All Chapters of His Missing Piece: Chapter 1 - Chapter 8

The freezing downpour slammed against the glass doors of the hospital as Ethan stepped back inside, his coat heavy and drenched with rain. Water droplets trailed down his jawline but he didn't feel the chill. His chest felt tight, his heart still hammering with that same irrational panic that had gripped him the moment Rosalie walked away. His ego had told him she was playing a game, that she was waiting on the sidewalk for him to chase her. But the empty rain-slicked streets had proven him wrong. She had vanished into the dark without a trace, leaving his wealth, his name, and his life behind without a single glance.‎He walked down the sterile corridor, his steps muffled by the quiet of the late-night ward, heading back toward the intensive care unit. As he approached the semi-private recovery room where Chloe had been transferred, he noticed the door was cracked open. A sliver of warm light cut through the dim hallway.‎Ethan paused, his hand hovering near the handle as a low hush

‎The presidential suite on the top floor of the coastal city's most exclusive hotel offered a full view of the ocean, but to Ethan Vance it was just another room he didn't want to be in. ‎He sat on the edge of the leather sofa, In front of him on the coffee table sat two things. A photograph of Rosalie and their son. And a file thick enough to hold five years of a life he had missed entirely. ‎Mark stood by the door, keeping quiet. He had served the Vance family for over a decade but he had never seen Ethan like this. He sat with his shoulders dropped, his hands loose in his lap. Nothing about him resembled the man who had once walked into rooms like he owned them, he had gone quiet in a way that had nothing to do with peace. ‎"Read it to me," Ethan's voice rasped into the silence, dry and worn. "Every detail of the last five years. Don't leave anything out." ‎Mark stepped forward, opening his laptop. "After leaving the hospital five years ago, Mrs. Vance" ‎"Rosalie," Ethan c

‎The executive floor of Aura Corp's glass skyscraper was bright with the kind of light that made everything look cleaner than it was. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows the coastal skyline stretched out in endless blue, but inside Rosalie's private office the atmosphere was warm and alive with low laughter.‎Rosalie sat back in her armchair, a soft relaxed smile on her lips. On the dark plush rug little Leo sat cross-legged, engrossed in assembling the model drone. Beside him was a man whose presence commanded respect in every major financial capital in the country Julian Thorne.‎ At thirty two Julian was the head of Thorne Capital, a powerful venture firm closely allied with the Sterling Network. He was handsome, charismatic, and carried a quiet easy confidence that never felt forced. More importantly he treated Rosalie not as a broken woman needing rescue but as an equal in the business world.‎"If you adjust the micro-rotor on the left wing Leo the stability sensors will aut

‎The Coastal Grand Ballroom was the kind of room that reminded people how much money existed in the world.‎Crystal chandeliers threw warm gold light across marble floors. Wait staff moved silently between clusters of the most powerful business figures on the coast. Every table held a different empire. Every conversation was a transaction dressed as small talk.‎Ethan stood near the far end of the room beside the windows, a glass of water in his hand. He hadn't touched the champagne all evening. Beside him stood Layla Sinclair looking elegant, composed, with her red gown chosen carefully to compliment her style. She had attended four of these events on Ethan's arm over the past three years. Not a relationship. Something convenient that the press had quietly constructed into one. She was mid-sentence about an acquisition she was considering when the room shifted.‎Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just shifted,‎Layla felt it before she understood it. The low hum of conversation dipped sli