Chapter Ten: Chasing Ghosts

The city skyline blurred into a wash of lights outside the tinted windows of Adrian Sinclair's car, but he barely noticed. His hand rested loosely on the steering wheel, his thumb absently tracing the leather, yet his mind was caught in a loop — a single night replaying like a broken record.

Seven months.

It had been seven months since Mia.

Seven months since the girl with the heartbroken eyes and a name as soft as a whisper had walked into his life like a storm — sudden, chaotic, and unforgettable.

He remembered the way she laughed that night, the sound both light and laced with sorrow, as though her heart was still bleeding from a wound she refused to show him. The way her fingers had trailed across his bare chest afterward, absentmindedly drawing invisible patterns on his skin, like she was there but already slipping away.

And the note — the damn note.

He pulled his wallet from his pocket, the worn edges of the small folded paper sticking out slightly. The ink was slightly smudged, but the words were still clear:

"Thank you for making me forget — even if just for one night."

Adrian ran a thumb over the words, the ache in his chest tightening. She hadn't left a phone number. No last name. Just a name — Mia — and a memory that had burrowed into his mind like a splinter.

She was gone before he even woke up.

A part of him had told himself to move on. That it was one night. A brief, intense moment between two broken souls seeking comfort. But another part — the louder part — refused to let it go.

Because it hadn't felt meaningless.

And he was certain she had felt it too.

The car eased to a stop in front of Sinclair Enterprises — a towering glass building that loomed over the city, sleek, intimidating, and utterly soulless.

Just like the life he had stepped back into after Mia disappeared.

By the time Adrian reached his office, his carefully crafted mask was already in place — the polished, composed heir to one of the country's most powerful corporations. No one could see the cracks beneath the surface.

No one ever did.

But as he pushed open the door, he wasn't surprised to find his grandmother, Eleanor Sinclair, sitting in one of the leather chairs by his desk, a cup of coffee in hand.

She was elegance and authority combined — her pearl necklace resting against the collar of a perfectly pressed blazer, her silver hair swept back with precision. At seventy-two, Eleanor Sinclair was still a force to be reckoned with, a woman who commanded boardrooms and bent people to her will with little more than a glance.

"Adrian," she said smoothly, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips — the kind of smile that told him this wasn't just a social visit.

"Grandma," he replied, already bracing himself. "What brings you by?"

Eleanor set her coffee down delicately on his desk, her fingers drumming softly against the armrest of the chair. "I have someone I want you to meet."

There it was.

Another setup. Another carefully chosen socialite or businesswoman from a "respectable family," handpicked by Eleanor herself — as though a boardroom deal could extend to his heart.

Adrian's jaw tightened. "We've talked about this."

"Yes, we have," she said, her voice calm but firm. "And clearly, you're still in need of a push."

"Grandma—"

"Adrian." She leaned forward slightly, her sharp gaze pinning him to his spot. "You're thirty-two. You're the future of this company. And you cannot spend your life chasing ghosts."

His throat went dry.

It wasn't the first time she had used those words.

Ghosts.

That's what she thought Mia was — a fleeting mistake, a woman with no real significance.

If only she knew.

Adrian didn't respond. He simply walked to his desk, dropping his wallet — and the folded note still tucked inside — into the top drawer. His fingers lingered for a second too long before he shut it, sealing the memory away.

Eleanor watched him closely, her expression softening just a fraction. "I'm only trying to help you," she said, quieter now. "You have responsibilities — not just to this company, but to this family."

His head throbbed. It was the same conversation over and over again — duty, reputation, legacy.

But Mia had made him feel something different that night — something raw and unfiltered. She didn't care about his last name, his wealth, or the looming Sinclair empire.

She had looked at him like he was just… Adrian.

And for once, that had been enough.

"I'm not interested," he said finally, his voice flat.

Eleanor's lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't argue. Instead, she rose from the chair and smoothed down her blazer.

"You can't run from your future forever, Adrian," she said softly, turning toward the door. "Sooner or later, you'll have to stop searching for something — or someone — who isn't coming back."

Adrian said nothing as she left.

But the moment the door closed behind her, his hand drifted back to the drawer.

He didn't open it.

He didn't need to.

Because Mia wasn't a ghost.

She was the only real thing he had ever known.

And no matter what his grandmother thought…

He wasn't ready to stop searching for her.

Not yet