TWO WEEKS LATER
The city hummed far below Adrian's penthouse office, a distant murmur against the glass. He sat motionless, his laptop screen dark, a half-finished email blinking on his monitor. In his hand, his phone pressed to his ear, each ring a needle of frustration. It rang. And rang. Then, the cold, impersonal click of voicemail.
He hung up and immediately dialed again.
The door to his office opened without a knock. Maria's heels were sharp, purposeful clicks on the marble floor. She didn't look at him as she spoke, instead placing a thick stack of files on his desk. "The Sterling Group needs the renderings contracted by this afternoon. They've been waiting—"
"I know," Adrian cut her off, his voice flat. He set the phone down, only to pick it up again a second later, his thumb hovering over the redial button.
Maria finally looked at him, her expression shifting from professional to maternal concern. She hadn't seen this look on his face since he was a child, wrestling with a fear he couldn't name. "Are you alright, honey? You look… distracted."
"Yes. No." He ran a hand through his hair, a rare sign of agitation. "I've been trying Star's phone for weeks. She isn't picking up. She hasn't been at campus. She hasn't been at the gym." He paused, the words tasting like ash. "It's been two weeks."
Maria's movements slowed. She pulled out the visitor's chair and sat down, her full attention now on him. "Who is Star?"
"She's my friend." He leaned back, his hands gripping the back of his head. "Mom, I feel like she's in trouble. I'm restless. I can't shake it."
A flicker of something sharp passed through Maria's eyes—a momentary shadow that vanished before it could be named. "I thought you and Tiffany have been dating for a while now."
"Yes. I'm not two-timing Tiffany." He paused, the words 'friend' feeling suddenly inadequate, a cheap label for the gnawing void in his chest. "I just… I can't get this feeling off my chest. Something happened to her, Mom. I know it." His voice, usually so controlled, trembled on the last word.
"Do you ever feel like that for Tiffany?"
The question made him snap. "Why do you keep asking about Tiffany when I'm telling you about Star?"
For a moment, Maria saw something flash across his eyes—a raw, unguarded depth of emotion she'd never witnessed. But she recognized it instantly. It was the same look that had been in his father's eyes when he looked at her, decades ago. A terrible, beautiful, consuming devotion.
She softened, her voice gentle. "Honey, you don't feel like that unless you… care for that person. More than you're admitting."
Adrian stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. The answer was a physical force, propelling him forward. "Yeah, well." He grabbed his keys and phone from the desk. "I'm leaving."
"Where are you going?" Maria asked, rising from her chair, her confusion genuine.
He stopped at the door, his back to her. His voice was low, resonant with a finality that brooked no argument. "I have to find her, Mom. My heart can't rest until I know she's safe." He glanced back, his gaze distant, already somewhere else. "The Sterling renderings are with Lazarus. He'll submit them on time."
The door closed behind him with a quiet, decisive click.
The second he was gone, Maria's expression transformed. The softness evaporated, replaced by a cold, calculating calm. She pulled out her phone and dialed a number she knew by heart.
"Who is Star?" she asked the moment the line connected, her voice low and laced with a quiet, deadly intent.
***
In the private parking garage, the silence was thick, broken only by the echo of Adrian's footsteps. He slid into his Ferrari, the leather seat cool against him. He pulled out his phone, the screen showing his call log—a wall of red, unanswered attempts.
He pressed dial again, holding the phone to his ear as the engine roared to life.
Please pick up, he thought, the words a silent mantra as he peeled out of the garage.
Somewhere, in a room so white it had no discernible beginning or end, a single hospital bed hummed in the center. Monitors beeped in a steady, rhythmic pulse, their green lines tracing the shallow breaths of the figure lying still. Star. Her eyes were closed, her long, natural lashes dark against her pale cheeks.
Across the city, in the cold, minimalist expanse of Lucian's mansion, a phone buzzed violently on a marble table. The screen flashed with a name saved with a red heart emoji: Adrian ❤️.
Lucian stood by the window, a sleek gun in his hand, his posture radiating impatience. He walked over, his movements deliberate. He stared at the screen for a long moment as it buzzed again, then canceled the call with a single, contemptuous swipe of his thumb.
"Take a hint," he murmured to the empty room, and switched the phone off.
"Are you ready, boss?" Lyrl emerged from the kitchen, chewing on something that crunched loudly.
Lucian's gaze flicked to him, sharp and cold. "Why are you eating my food?"
Lyrl froze, the bite halfway to his mouth. He swallowed with an audible gulp. "You said I should make myself feel at ho—"
A glare from Lucian silenced him. It was a look that promised a slow, painful end.
