Zachary’s POV
[Tomorrow, ten in the morning. Nina has her prenatal appointment. You’ll accompany her. Schedule your annual health screening while you’re there.]
The message went unanswered.
Not that I expected anything different.
What I didn’t know—what no one bothered to tell me—was that Avery had already removed her SIM card, shut down the phone completely, and vanished. No forwarding address. No warning. No trail.
Just like that, she slipped out of my world.
The realization hit later, quietly, like the final echo of a door slamming shut behind someone who had no intention of ever returning. A sound you couldn’t undo. A sound that lingered.
---
The following morning, the private medical center was calm, discreet—the kind of place reserved for men whose names never appeared in police reports and women who never waited in lines. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and fresh lilies.
Nina clung to my arm as if letting go might send her drifting.
“Zachary,” she murmured anxiously, fingers tightening. “Is the baby really alright?”
I kept my voice level, Don-steady. “The doctor confirmed it. No lasting effects from the estate incident.”
Her shoulders loosened. “Thank God. You’ve barely spoken since we arrived. I thought something was wrong.”
Something was.
Avery’s face wouldn’t leave my mind—the way she’d looked at me through smoke and chaos. No panic. No pleading. Just resignation. As if she already knew I wouldn’t choose her.
And the worst part?
She was right.
I hadn’t carried her out.
I’d carried Nina.
---
After lunch, I escorted Nina back to the Sterling estate, handed her over to security, then headed straight for the council hall.
Halfway down the corridor, my assistant caught up with me.
“Don Moretti,” he said quietly, “Sebia has returned from Europe. He’s requesting a full executive briefing with the consiglieri.”
I acknowledged him without slowing, but beneath the composed exterior, something twisted hard in my chest.
Avery was still missing.
She hadn’t appeared at the clinic. She hadn’t returned to the estate. None of the staff had seen her leave. No guards had logged her exit.
She’d disappeared without a trace.
When? How?
Where the hell had she gone?
I lengthened my stride, irritation sharpening into something more uncomfortable. “Arrange for a selection of the newest designer handbags,” I said over my shoulder. “And that custom jewelry set from Milan.”
“For Nina?” my assistant asked automatically.
I stopped.
My jaw tightened. “Send it to the Sterling estate.”
If Avery was anywhere, that was where she’d go.
And if she wasn’t—
I cut the thought off. The unease clawed deeper than I liked.
What if she was hurt?
Still recovering somewhere alone?
What if she had truly left—for good?
---
A week passed.
Just after midnight, I returned to the estate, exhaustion settling into my bones after an endless strategy session. The house was silent. Moonlight spilled through the tall windows, painting the marble floors in silver.
A figure curled on the sofa caught my eye—wrapped in silk, motionless, almost familiar.
I exhaled, a low chuckle slipping out. “Avery,” I said without thinking. “I told you—no matter how late it gets, I always come back. You don’t need to—”
I stopped.
It wasn’t her.
Nina sat up slowly, fear flickering across her face. “Zachary… she hasn’t come back. Not once. I’ve messaged her so many times—apologies, explanations—nothing. Maybe I should leave. I don’t know what else to do.”
Her voice wavered.
I lowered myself beside her and pressed a hand to her forehead. It wasn’t tenderness. It wasn’t love. It was habit. Reassurance by default.
“Don’t overthink it,” I said calmly. “Stress isn’t good for the baby. This estate is yours now. Yours and the child’s. Whether Avery accepts that or not.”
---
Later, I stood alone on the terrace, robe loosely tied, city lights stretching endlessly below.
I lit a cigarette.
I hadn’t touched one in years, but tonight restraint felt pointless. The craving wasn’t for nicotine—it was for release from the pressure coiling in my chest.
I pulled out my phone.
My thumb hovered over the last name at the bottom of my contacts.
Avery.
I stared at it longer than necessary. Thought of calling. Thought of demanding answers. Thought of saying things I hadn’t allowed myself to feel.
In the end, I didn’t dial.
I typed instead.
[Avery. Tomorrow is Sebia’s eightieth birthday. Don’t cause trouble. Keep your distance from Nina and the child.]
The message sent.
I stared at the screen, chest tightening.
For a moment, I wasn’t sure if it was the cold night air—
Or something else entirely.
No.
Not panic.
Something heavier.
Something I didn’t have a name for yet.
