Chapter 6
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Leandro’s POV
The sterile white walls of the hospital felt suffocating. Nadine lay on the bed, her face scrunched in pain, her hand clutching her stomach. I paced beside her, restless. The doctor stood at the foot of the bed, flipping through charts with an irritating calmness.
“Mr. Jones,” he said finally, lowering his glasses. “We’ve run the tests. There’s nothing wrong with her. The baby is fine. No complications.”
My brows knitted together. “Nothing wrong? Are you sure?” I looked at Nadine, then back at him. “She’s in pain. She said her stomach hurts. Don’t just tell me it’s nothing.”
The doctor sighed. “It’s likely stress. Or indigestion. Or maybe just a reaction. We’ll keep her here for monitoring, but physically, she and the baby are healthy.”
I turned to Nadine, my jaw tightening. Something didn’t sit right. Her face was pale, her lips trembling–yet it reminded me too much of before, the same theatrics she pulled the last time she thought I was drifting away.
“Are you playing with me?” I asked, my voice low, dangerous.
Her head snapped toward me, eyes wide. “What? Of course not! Why would I ever play with you?” Her voice broke, almost offended. “Leandro, my tummy really hurts. Why would I lie about that?”
I leaned closer, eyes narrowing. “I don’t know. Maybe because you saw me talking to Emerald? Is that it? Are you trying to get my attention because I was busy with her, or did you think I was actually caring for her again? If that is, stop it. I know you!”
Her mouth fell open in disbelief. “You’re getting mad at me because of Emerald? Because you thought I was making this up? Well, I’m not, so are you serious right now?” She raised her voice, sitting up straighter despite the supposed pain. “Leandro, she’s not even here. And you’re thinking of her? What about me? What about our baby?”
I clenched my fists, forcing myself to calm down. “No, that’s not what I mean.” I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated. “She was supposed to arrange everything at the house for the investors, that is why I am talking to her, and I being here doesn’t help because I need to be there to check. Everything needs to be ready. I can’t waste time here.”
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “And what about me?”
“You can handle yourself,” I muttered, already standing. “The doctor said you’re fine. I need to go. You can handle yourself… and I’ll just come back once you’re discharged,”
Her hand shot out to grab my wrist, but I pulled away. Her voice cracked behind me as I left. “Leandro, don’t you dare walk out on me!”
But I was already gone.
When I arrived at the house, the first thing that hit me was the silence. The place was dark, no lights, no sound of workers preparing, no clatter of glasses or footsteps. Just stillness.
“What the hell is going on?” I barked. storming inside. My shoes echoed against the marble
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floors, the grand chandelier above unlit, casting the room into shadows.
The butler hurried after me, looking nervous.
“Why is the place dark? Where’s everyone?” I demanded.
“I–I don’t know, sir…”
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“You don’t know?” My voice thundered through the hall. “Are you insane? Then start knowing! Find out what the hell is happening right now!”
We scoured the rooms. Nothing. Not a single staff member. The house was in chaos, furniture unpolished, dishes unwashed. My stomach churned as I realized the investors were due in mere hours, and the house looked like a deserted ruin.
I pulled out my phone, dialing Emerald’s number. Straight to voicemail. Again. And again. No answer.
My rage boiled. Where the hell was she? This was her responsibility. She couldn’t even do one thing right.
Then the butler returned, holding a folded note. “Sir… I found this.”
I snatched it from his hands. The handwriting was unmistakable.
“Sir, Ms. Emerald said we could all have the night off. She dismissed us.”
My grip tightened, the paper crumpling in my hand. “She dismissed them? On the eve of the most important night of the year?!” I threw the note across the room. “Damn it, Emerald!” Before I could rage further, the doorbell rang. Relief flickered for a second. Maybe it was her. Finally.
I yanked the door open.
It wasn’t her.
A delivery boy stood nervously, holding a medium–sized box. “Package for Mr. Jones.”
I tore it from his hands, shoving him away before slamming the door. Setting it on the table, I ripped it open.
My world stopped.
Inside was an urn. Cold, gray, heavy. And a letter taped to the side.
“Since you failed to deliver the money, here are the ashes of your daughter.”
My knees weakened. The room spun.
“No…” My voice cracked. My hands trembled violently as I held the urn. “No, this isn’t real… this is a joke. A sick joke.”
My breath came in shallow gasps. My daughter. Gwen. My baby girl.
Dead?
I refused to believe it. They were bluffing. They had to be. Kidnappers used fear–it was
their weapon. They wouldn’t just kill her. They wouldn’t-
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But what if they had?
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“No,” I muttered, shaking my head over and over. “She’s not dead. She can’t be. They’ll give her back. They’ll-”
My phone rang, jolting me. Unknown number. I answered immediately, voice ragged. “Hello? Gwen? Is she alive?”
The voice on the other end was calm. Too calm. “Is this Mr. Leandro Jones?”
“Yes!” I snapped. “Why are you calling me?”
“This is the police,” the officer replied. “We’re calling to inform you that Mrs. Emerald Jones has been found dead. Her car collided with a twelve–wheeler truck earlier this evening. I’m… I’m sorry.”
The phone slipped from my grip, crashing to the floor.
Emerald.
Dead.
Gwen. Gone.
The urn felt like fire in my hands, yet I couldn’t drop it. My breath came in broken sobs, rage and denial warring inside me.
No. This couldn’t be happening. Not to me.
Not like this.
