The next day, after school hours, Isabella waited for Ethan's return.
“Alexander, it’s almost three. Ethan should’ve been home by now.”
Isabella's voice shook as she paced across the living room, her phone in her hand. Her fingers quivered as she dialed for what felt like the tenth time.
No answer.
Her heart sank. “He’s not picking up. Why isn’t he picking up?”
Alexander stood by the window, arms folded, seemingly composed. "Maybe they're caught in traffic. Let's not panic yet."
“Don’t tell me not to panic!” she snapped, her eyes brimming with tears. “You saw the photos—Victor’s men have been following him. What if something’s happened?”
Before Alexander could reply, his phone buzzed. It was Roosevelt.
“Sir, I just got a call from the school,” Roosevelt said, urgency lacing his voi
