The Vanishing
By morning, Eleanor was gone.
Damien stood beside Ethan in the study, phone in hand, his face grim. "The call came from the east wing before her phone shut off. Security cameras went dark right after."
Ethan clenched his jaw. "She was taken from inside the estate."
Clara stood at the doorway, pale. "Inside? How could that happen?"
Isabella appeared then — in perfect timing — holding a cup of tea, her expression painted with shock. "Oh my God, Eleanor's missing? How terrible."
Ethan didn't even glance at her. "You knew she was supposed to meet with you last night."
"Me?" Isabella's brows lifted. "Why would I—"
"Don't play dumb," Damien cut in sharply. "She mentioned your name before she vanished."
The air turned sharp. Isabella forced a tremor in her voice. "You're accusing me of kidnapping? That's ridiculous!"
Clara's stomach knotted. She could see the manipulation in Isabella's tone — but Ethan's silence scared her more.
When the meeting ended, Ethan stayed behind, hands buried in his pockets. Clara approached carefully. "Do you… think she's telling the truth?"
"I don't know," Ethan admitted, his voice low. "But whoever did this was close. Too close."
Clara nodded, her throat tight. "You think it's me, don't you?"
His eyes snapped to hers — surprised, then pained. "Clara, don't start—"
"You're thinking it!" she said quietly. "You're looking at me like I did something."
He looked away. "I don't want to think that."
Her voice trembled. "But you do."
He didn't answer — and that silence was louder than any accusation.