The first sign that something was wrong came without drama.
No alarms. No shouting.
Just absence.
Lucien noticed it the moment he stepped into the penthouse and didn’t hear Seraphina’s footsteps. She usually moved quietly, but never silently. Her presence had a rhythm he’d learned without realizing it.
“Seraphina?” he called.
No answer.
The city outside hummed, indifferent.
His instincts sharpened.
He crossed the living space quickly, scanning—nothing overturned, nothing broken. Her phone lay on the counter. Screen dark.
Lucien’s chest tightened.
She never left without it.
He reached for his own phone, already dialing security. “Lock down the building. Now.”
The elevator camera footage loaded seconds later.
Seraphina, earlier that afternoon. Calm. Focused. Alone.
Then a cut.
