men Alive-he's like, a walking orgasm in a suit! And he's thirty! And a billionaire!"

I make a face. "He's also a pain in the ass. Arrogant, smug, cocky, a playboy and a womanizer."

Chelsea waves her hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. He can womanize me, I don't care."

I snort. "Chels, get a grip."

She grins wickedly. "So, how's your new roommate?"

"Oh, don't even start," I groan. "He's already testing my patience. But-" I pause, frowning at the memory. "There's something else."

Her brows furrow. "What?"

"Did you know Zayne Beaumont has a daughter?"

Chelsea freezes as she chews on her chips. "What the fuck? When?"

Before I can say more, I hear laughter echoing down the hall. I glance toward the door.

"Hey, I'll call you back," I tell Chelsea.

"What? No, wait-"

But I end the call before she can complain and slip off the bed. The sound leads me down the hallway until I find myself standing outside a half-open door.

I peek inside.

Zayne's sitting on Brielle's bed, her little body tucked under a pink comforter dotted with cartoon stars. He's holding a hardcover storybook, reading animatedly while she giggles, clutching her teddy bear.

"...and then the brave knight said, 'If you touch the princess again, I'll feed you to my dragon,'" Zayne says in a deep, dramatic voice.

Brielle gasps. "He didn't!"

"Oh, he did," Zayne replies, eyes wide like he's just spoiled the biggest plot twist of all time. "And do you know what happened next?"

"What?" she squeaks, bouncing in place.

"The dragon burped fire all over the evil sorcerer's butt!"

Brielle bursts into uncontrollable laughter, falling back into her pillows. Zayne starts laughing too, clearly proud of himself.

"Daddy, that's not in the story!"

"It is now," he says, winking. "Author's creative liberty."

She covers her mouth, giggling so hard she snorts. "You're silly."

Zayne chuckles, brushing her hair back from her face. "And you, little troublemaker, should be sleeping."

"But you promised to read me the new story you bought," she pouts, her lower lip trembling.

Zayne sighs in that soft, playful way dads do when they're completely powerless. "You mean the one with the princess who saves herself?"

Brielle nods eagerly. "Yes!"

He smiles. "Alright, one more story. But after that, it's dreamland. Deal?"

"Deal!"

As I watch them, something twists in my chest. A quiet ache that feels too familiar.

The sight of them-him reading to her, her small fingers clutching his arm like he's her whole world-hits me harder than I expect. For a second, I can almost see myself in that little girl. Except my dad didn't read me bedtime stories.

He packed his bags, slammed the car door in my face and let my mom and I, crying in the rain.

I shake the memory away before it swallows me whole.

I turn quietly and head back to my room, closing the door softly behind me. The smile that had crept onto my lips fades, replaced by the kind of heaviness I only feel when I'm alone.

I strip down, grab a towel and my bath stuff, and step into the bathroom. The mirror fogs as steam fills the space.

The hot water hits my skin and I let out a slow breath, tilting my head back beneath the stream.

For a moment, everything feels calm again. But then I remember Brielle's tiny arms around me, her voice calling me Mommy.

My hands drift to my stomach, instinctively. I clutch at the skin, wondering what it would be like to have my own Brielle.

I shake the thought out of my head, laughing at myself for dreaming about something I'll never be able to have.

The warmth in my chest crumbles. The water mixes with tears before I even realize I'm crying.

I slide down until I'm sitting on the floor of the shower, pulling my knees to my chest. The sound of the water drowns everything else out, except the memories.

The flashes from that horrible night that left me broken... and incomplete. The pain I try not to think about.

I press my forehead to my knees and stay there until the ache dulls into exhaustion.

When I finally drag myself out, I wrap the towel around me and dry off. My reflection looks tired, hollow in a way no amount of training can fix.

I throw on my nightwear, tie my hair up, and glance at the clock. Past eleven.

Zayne should be in bed by now. I should check on him.

I step out into the hallway, barefoot, the marble floor cold against my skin. I pass Brielle's room first-the door's shut, but a sliver of soft light seeps from under it.

I open it gently and peek inside. She's fast asleep, her teddy tucked under her chin.

I can't help but smile. "Sweet dreams, kid," I whisper, then pull the door closed.

As I make my way down the hall, I almost bump into Clara, the nanny. She startles slightly.

"Oh, Ms. Aurianna," she says, adjusting the blanket she's carrying. "You're still awake?"

"Yeah," I reply. "Just wanted to check up on Zayne. Where's his room?"

She blinks. "Mr. Beaumont? Oh, he's not in, dear."

My stomach drops. "What do you mean he's not in?"

"He left about fifteen minutes ago," Clara says. "Said he was going for a drive. He got dressed, grabbed his keys, and left."

I freeze. "He what?!"

She tilts her head, confused by my tone. "Is something wrong?"

I force a smile that probably looks like a grimace. "No. Nothing's wrong. Thank you, Clara."

I spin on my heel, my patience evaporating.

Of course he left. Of course the billionaire playboy thinks rules don't apply to him.

As I march back to my room, I yank my phone off the nightstand and open the tracker app I'd synced to his phone earlier. A red dot blinks somewhere downtown.

My jaw tightens.

"When I find you," I mutter, grabbing my jacket, "I'm going to fucking kill you myself."