Melissa had been checking the time far too often, her eyes flicking to the clock, then to her phone, then back again. Thirty minutes had passed, thirty long, uncomfortable minutes, with no word from Harry. That alone was enough to unsettle her. Harry wasn’t the kind of man who disappeared without explanation. Even when busy, he sent a message. Even when distracted, he checked in. Silence like this wasn’t normal. Her unease grew heavier by the second. At first, she tried to brush it off. People got caught up. Meetings ran late. Traffic existed. But the excuses felt hollow, like she was forcing logic onto something that didn’t want to be explained away. Her chest felt tight, that strange pressure that came when her instincts started whispering. She picked up her phone and called him. Straight to voicemail. Melissa frowned, staring at the screen as if it might suddenly correct itself. That didn’t make sense. His phone should’ve been on, she knew that for a fact. He’d mentioned earli

Mia made the call to shut down the portion of the building that fell under her responsibility. It wasn’t an easy decision, but she didn’t see another option. The club couldn’t completely grind to a halt, too many people relied on it, but that specific section had to be closed. She needed space, time, and quiet to think. More than anything, she didn’t want word spreading yet. Not until she understood what had happened. Not until she was forced to explain it. She replayed the previous night over and over in her head, mentally retracing every face, every movement, every interaction. Has anyone suspicious come into the club? Had there been an argument she’d missed? Had Harry crossed paths with someone dangerous without realizing it? How did Marcus manage to get Harry alone in the first place? Or maybe it wasn’t Marcus at all. Maybe it was someone else, someone Harry knew well enough to trust. If it had been a stranger, Harry would’ve raised an alarm immediately. He wasn’t careles

Rhianon and Melissa barely left the hospital that day. Hours blurred together beneath the sterile lights, the constant hum of machines, the quiet footsteps of nurses moving with practiced urgency. Rhianon had noticed the police early on, uniforms standing stiff near the nurses’ station, low voices exchanging clipped sentences, but she kept it to herself. Melissa was already barely holding on. There was no need to add fuel to a fire that was still burning uncontrollably.Eventually, though, Melissa noticed them too. By then, the worst of her panic had dulled into exhaustion, her emotions numbed by shock rather than calm. Harry was still unconscious, still unmoving, and that fact alone rendered the police nearly useless. They could document, speculate, collect fragments of information, but without Harry awake, there were no answers.Still, the officers were certain of one thing. This wasn’t random.This wasn’t a mugging gone wrong or a spur-of-the-moment act of violence. The way it was

Harry did not regain consciousness until three full days had passed. In that short span of time, the world had not stopped moving, things had shifted, conversations had been held, decisions had been made, and consequences had quietly stacked up around him.When he finally surfaced, pain greeted him before anything else.A brutal, relentless headache pulsed through his skull, as though his brain were being crushed from the inside, contracting and expanding with merciless force. It felt like something inside his head was trying to tear its way out. The pain in his torso was just as unforgiving, a deep, raw ache that flared every time he tried to breathe too deeply. Thinking clearly was nearly impossible. His thoughts came in fragments, scattered and uncooperative.The moment his eyes fluttered open, nurses rushed in.They surrounded his bed with practiced urgency, checking monitors, reading vitals, shining lights into his eyes. Their hands moved efficiently, professionally, confirming t