"Right. Got it." Lyrl threw the rest of the food in a bin, wiping his mouth. "Moving."
He scurried out, Lucian following, a predator trailing his subordinate.
***
Adrian's Ferrari, an obscene slash of crimson against the grey stone of Cretfall University, drew every eye. He stepped out, adjusting his cufflinks.
In his dark blue suit, the jacket unbuttoned to reveal a white shirt left deliberately open at the collar, he looked less like a student and more like a CEO who'd arrived to acquire the institution. Professors paused mid-sentence. Students whipped out their phones.
He was a statue of restless power, scanning the courtyard.
"That's my man!"
Before he could react, Tiffany launched herself at him. He caught her out of instinct, steadying her as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Before he could speak, her lips were on his, a deep, possessive kiss that was for the benefit of the entire campus.
He stiffened. He hated this. The territorial displays, the performance of it. He pulled back, his eyes flashing with a silent warning as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Tiffany, for all her bravado, was not stupid. She saw the look and took a step back, her confidence momentarily faltering.
"I can tell your brother is really not in the mood, huh," she said to Bonita, who was walking by, her face buried in her phone.
Bonita didn't even look up, her fingers flying across the screen. "Yep. Especially when it's Dad's birthday today. Better stay far, far away from him."
Adrian pushed open the door to the Residence Department without knocking. Mrs. Welma, the stern but kind head of residences, looked up from her paperwork, her eyes widening at the sight of him.
"Mr. Stark," she said, setting down her pen. "You look sharp for business."
"Mrs. Welma." He sat down, his usual charm absent. "I'm looking for Star Set. Maybe you can tell me which dorm—"
"Star Set hasn't shown up to Res in two weeks," Mrs. Welma interrupted, her voice laced with a concern that matched his own.
Adrian's heart hammered against his ribs. "What do you mean? She lives in the Res."
"Yes, but she's been going home regularly for the past few months." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "I tried contacting her family and…" She trailed off, looking troubled.
"And what?"
She leaned in, lowering her voice to a near whisper. "A woman called back. She said Star ran off with some man."
Adrian's frown deepened. "That's impossible. She's not…"
"I don't believe it either," Mrs. Welma said, shaking her head. "That girl has been worried sick about her mother. She doesn't talk about her family, but I could see it. Something went wrong two weeks ago." She met his eyes. "Have you seen the video that was circulated online? It was deleted almost immediately."
"What video?"
"A woman claiming to be her stepmother. She stood on a public platform and said Star had run away with the rumored mafia boss—Lucian Throne." She watched his face. "It was gone within the hour."
A humorless chuckle escaped Adrian's lips. "That's absurd. How would she even know Luci—" He stopped. The name hung in the air. A memory surfaced: Star's voice, casual, mentioning Lucian in passing. He had assumed it was a joke. A friend. Anyone but that Lucian.
Mrs. Welma's expression fell as she saw the dawning realization in his eyes. "Please don't tell me it might actually be true."
Mrs. Welma's mind was racing. Star. Bright, brilliant, award-winning Star. The girl who fixed her own sink. Involved with Lucian Throne, the most feared man in the city? It didn't compute.
"Mrs. Welma," Adrian said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "Give me her home address. Please."
She didn't hesitate. She scribbled it on a Post-it note and slid it across the desk. "Please find her, Mr. Stark. The institution can't do anything. She's not officially reported missing."
He took the note, his fingers brushing hers. "I'll find her."
He left without another word.
The address led him to a part of the city he'd only ever driven past. Small houses, crowded together, their paint peeling. His Ferrari, idling at the curb, was a spaceship that had landed in a different century.
He walked up the cracked path to a house that was smaller than his downtown duplex. He knocked.
From inside, a weak, hopeful voice called out. "Star? Is that you, baby?"
Adrian's throat tightened. "I'm Adrian," he said, his voice clear. "Star's friend from university."
A pause. Then, the voice, weaker now, laced with desperation. "Have you heard from her?"
"No, ma'am. That's why I'm here. She hasn't been to campus in two weeks."
Silence. A heavy, suffocating silence that made Adrian lean closer to the door. He could sense a presence just on the other side, a breath held.
"Adrian," the voice finally said, a tremulous plea. "Find Lucian. And you will find her together. She talks about you both all the time. I can tell she trusts you. Wherever she is, she's hoping you'll show up and save her. Please."
"Are you alright in there, ma'am?" he asked, a new, sharper edge to his concern.
