Mark’s POV

[Tomorrow at 10 AM, Nina has her prenatal check-up. You’ll go with her. Get your annual health screening while you’re at it.]

There was no reply. Not that I expected one. I didn’t know it at the time, but Clara had already removed her SIM card, powered down her phone, and disappeared completely. Just like that, she had vanished from my world, leaving me with the unmistakable finality of a door slammed shut—one that might never open again.

---

The next morning, the private clinic hummed quietly, the soft scent of antiseptic mixing with the faint aroma of fresh flowers. Nina clung to my arm as if I were her only anchor.

“Mark, is the baby okay?” she whispered, panic threading through her voice.

I kept my tone calm, steady. “The doctor said the baby’s fine. No complications from the incident at the estate.”

Relief flooded her features. “Thank the stars. You’ve been so quiet since we arrived. I was worried something went wrong.”

Something had.

I couldn’t shake the image of Clara from my mind—the way she had looked at me amid the chaos, not pleading, not begging, just quiet and resigned, as if she already knew I wouldn’t come for her. And the cruelest truth? She was right. I hadn’t carried her out. I had carried Nina.

---

After lunch with Nina, I dropped her off at the Sterling estate and went straight to the council hall.

That’s when my assistant caught up with me.

“Mr. Mark, Mr. Kirkland has returned from Europe. He’s requested a full executive briefing with the board.”

I nodded, continuing my stride, but beneath the practiced calm, something sharp twisted in my chest. Clara was nowhere to be found. She hadn’t gone to the clinic. She hadn’t returned to the estate. None of the staff had seen her leave. No one had any idea where she could be. She had vanished completely—and I had no clue when or how she had slipped out of my life.

Where the hell had she gone?

I quickened my pace, then spoke over my shoulder to my assistant. “Send someone to retrieve a few of the newest designer handbags and that custom jewelry set.”

“For Nina?”

I paused, teeth clenched. “Send it to the Sterling estate.”

If Clara was anywhere, that would be her destination.

And if she wasn’t?

I didn’t want to finish the thought. My chest tightened, unease gnawing at me relentlessly.

What if she was hurt? Still recovering somewhere, alone?

What if she’d truly left for good?

---

A week later, just past midnight, I returned home, bone-deep exhausted after a marathon strategy session. The estate was silent, moonlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows.

A soft figure curled on the couch caught my eye, swathed in silk, as though a memory had been left behind in my absence.

I exhaled, a low chuckle escaping me. “Clara… I told you. Once I’m done with work, I always come back. You don’t need to—”

I stopped mid-sentence.

It wasn’t Clara.

Nina’s face fell as she looked up at me, a hint of fear in her wide eyes. “Mark… she hasn’t returned. Not once. I’ve sent her so many messages—apologies, explanations—nothing. Maybe I should leave… I don’t know what else to do.” She sniffled, on the verge of tears.

I let out a long breath and lowered myself beside her, pressing a hand to her forehead. Not tenderness, not affection—more routine than anything—but it offered reassurance. “Don’t overthink it. The baby needs stability. Calm surroundings. This… this is your home now. Yours and the baby’s. Whether Clara agrees or not.”

---

Later, I stood alone on the terrace, robe loosely tied around my shoulders, the city lights stretching endlessly before me. I lit a cigarette—something I hadn’t done in years—but tonight, I didn’t care. The craving wasn’t for nicotine; it was for the restless tension gnawing at me from inside.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled, fingers pausing over the last name at the very bottom of my contacts. Clara. I hovered over the call button, my chest tight with everything I wanted to say—but didn’t. In the end, I didn’t dial.

I sent a message instead.

[Clara, tomorrow is Mr. Kirkland’s 80th birthday. Don’t cause a scene. Keep your distance from Nina and the baby.]

I stared at the screen, chest constricting. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if it was the cold night air, or something else entirely. No. Not panic. Something sharper. Something heavier.

