Zane had not planned to come here. In fact, he'd spent the entire morning convincing himself not to. Not to chase her. Not to text again. Not to call for the fiftieth time knowing it would go straight to voicemail. Not to drive around every place she'd ever mentioned, like some desperate man searching for a ghost. But desperation had its own gravitational pull, and Willow had become the center of his universe, whether he liked it or not.
By noon, every rational part of him had burned out, leaving only one looping truth pounding through his skull like a pulse: Victor might know where she is. The man was always hovering around her. Quiet. Too controlled. Too present. Zane had dismissed it before—told himself Willow would never choose someone like Victor, a man made of steel and silence. But when she vanished… when her apartment sat dark… when her office told him she resigned… when her phone went dead… nothing made sense anymore.
Only one thing did: Victor.