"Yes," she said, but the word was a lie wrapped in a prayer. "I will be better when you bring my Star back to me."
"Do you have any idea where she could have gone? Do you think she was kidnapped?"
There was no answer. Only a faint, shuffling sound, like fabric dragging against a wall.
"Ma'am?" Adrian knocked harder, his palm flat against the wood. He leaned his ear to the door, hearing nothing but the pounding of his own blood. He raised his fist to pound again, ready to kick the door in, when a voice slithered from behind him.
"Can I help you, Sir?"
He spun. A woman stood on the path, her eyes wide as they traveled from his face to the Ferrari behind him. Frieda. Her initial shock at seeing the city's billionaire quickly curdled into suspicion.
"Oh, yeah." Adrian gestured to the door. "I think there's something wrong with the woman inside. She was speaking, and now she's not—"
"Don't worry about her," Frieda cut him off, stepping onto the porch and pulling out a key. "She has a sleeping problem. Knocks her right out at any instant." She inserted the key in the door lock, her movements sharp, deliberate.
Adrian's eyes narrowed as he stepped down, creating distance. "You lock her inside?"
Frieda's expression hardened. She looked at him, all pretense of politeness gone. "I really don't think you came all the way down here to ask how I care for my sick sister."
He studied her for a long, cold moment. The way she held the key. The way her eyes didn't quite meet his. The story from Mrs. Welma clicked into place.
"I came for Star," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. "But I think I'm good." He pressed the button on his key fob, and the Ferrari's engine growled to life.
He didn't look back as he got in and drove away. His face was a mask of grim certainty. He had found the stepmother. And she was far more dangerous than he'd imagined.
Frieda wasn't sure whether to be impressed or concerned about Star's circle. First, the most feared mafia boss in the city, and now the city's billionaire. Star, it seemed, had a very specific type.
She watched the car disappear, then unlocked the door, stepped inside, and slammed it shut behind her. The sound echoed down the quiet street like a gunshot.
***
In the white room, Star's eyes flew open.
She gasped, a violent, body-jerking inhalation that felt like her first breath in a lifetime. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she stared at the blindingly white ceiling. Memories crashed over her in fragments: Frieda's face, the sledgehammer, the searing pain in her hand, the needle Ramon had plunged into her neck, the shadows of men closing in.
She raised her bandaged hand. It ached dully, but the sharp, splintering pain was gone. The fear of what had happened—had they?—coiled in her stomach like a venomous snake.
The she heard a soft sound. A door, opening and closing then footsteps, approaching with a calm, clinical rhythm.
She squeezed her eyes shut, feigning unconsciousness, her breath held.
"I know you're awake."
The voice was unfamiliar, calm, and male. She gave up on the pretense and opened her eyes.
A man stood over her, checking the monitors. He was in his early fifties, with a sharp, intelligent face and an impressive physique for his age. A white doctor's coat stretched over a crisp suit. Grey hair at his temples gave him an air of distinguished authority.
"Who are you?" Her voice was a rasp. She cleared her throat. "So, you're my new kidnapper?"
He didn't look up from the digital pad he was recording data on. "You're not kidnapped."
"Then where am I?"
"I was simply hired to nurse you back to life," he said, disconnecting a cable from her arm. "Even though there was nothing wrong with you."
"What do you mean?" Star frowned
He finally met her eyes. His gaze was clinical, analytical. "You were brought here two weeks ago. You simply… slept." He pressed a button, silencing the monitor's beep. "Can you sit up?"
She did, her muscles moving with surprising ease. He studied her.
"Mmm," he hummed, a flicker of genuine interest in his eyes. "Can you walk?"
She threw the thin sheet aside and stood. Her legs were steady. She felt… good. Great, even. A terrifying thought.
The doctor shook his head, a note of admiration in his voice. "Remarkable. I wish I had a will and immune system like yours."
"You said someone hired you," she pressed, standing her ground in the flimsy hospital gown. "Who was it?"
"I'm afraid I can't tell you that." He gestured to the bed. "Now, sit. You're stable. I just need to call my employer and—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
Star's hand closed around the cold steel of the IV stand. With a fluid, silent motion, she swung it with all the strength she possessed. The heavy base connected with the back of his skull with a sickening thud.
He dropped without a sound, collapsing in a heap of white coat and grey hair.
Star stood over him, her chest heaving, the drip stand still gripped in her hand. She looked at the door, then back at the unconscious man, her mind a roaring river of questions and the single, primal instinct that overrode them all.
Survive.