Mark’s POV

Mr. Kirkland’s 80th birthday was the sort of event that demanded perfection: flawless appearances, polite smiles, discreet nods of deference, and an ironclad control over one’s image. The kind of gathering where any slip could echo for years.

I arrived at the grand ballroom with Nina at my side, her rounded belly now impossible to miss. Eyes followed us as we walked in, whispers circling like small, invisible currents through the crowd, but I ignored them. My face stayed neutral, a mask of detachment, while every instinct screamed that something was wrong.

It wasn’t until my grandfather himself entered the room that I released Nina’s hand. Not just a patriarch of the family, Mr. Kirkland was a living legend in the business world—a man who had built an empire and demanded loyalty, but who had always treated me with the same careful, almost fatherly affection he reserved for family.

“Where is Clara?” he asked directly, his eyes locking onto mine.

I swallowed, keeping my voice steady despite the gnawing anxiety in my chest. “She’s… busy. She wanted to prepare something special for your birthday,” I said, forcing a confidence I didn’t feel. “She’ll be here later.”

He studied me for a long moment, his gaze sharp and searching, and yet he said nothing more.

Two hours passed. The room was filled with the hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the polite applause of guests greeting one another. But still, Clara hadn’t appeared. I kept my eyes on the doors, pretending not to care, but inside, my stomach knotted tighter with every passing minute. Where the hell was she?

Just as I was about to excuse myself and make a call, a young courier appeared in the doorway, carrying three carefully wrapped packages. His hands trembled slightly, either from the weight or the tension in the room, and his gaze flitted between me and my grandfather as if unsure whom to address first.

“Delivery for Mr. Kirkland,” he announced, voice polite but firm. “From Ms. Clara.”

My chest tightened. The mention of her name stopped every thought for a second.

I cleared my throat and said, “Give them to me.”

He hesitated. “I was instructed to deliver these directly to the Mr., sir. Her instructions were very specific.”

Of course they were.

I stepped aside, gesturing toward my grandfather. “Then do as she requested.”

Mr. Kirkland was midway through a quiet conversation with another board member when the courier approached. He nodded respectfully and said, “These are from Ms. Clara, sir. She sends her birthday wishes.”

The Mr. blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. “Why didn’t she deliver them herself? Where is she?”

The courier shook his head apologetically. “I’m only tasked with delivering these, sir. Nothing more.”

My grandfather’s brow furrowed, his expression heavy with disappointment. Still, he accepted the gifts with his usual measured grace, placing them carefully on the table beside him. His fingers lingered on one of the boxes, as though expecting it to speak for her, to offer an explanation she hadn’t given in person.

I stepped closer, trying to control the whirlwind of emotions swirling in my chest. “Do you want me to open them for you?” I asked, voice quiet.

“No. I’ll do it myself,” he replied, his tone gentle but firm.

The first package revealed an exquisitely embroidered tapestry. The craftsmanship was extraordinary—months of painstaking work, every thread chosen and placed with precision. I knew how much effort she’d poured into it; I had watched her fingers bleed as she labored over every stitch. The design was a celebration of longevity and legacy, a quiet, heartfelt gift meant to honor my grandfather. His eyes glistened as he lifted it out, tracing the delicate details with trembling hands.

The second package came next, wrapped in soft velvet. Inside was a set of heirloom jewelry—pieces that had belonged to my grandfather’s late wife, the very same set Clara had worn on our wedding day. My throat constricted as I stared at them. Why would she return something so personal? The weight of it pressed against me, and my palms began to sweat.

Then the third box sat there, silent and heavy. I couldn’t wait any longer. My hands moved before I could think, snatching it roughly from the courier’s arms. My grandfather gave me a sharp glance but didn’t stop me.

I tore the wrapping away, heart pounding, and froze.

The contents were unlike anything I could have expected. My face went pale, and my breath caught in my throat. My fingers trembled as I held the box, unable to process the sheer audacity and heartbreak in what Clara had sent.

It was impossible to look away.