Chapter 3 Gone

"I'm afraid your mother has disappeared." The words hit me so hard that for a second I thought I had heard them wrong.

The room around me faded into the background. The arguments, the inheritance, the angry faces, the forty-seven billion dollars. None of it mattered anymore. Only my mother.

I tightened my grip on the phone. "What do you mean disappeared?" The doctor hesitated. "She isn't in her room."

My heart pounded painfully against my ribs. "Then find her." "We are trying."

"Trying?" I repeated, unable to keep the panic out of my voice. "How does a sick woman disappear from a hospital?"

Several heads turned toward me. The room had fallen silent. Everyone was listening.

The doctor lowered his voice. "Miss Sinclair, I think you need to come here immediately." The call ended.

For several seconds I simply stood there staring at my phone. Victor Kane was the first to speak. "Miss Sinclair?"

I looked up. "My mother is missing." The shock on his face seemed genuine. "What?"

"I need to go." I didn't wait for permission. I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. People called after me, but I ignored them. My mind was racing.

Mom had been weak for weeks. She could barely walk without help. There was no way she had simply wandered off. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.

I reached the elevator and pressed the button repeatedly. The doors opened. Just as I stepped inside, another hand blocked them from closing.

Lucien, of course. He entered without asking. The elevator began moving. The silence between us felt tense. I didn't have the energy to deal with him. Not now, not today, not ever.

"What happened?" he finally asked. I kept my eyes on the numbers above the door. "My mother disappeared."

His expression hardened. "When?" "Just now."

He studied me for a moment. "You think someone took her." It wasn't a question. I nodded.

The elevator doors opened into the lobby.

Reporters were still crowded outside the building. The second they saw me, cameras flashed.

Questions flew through the air. "Evelyn!" "Did you inherit the company?" "Are you the new owner of Blackwood Industries?" "What is your relationship with Damien Blackwood?" I pushed through them. My patience was gone. My fear was growing by the second.

A black car pulled up near the entrance. Lucien opened the rear door. "Get in." I frowned. "I can find my own ride." "Not through that crowd." I looked at the sea of reporters. Unfortunately, he was right.

Five minutes later I found myself sitting in the backseat beside the man who believed I had stolen his inheritance. Life was strange. The drive to the hospital felt endless. Every red light irritated me, every minute felt wasted. I kept checking my phone.

Nothing, no calls, no updates, no messages. The city rushed by outside the window while my imagination created terrible possibilities.

By the time we arrived, I was barely holding myself together. I rushed through the entrance and headed straight toward the reception desk.

A nurse immediately recognized me. "Miss Sinclair." "Where's my mother?" The woman looked uncomfortable. My stomach dropped. That wasn't a good sign. "Please come with me."

I followed her through a series of hallways. Lucien remained a few steps behind. Neither of us spoke. The nurse finally stopped outside my mother's room. The door was open, the bed inside was empty. The sight made my chest ache. I slowly walked inside.

Everything looked normal. Her blanket was still folded. Her water sat untouched on the table. Her reading glasses rested beside a half-finished crossword puzzle. It looked like she had simply vanished.

The nurse handed me a small plastic evidence bag. Inside was a folded piece of paper. "We found this on her pillow." My hands trembled as I opened it. There were only a few words written on the page.

"If you want to see your mother again, tell Lucien Blackwood to stop asking questions."

I stared at the note. Then read it again and again. The words never changed.

A cold chill spread through my body. Slowly, I turned toward Lucien. His face had gone completely still. "What questions?" I whispered. He didn't answer. My frustration exploded. "What questions, Lucien?"

His jaw tightened. For a moment I thought he might refuse to answer. Then he took the note from my hand. His eyes moved across the message. A dangerous look settled over his face. The kind of look that belonged on a man preparing for war. "This isn't about you."

I laughed bitterly. "My mother is missing." His gaze met mine. "It became about you the moment they took her." The room fell silent. Neither of us spoke. The truth was obvious.

Whoever had taken my mother wanted something from Lucien. Which meant my mother wasn't the target. She was leverage.

A knock interrupted my thoughts. A security officer stepped into the room carrying a tablet. His face looked pale, very pale.

Lucien noticed immediately. "What is it?" "We reviewed the security footage." My heart jumped.

"You found something?" The officer nodded. "Yes." Hope flared inside me. Maybe this was finally good news. Maybe they knew where she was. The officer handed over the tablet.

I took it first. The video showed my mother's hospital room from less than an hour ago.

The door opened. A man entered. He wore dark clothing and a baseball cap. His face remained hidden. He approached the bed.

My mother looked up. Then something happened that made my stomach twist.

She smiled, not a frightened smile, not the smile of someone facing a stranger. The smile of someone who knew exactly who was standing in front of her.

The man sat beside her. They spoke for several minutes. No argument, no struggle, nothing. Eventually my mother reached into the bedside drawer and removed an old photograph.

She handed it to him. The man studied it, then he stood. As he turned toward the door, his face briefly became visible. The tablet nearly slipped from my hands..Because I recognized him. Not from real life, from newspapers, from magazines, from television interviews. My pulse stopped.

"No." The word escaped before I could stop it. Beside me, Lucien had gone completely still. The officer looked confused. "What is it?" Neither of us answered.

We couldn't. Because the man in the footage looked exactly like Damien Blackwood. The billionaire whose funeral had taken place three days ago. The billionaire everyone believed was dead. The billionaire whose will had just handed me forty-seven billion dollars.

My hands shook as I replayed the footage. The face was unmistakable. The same silver hair, the same sharp features, the same piercing eyes.

It couldn't be him, and yet it was. The room suddenly felt colder. Then my phone vibrated. An unknown number appeared on the screen. I stared at it for several seconds before answering.

"Hello?" A distorted voice filled my ear; deep, calm, almost amused. "You should stop looking for your mother, Evelyn."

Every muscle in my body locked. "Who are you?" The caller ignored the question. Instead, he said something that made the blood drain from my face.

"Ask Lucien why his father spent years watching you." The line went dead. Slowly, I lowered the phone. Lucien was staring at me. My hands tightened around the device. Because for the first time since this nightmare began, I realized something terrifying.

The man who took my mother knew things about me that I didn't even know myself.