"International Pop Sensation Ares Vance Reported Kidnapped Under Mysterious Circumstances."
The words sit on my screen like a threat.
My fingers tighten around the phone as my mind races, trying to keep up with the pace he just set.
This is the chance he was talking about, and the realization lands heavy in my chest because he was with me minutes ago, his breath against my skin, his hand on my throat, and now this is already happening somewhere out there like he never left, like he exists in two places at once.
A cold scoff leaves me as I tap the notification and the full report loads.
"Ares Vance, globally recognized pop artist and philanthropist, has reportedly been abducted from his private residence late tonight.
Sources confirm there were no signs of forced entry, raising suspicions of a highly coordinated operation. Authorities have not identified any suspects, and no group has claimed responsibility so far.
Security footage from the property appears to have been compromised, leaving investigators with little to no visual evidence. Fans across the world are reacting with shock as the situation continues to unfold."
My jaw tightens as I read.
This is insane.
He just kidnapped one of the most famous artists in the world like it is nothing, like he has the right to decide who lives freely and who disappears overnight.
Ares Vance is not some criminal hiding in shadows. He is known, loved, followed by millions, someone who donates, helps, builds a reputation on being clean, untouchable, good.
And Zayan—
Zayan still did it.
A bitter laugh slips past my lips as I lock my phone, my chest rising sharply.
"A fucking bastard," I mutter under my breath, my voice low and sharp. "And I fell in love with him."
The words taste wrong now.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
I shake my head hard, forcing the thoughts away before they can settle deeper, before they can weaken something inside me that should not be weak right now.
"I will expose you," I whisper again, this time more certain, more grounded. "I don't care what it costs."
The memory of the knife flashes again in my mind.
Cold.
Close.
Too real.
My fingers curl into fists as I turn toward the door.
First, I need to know if he is still here.
There is no way I am going to open every door in this house like some idiot hoping to run into him again, not after what just happened. I do not have the time or the patience for that kind of risk.
I pull the door open and step out.
I glance toward his room.
Empty.
No movement.
No sign of him.
My chest tightens slightly, but I push it down and turn away, walking quickly toward the north wing where the security room is located. If I want answers, the cameras will give them to me.
Or at least they should.
I reach the door and shove it open without knocking.
The reaction is immediate.
Every single guard inside snaps into position, guns raised and pointed straight at me in one smooth, trained motion. The sight hits me like a slap, and I flinch before I can stop myself, my body freezing for half a second.
Then they see me.
The tension drops instantly.
Weapons lower.
Heads bow.
"Madam," one of them says carefully, "is everything alright?"
I do not answer.
I walk past them like they do not exist, my eyes locking onto the massive wall of monitors in front of me. The screens glow bright, each one showing a different part of the house in sharp, crystal-clear detail.
The quality makes me pause for a second.
It is too clear.
Every corner.
Every angle.
Every shadow captured perfectly.
Except—
Not everything.
My eyes move quickly across the feeds, and I realize something is missing. There are no cameras in the living room, none in the kitchen, none near that indoor plant area by the couch, and none in the private rooms.
Convenient.
Too convenient.
"Don't mind me," I say flatly, waving a hand without looking at them. "Do your job."
There is a brief silence behind me before I feel their hesitation settle, but no one argues.
Good.
I step closer to the monitors, scanning each one carefully, searching for any sign of him. Every hallway, every entrance, every exit plays in front of me, but there is nothing.
No Zayan.
Not a single frame.
My jaw tightens.
"Zoom into every camera," I order sharply.
The staff moves immediately, fingers working across controls as each screen shifts, angles tightening, details sharpening even more.
Still nothing.
My patience snaps.
"Rewind," I say, my voice colder now. "Living room area. Thirty minutes back."
They obey again.
The footage rolls backward.
Time reversing in clean, perfect motion.
But when it reaches the moment—
There is nothing.
No him.
No me.
No knife at my throat.
No masked man.
Just an empty space where everything should have been.
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
Loud.
Sharp.
Wrong.
Every head in the room turns toward me.
"I almost forgot," I say, my voice dripping with bitter amusement as I look at them. "You all belong to him."
Silence.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
I raise my hand slowly and flip my middle finger at them without hesitation.
"Of course you do."
They bow again.
Like that fixes anything.
Like that hides what they are.
I turn on my heel and walk out, slamming the door behind me hard enough to echo through the hallway.
The silence outside feels different now.
Colder.
Sharper.
My hands settle on my hips as I stand there, my mind racing faster than before.
If he is not in the house—
Then where the hell is he?
And how the hell am I supposed to find him now?
The silence presses harder the longer I stand there, and it starts to feel like it is crawling inside my head.
My fingers slide into my hair and I grip it hard, pulling just enough to sting, but the sharp pain does nothing to cut through the weight building behind my eyes.
This is getting nowhere.
I force a slow breath in, then out, trying to steady the chaos running through me, but it only takes a second for something else to rise in its place.
An idea.
Sharp.
Clear.
There is only one person who would know where he is.
And if I am going to face that—
I need to be ready.
I turn instantly, my steps quick and silent as I move down the hallway and toward the far end of the house where no one bothers to go anymore. The old storage room sits there like it has been forgotten, the door slightly worn, the handle cold when I grab it.
I slip inside.
Darkness swallows me.
The air smells stale, untouched, and I shut the door quietly behind me before moving deeper into the room. My hands find the corner cabinet without hesitation, my fingers sliding along the edge until I reach the drawer.
I pull it open.
The gun is still there.
Exactly where I left it.
For a second, I just stare at it.
Then I pick it up.
It feels heavier than I remember, solid in my hand, unfamiliar and dangerous in a way that makes my pulse spike again. I don't know how to use it properly, not really, but that doesn't matter right now.
It is not about skill.
It is about threat.
About control.
My grip tightens around it as I exhale slowly, the cold metal grounding me just enough to think straight.
A slow smirk pulls at my lips.
"I'm coming for you, Izar."