Andrew’s POV

The heat from the tarmac clung to me like a second skin as I stepped off the jet, phone already in my hand.

Three rings and the call went to voicemail.

I tried again, the same thing.

“Pick up, Lena,” I muttered, sliding into the black car waiting for me. “Come on.”

Nothing but that fake sweet recording telling me she couldn’t take my call.

She was probably still sleeping off the bachelorette party, probably at some expensive club downtown, her little army of rich friends squealing around her. I could see it, her draped across silk sheets, staff buzzing around with ginger tea and aspirin. There was nothing to panic about.

I loosened my tie and leaned back. One more day. Then she’d be my wife.

For me there was nothing romantic about this impending marriage. It is a move on the board, a clean and smart move. The kind of move that puts you ahead for good.

Still… something in my gut didn’t sit right.

I didn’t head to my office. I went to Harold’s office instead.

He was exactly where I pictured he would be, behind his oversized desk, drinking scotch like it was water. He didn’t even look up when the doors opened.

“You’re back early,” he said.

I dropped a folder on his desk with a thud.

He opened it. Contracts, photos, and aerial shots of the Botswana site.

“Steele Corp owns the diamond mines now,” I said. “It’s official.”

His jaw twitched before he forced a smile. “Well done. You’re making us all proud.”

“I try my best,” I said.

He’d chased that deal for years. Greased palms, kissed asses, but still failed. And now it was mine. After tomorrow, after the wedding and merger, it would all be mine. There would be no Harold breathing down my neck.

He stood and stuck his hand out. I shook it. His grip was tight and fake.

“Enjoy your bachelor party,” he said, like he hadn’t just swallowed glass.

“Oh, I will.”

I walked out smiling.

I should’ve felt good. Triumphant. But that rush, the high I usually got from a win, it wasn’t there.

Maybe I was too used to winning.

I made it down to the garage, my hand on my car door, when I heard it.

“Surprise, motherfucker!”

Tyler jumped out of nowhere like a teenager. Derek grinned behind him.

“You think you’re skipping your stag night?” Derek said.

“I’ve got things to do,” I said.

Tyler yanked my door open. “Nah. Just a few drinks and some sexy naked girls. Maybe a line or two. You will be so lit up, you won’t remember shit tomorrow.”

I let them drag me; I really didn’t put up a fight.

Hours later I was at The Inferno, whiskey in hand, neon lights flashing, and girls swinging half-naked from the ceiling holding onto a pole. Tyler had some dancer on his lap; Derek was gone to God.

Me? I was still texting Lena, and still nothing.

Then my phone buzzed. No caller ID.

One text.

Your fiancée just dumped you and ran away.

The bottom dropped out of my stomach.

I called her and went straight to voicemail.

I stood up fast.

“Dom,” Tyler said, laughing, “it’s a joke. Ignore it. Candy here wants to—”

I was already gone. Cold anger crawled up my spine. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Not now when everything is this close.

Called her again, and it went to voicemail.

So I called Mrs. Hartwell.

She picked up, sweet as ever. “Andrew, darling. Is everything alright?”

“I’ve been calling Lena, and she won’t answer.”

“Oh, she’s just resting,” she said too quickly. “Last night took a toll on her. A lot of drinking went down, you know how it is.”

“She always answers me. Even hungover.”

She took a long pause.

“She’s asleep,” she said again, firmer. “She’s safe at home; there’s nothing to worry about.”

I didn’t buy it for a second.

“I’m coming over.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I’m already in the car.” I hung up.

I drove myself. I hadn’t drunk enough to fog my head. My mind was sharp, wired. The Hartwell mansion glowed like a palace when I pulled up, lit brighter than the moon.

Mr. Hartwell met me at the door, his smile stretched too tight. “Andrew. Is everything alright?”

“No. Lena is not answering my calls. And I just got a message saying she ran.”

He hesitated. Just a beat, but I caught it.

“No, Lena did not run away. She is at home. She’s… just tired. Don't worry, you will see her tomorrow.”

“I don’t care if she’s comatose. I need to see her. Now.”

Silence ensued, and then footsteps.

Mrs. Hartwell appeared at the top of the stairs. And Lena was closely behind her.

She moved down slowly, wearing a robe, with her hair done and her face calm. Too calm. No sass, no drama, none of her usual spark. Just… flat.

“Oh, Lena,” I said, walking up to her. Relief punched through me. “I thought you ran.”

I pulled her into my arms. She was cold. Not freezing. Just… off. Her hug came late and stiff.

It didn't matter. She was here. That’s what counted.

“I just needed some air,” she said.

Her voice was softer than usual. It was almost like her usual voice, but a bit different.

I studied her face, the thin smile and glassy eyes.

She’s tired, I told myself. She is obviously still hungover from last night. She had told me on several occasions that she is a lightweight when it comes to alcohol. So, I brushed aside my suspicions. By the way, it wasn’t like I loved her or something. This was purely a business transaction. Her name, my empire. We sign the merger, and I win.

So why couldn’t I stop staring at her eyes?

There was something there. It was not fear, not nerves, just sadness. An intense sadness.

I turned to Mr. Hartwell and clapped him gently on his back.

“She’s here,” I said. “I guess the wedding’s still on for tomorrow.”

Her smile flickered again. Just a twitch.

My stomach twisted; something wasn’t right.

But I didn’t ask.

Because I didn’t want the answer. Not tonight, anyways. Not when I was this close to getting what I wanted.

Let her act strange, tired or whatever.

As long as she walks down that aisle tomorrow and says "I do," I really don't care.