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I reach home the next day, eager to see Quinn before doing anything else.

Frowning, I check the living room, the kitchen, the bedroom—all empty.

I dial her bodyguard's number, pacing the length of the hallway. “Where the hell are you two?” I demand when he picks up. “What time will you be back?”

“Sir, we need to talk. I'm on my way in now.”

The line goes dead. I head downstairs as Dmitri steps through the front door, his expression grim. “Sir, Miss Desmond left yesterday without telling me. She tricked the guards and said I was waiting for her by the car. She hasn't returned since and isn't at her address. I checked. She's not picking up any calls either.”

His words hit me like a sledgehammer, stealing the breath from my lungs. Shock ripples through me, quickly replaced by a searing mixture of anger and hurt. “She...left? Without a word?”

The bodyguard nods, an apology written on his face. “I'm sorry, Sir. She took all her things. We had no idea she'd—”

I cut him off with a wave of my hand, my mind reeling. How could she do this? After everything we've shared, everything I thought we had...

I dismiss Dmitri with a curt nod, barely registering his exit as my head drops into my hands. The betrayal stings like a knife to the heart. I thought we had something real, something deeper than just a business arrangement. Why would she leave without a trace?

She hasn’t been picking up calls? She isn’t at her address? Does she not want to be found? I run a hand through my hair, trying to make sense of it all. Did I misread the signs? Did I push too hard, too fast? The questions swirl in my mind, taunting me with their lack of answers. The thought of losing her, of never seeing her again, leaves me feeling hollow inside.

Yet even as the anger and confusion rage within me, a small part of me clings to hope. Maybe this is just a misunderstanding. Maybe she had a reason for leaving so abruptly.

I pull out my phone, my fingers hovering over her contact. I need to hear her voice, need to understand why she left. She doesn’t pick up.

I toss the phone aside, my jaw clenched. No, I refuse to accept that. I'll do whatever it takes to find her, to understand what happened.

As terrifying as it is to admit, even to myself, I now know the truth: Quinn Desmond has become more than I ever thought possible. This house feels empty without her. My heart feels like it is missing a piece. She has become the one thing I never expected to find—someone who makes me want to be a better man.

***

When she doesn’t pick up any of my calls, I storm into the security office, my anger reaching a boiling point as I confront the guards. “How could you let this happen?” I demand, my voice echoing off the walls. “How could you let her just walk out of here without even trying to stop her? Didn’t you see the fucking suitcases in her hand?”

The guards exchange uneasy glances, their postures stiffening under my furious gaze. “Sir, we had no reason to suspect—”

“No reason?” I cut him off, my fist slamming against the desk. “She's my fiancée, for Christ's sake! It's your job to protect her, to make sure nothing happens to her!”

I know deep down that it's not their fault, that Quinn is too clever and determined for them to have stopped her. But right now, I need someone to blame, someone to lash out at. Because the alternative is facing the gut-wrenching reality that she chose to leave me.

The guards remain silent in fear. I turn away, running a hand through my hair as I try to control my temper. “Just...find her,” I mutter, my voice rough with emotion. I don't care what it takes. Bring her back to me.”

***

The next day, I head into work. I need to focus and channel this rage into something productive. However, as I make my way to the office, my thoughts keep drifting back to Quinn.

When I arrive, my brothers are already waiting, their faces lined with concern. “Mark, what's going on?” Abram asks, his brow furrowed. You look like hell, and you didn’t tune in for the conference call last night.”

“It's nothing,” I snap, brushing past him. “Let's just get this over with.”

“You sure everything is okay?” Denis asks with worry in his eyes.

“It’s just one fucking conference call. Will you all calm down?”

My brothers exchange looks, but say nothing.

But even as I try to lose myself in the mundane details of business, my mind keeps wandering, replaying every moment with Quinn, searching for some clue, some hint of what went wrong. The others cast me wary glances, but I ignore them, too consumed by my own swirling emotions to care.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes, and I glance down to see Lara's name on the screen. For a moment, I contemplate ignoring it, but a masochistic impulse compels me to answer. “What?” I bark, my tone harsher than intended.

“Well, hello to you, too,” Lara says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I was just calling to see if you and Quinn wanted to join us for dinner tonight.”

The mention of Quinn's name is like a knife to the gut, and I close my eyes, drawing in a shaky breath. “Not tonight,” I manage, my voice tight. “Something's come up.”

“Is everything okay?” Lara asks, concern creeping into her tone. “You sound—”

“I'm fine,” I interrupt, my grip tightening on the phone. “I’m working, Lara, and you should be too.”

I hang up before she can respond, tossing the phone onto the table with a clatter. My brothers are staring at me with concern now. But I can't handle their questions, can't bear the thought of explaining the gaping hole in my chest where Quinn used to be.

