Four days.
Eight hours.
Thirty-six minutes.
That was how long it had been since I’d left Ophelia in my bed. Since I used every ounce of strength to pull away from her warm, soft skin. Away from the only thing in the world that I had ever wanted to cherish.
That amount of time was also the last time I had any contact whatsoever with my fiancée.
By day three, I’d employed Hugo to check in on her, but I had yet to hear any positive news. There was a cold dread that had settled over me with each unanswered text or straight-to-voicemail call.
“Where is she?” I asked the moment Hugo’s name flashed on my screen.
“I don’t know.”
I froze and threw my head back against the headrest. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“We’ve just confirmed a few places she’s not. We’re going to go over and
