The Runway Clause

Aaron's Pov

Mornings at the mansion rarely began in silence. There was always something—Elara arguing with the cook about salt, Casper's phone ringing off the hook, Nancy's chatter, or Jayden pretending not to be half-asleep in his chair.

But that day? There was quiet.

The wrong kind of quiet.

Until Nancy walked in. And the floor gave way beneath us.

> "Aunt Celeste isn't in her room."

The spoon in Elara's hand clattered. Dad froze mid-sip of his coffee. Casper stood instantly, already calling the guards. Jayden was out of the room before anyone even finished reacting.

I didn't move. I just… blinked. Processing.

"What do you mean?" Dad asked, voice sharp.

"Her bed hasn't been slept in. Her phone's not there either. She's not in the gardens or the terrace either. I even checked the library." Nancy looked between us, clearly not understanding the weight of her words.

Jayden came back a few minutes later, slightly breathless, pale—but calm.

"She's not here," he confirmed. "Not anywhere in the house. Security says no one saw her leave. No staff was told. Her bags are still there, mostly."

Confused murmurs followed. Dad's expression was a mixture of concern and suspicion. Elara looked seconds from calling the police. Casper demanded the security tapes be pulled.

Dad was furious—he masked it with restraint, but I knew the signs. He kept calling her, again and again, walking in and out of rooms, face tighter with every call attempt that went unanswered. The tone shifted from worry to cold fear. Her phone was switched off.

"I should've never let her leave my sight last night," he muttered under his breath once. I didn't respond. Because I agreed.

I was already moving.

Within the hour, the best agents from my own firm were on the hunt. I had her description sent out, CCTV requests lined up, digital trails traced, transport authorities alerted quietly. No media leaks. No alarms. No time to waste.

But for the family—Jayden and I decided to hold it together. At least on the outside.

"I spoke to her this morning," Jayden lied smoothly over breakfast. "She had a last-minute legal summons from a firm in London. She said it's confidential and she'd be back in a few days."

It was a believable lie. They bought it.

But behind closed doors, Jayden pulled me into the study and handed me the letter.

> "Found it in her room. Hidden in her dresser."

I read it. I let it detonate.

> "You know I love you. But I can't do this. Not the way they expect. I can't marry Aron."

> "I can't say no to Uncle Victor. So I'm doing the only thing I can—leaving."

> "Please, don't try to find me."

She knew we'd worry. And yet she left. Again.

"She ran," I said, voice like gravel.

Jayden didn't answer. He didn't have to.

"She ran again. When things get hard, she vanishes. First Serendia. Now this. Is this how she handles pressure? Is this the maturity she claimed to have found?"

"She was scared," Jayden said quietly.

"I'm sick of people calling that bravery." I could hear the bitterness in my own voice. "She gets to run away and write us a letter. The rest of us are left lying for her, covering up, searching—!"

I stopped myself. My knuckles had gone white.

"She'll come back when she's ready," Jayden said, but even he didn't sound convinced.

---

Three Days Later

The hunt was still on.

No credible trail. Some false sightings. A few leads. Nothing solid. She had gone dark—and done it well. My team was still on ground zero, checking transit points, scanning travel logs, backtracking any transaction that could be linked. Nothing. She knew how to vanish.

Dad hadn't stopped trying to call her either. He was angrier now—silent, clipped, impatient with everyone. But underneath that, I could see it. The gnawing worry. He never said it out loud, but I knew what he feared.

On the third morning, I was half asleep in my chair when the emergency call came in.

Taissa Morgan. My assistant. Efficient. Unflappable.

> "Sir—we have a situation. One of our long-standing clients in Aiden was attacked. Despite full coverage. Media's spinning it. Legal's in chaos. You need to come."

> "I'll be on the next flight."

---

Aiden Headquarters — 6 Hours Later

I stepped into the storm. Fast, sharp meetings. PR chaos. Angry clients. I hadn't had coffee yet and already felt like I'd lived a week.

Taissa moved like a machine. Sharp heels. Clipboard. Controlled chaos.

"The legal department's been a disaster lately, sir," she said, walking beside me. "We finally replaced the old advisor last night. Straight from London branch."

"Did you run full clearance?" I asked absently, flipping through reports.

"Yes. Everything checks out. Background, recommendations, contracts. You'll meet her in the media strategy meeting. I told her to prep the case notes."

I gave a brief nod. "Let's make it quick."

The door opened.

Footsteps. A familiar scent. A voice I hadn't expected to hear ever again—certainly not here.

> "Good afternoon, Mr. Thorne. I hope I'm not interrupting."

My head jerked up.

She stood there in a black blazer, calm, composed—professional.

Celeste.

And the moment our eyes locked, her composure shattered. Her expression changed in a split second—shock first, then unmistakable fear, followed by a flicker of guilt. Her lips parted. Her fingers tightened around the file in her hand.

She hadn't known.

She didn't know.

She had no idea the company she'd just joined was mine—no clue the man behind Thorne Intel Group was Aaron Ashford.