So instead, I push to my feet, my chair scraping against the floor. “I need some air,” I mutter, striding towards the door.

As I step out into the hallway, I lean against the wall, my eyes squeezing shut. The anger is still there, simmering beneath the surface, but it's tempered now by a bone-deep weariness, a sense of helplessness that I've never felt before.

***

I stride into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me with a resounding bang. My mind races as I sink into my bed, my fingers already reaching for the phone. I have to find her, have to hear her voice again.

I dial the number for my head of security, barking orders the moment he picks up. “I need you to find Quinn Desmond's new contact information now.”

“But Sir,” he stammers, “that could take some time—”

“I don't care how long it takes,” I snap, my free hand clenching into a fist. “Just get it done. Use every resource we have. Spies, telecoms, whatever it takes. I want that number on my desk within the hour.”

I hang up before he can respond, my heart pounding in my chest. I know I'm being irrational, letting my emotions get the best of me. But the thought of Quinn out there, unsure of what she’s feeling, is enough to drive me to the brink of madness.

The minutes tick by with agonizing slowness, each second feeling like an eternity.

Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, my phone buzzes with an incoming message. I snatch it up, my eyes scanning the screen frantically. There, in black and white, is a phone number. Quinn's number.

I don't hesitate; I don't stop to think. I punch in the numbers with shaking fingers, my breath catching in my throat as I lift the phone to my ear. It rings once, twice, three times. Each unanswered ring feels like a knife to my gut, twisting deeper with every passing second.

And then, just when I think I can't take it anymore, the line clicks and a familiar voice fills my ear. “Hello?”

“Quinn,” I breathe, her name falling from my lips like a prayer. “It's me.”

There's a long pause, and for a moment, I'm terrified that she's going to hang up. But then she speaks, her voice soft and uncertain. “Mark? What are you doing?”

“I needed to hear your voice,” I confess, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I needed to know that you were okay.”

“I'm fine,” she says, but I can hear the waver in her tone.

“You left!” My voice comes out more like an accusation, and less from concern. I take a deep breath, then speak gently. “What happened, Quinn? If you wanted to leave, all you had to do was speak to me about it.”

“I didn’t know I could,” she says, simply.

“Didn’t know you could?” I ask, incredulously. “Were you and I living under the same roof, sharing the same bed?”

“But Mark, we had a deal. A contract. You said Charlie Letvin won’t be a problem and that I was a free bird. You said we should enjoy our last few days together. I couldn't just—”

“Dear god, Quinn. I never expected you to live under my roof unless you wanted to. I only meant our last few days together in that house . I only said it because I didn’t wish to assume more than it was from your end. To hell with the contract,” I growl, my grip tightening on the phone. “Quinn, what we had was more than just some verbal agreement. It was real.”

“Was it?” she asks, and the vulnerability in her voice nearly undoes me. “Because from where I'm standing, it seems like maybe it was all just part of the game. And if it wasn’t, I couldn’t have known, could I? Unless you expected me to read your mind.”

I take a deep breath, trying to find the right words to make her understand. “Quinn, I know I've made mistakes. I know I haven't always been honest with you about how I feel. But you’ve come to mean something to me... It's not a game. It's real, and it's overwhelming, and it scares the hell out of me. I miss you, god damn it.”

There's a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “Mark, I... I don't know what to say.”

“Just tell me you feel it too,” I plead, my heart pounding in my chest. “Tell me I'm not alone in this.”

“You're not,” she whispers, and for a moment, hope soars in my chest. But then she continues, her voice growing stronger. “I miss you too. But Mark, I can't do this. Not now. I need time to think, to figure out what I want.”

Frustration wells up inside me, but I force it back down. “How much time?”

“I don't know,” she admits. “I’ve never been in such a situation before.”

Her words are like a punch to the gut, but I know she's right. I've given her every reason to doubt me, to question my intentions. If I want a future with her, I'm going to have to prove myself worthy of her trust.

I clench my jaw, frustration and longing battling within me. Her admission only confirms what I already knew—Quinn was fiercely independent, even guarded, and accustomed to charting her own course without anyone else's input. Despite the ache in my chest at her words, I couldn't fault her for needing space to make a decision.

“Okay,” I say softly, my heart aching with the weight of all the things left unsaid between us. “I'll give you time, Quinn. As much as you need. But I'm not giving up on us. On what we could be.”

She stays silent for a long moment, and I can almost hear the gears turning in her mind. “I'm not making any promises,” she finally says. “But... thank you, Mark. For understanding.”

“Always,” I murmur, closing my eyes against the sudden sting of tears. “I'll be here when you're ready, Quinn. I'm not going anywhere.”

The line goes dead, and I'm left alone with the weight of my own emotions. But beneath the pain and the uncertainty, there's a flicker of hope. A promise of something more, if only I can be patient enough to wait for it.