Chapter Thirteen: Seven Years of Silence

Adrian didn't sleep that night.

The folder from his grandmother sat on his desk—untouched since he'd thrown it there hours ago—but his mind couldn't stop spinning.

Seven years later.

Everdale. Clara Donovan.

After months of dead ends, it was the closest he had come to Mia. A faint thread connecting them. A chance.

He barely waited for sunrise before taking the first flight out.

But when Adrian arrived in Everdale the next day, it was already too late.

The café Clara worked at was closed. Abandoned. The windows were boarded up, a faded For Lease sign hanging crookedly on the door.

No sign of Clara. No trace of Mia.

Another dead end.

His grandmother's reach was longer than he thought.

The weight of it pressed down on him as he stood there, staring at the empty café. His fingers clenched into fists at his sides.

How many times had he come so close, only to have Mia slip through his fingers?

For months, he'd held onto the hope that Mia was out there somewhere, that she had left behind some clue, some piece of herself for him to find.

But Eleanor Sinclair had made sure she disappeared completely.

A sharp gust of wind rustled the For Lease sign, making it sway.

Adrian turned away.

He wasn't giving up.

Not now. Not ever.

Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months.

And as time dragged on, Adrian's search for Mia became a quiet obsession.

Every time his grandmother arranged another chance meeting with a socialite or a business partner's daughter, Adrian felt the distance between him and Mia grow wider—like Eleanor was building a wall brick by brick, sealing Mia away.

He fought back, of course.

Hired more investigators. Dug through old hotel records again. Visited every bar and club in the city where they'd met that night.

But Mia was gone.

No last name. No paper trail.

Just a memory.

And then the years passed.

Seven long years of hollow relationships, of forced smiles at charity galas, of his grandmother's constant pressure to "move on."

Seven years of refusing to let go of a woman who had vanished into thin air.

And just when Adrian began to wonder if Mia had ever been real at all—if she had just been a fever dream from another lifetime—his grandmother dropped a bombshell.

It was supposed to be a private dinner. Just the two of them in the grand Sinclair mansion, the dining room echoing with the quiet clink of silverware.

Eleanor sat across from him, poised and powerful as always.

She barely looked at him as she slid an envelope across the table.

"Consider this an early birthday gift," she said smoothly, watching him like a hawk.

Adrian stared at the envelope for a moment before picking it up, dread coiling in his stomach.

Inside was a marriage proposal draft.

His name. And another woman's—Victoria Alden.

A deal. A merger disguised as marriage.

Adrian's grip on the paper tightened. What the hell is this?

His voice was ice. "What the hell is this?"

Eleanor sipped her wine, unbothered. "It's time to stop chasing ghosts, Adrian. Marry Victoria, and secure your place in this family."

Adrian's blood boiled.

"I'm not marrying someone I don't love."

His grandmother's lips curved into a small, calculated smile.

"You think she loved you?"

Silence.

Then she twisted the knife deeper.

"She left, Adrian. Without a word. Without a trace. Tell me—do you really think a woman who cared about you would disappear for seven years?"

Adrian's jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.

But he didn't break.

Because somewhere out there, Mia was still real.

And no amount of time, distance, or his grandmother's schemes could erase her from his heart.