Eddie Blackwell stood in his penthouse office, staring at the error message on his phone.
Message Blocking is Active.
He read it twenty times. It still didn't make sense.
He called her disconnected number three times. "...the number you have dialed is not in service."
She was gone. Not just "on leave", she had vanished. She had built a wall between them so high and so fast, he couldn't see over it.
His first instinct was irritation. He had been rejected. After he had sent that letter, a rare, vulnerable move.
She had rejected him.
But as the minutes ticked by, the irritation was replaced by a cold, unsettling feeling. It didn't add up. The "sick mother" excuse from Ms. Parker felt thin. Bianca was meticulous. She was a fighter. She wouldn't just abandon her entire career, a career that was taking her places, over a family issue. Not without a better plan.
Unless...
Unless she was running from him.
The thought was a blow to his pride. He'd shown her his complicated life, the engagement, the pressure, the family duty, and it had scared her off. She had seen the man behind the mask and decided he wasn't worth the trouble.
He clenched his hand into a fist. He was a strategist. He didn't do "confused." He solved problems. And Bianca Carter had just become a problem.
He pressed the intercom on his desk. "Marcus, my office. Now."
A moment later, the door opened, and Marcus West walked in. His godfather, his father's most loyal man. Marcus looked like he was carved from stone, his eyes missing nothing.
"Eddie."
"I have a situation," Eddie said, turning from the window. "A lawyer from Sterling & Cross. Bianca Carter."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "The girl from the acquisition? Parker's star player?"
"The same," Eddie said, his voice flat. "As of this morning, she's on an 'indefinite leave of absence.' She's disappeared."
Marcus waited, his expression unreadable. He knew Eddie better than anyone. He knew this wasn't just about business.
"And?" Marcus finally asked.
"And," Eddie said, walking to his desk, "she spent the last month embedded in my most sensitive corporate takeover. She knows every structural weakness, every holding company, every flaw. And now she has vanished. Her work phone is with her boss, and her personal number is disconnected."
He looked Marcus dead in the eye. "This is a security risk."
It was the perfect, professional cover. Marcus, who lived by a code of loyalty and security, would understand that.
"You think she's a threat?" Marcus asked, his tone shifting, all business now.
"I think she's a loose end. I don't like loose ends," Eddie said. "Her excuse was a sick mother. I want to know if it's true. I want to know where she is, I want to know who she's talking to, and I want to know why she ran."
Marcus nodded slowly. He understood the order. He also understood what was underneath it. "I'll find her, Eddie. Give me twenty-four hours."
"Good," Eddie said. "Keep it quiet. No one else knows."
"Of course." Marcus turned and left the office, closing the door with a soft click.
Eddie was alone again. He stared out at the city, at the millions of people living their lives, not one of them aware of the invisible, billion-dollar war he was fighting. He had mobilized a one-man intelligence agency to find a lawyer he'd known for a month.
He told himself it was about protecting the empire. But he knew, deep down, that was a lie.
A thousand miles south of New York, a first-class flight was descending into Houston.
Bianca sat by the window, the soft hum of the engines a distant sound against her exhaustion. She had barely registered the luxurious cabin, the attentive flight attendants, or the expensive champagne she'd politely declined. All she saw was the endless expanse of clouds, a soft, white blanket obscuring the world she was fleeing.
She had her carry-on stowed above and her purse clutched in her lap. Inside it, her wallet felt heavy, the sharp corner of Eddie's love letter digging into her side. A physical reminder of her own stupidity.
She was running on fumes. She hadn't slept since the bombshell. She'd left her apartment, taken a pre-booked car to JFK, and bought a last-minute, first-class ticket to the furthest destination she could think of, Houston, home.
She had no plan beyond reaching her mother. She just knew she had to get away from him, from his city, from his world.
She pulled a cheap, prepaid burner phone from her pocket, the only electronic device she had left. She turned it on. There was only one number programmed in.
Her fingers trembled as she dialed.
It rang three times, and then a worried, familiar voice answered. "Bianca? Honey? You're on your way?"
It was her mother.
"Yeah, Mom," Bianca said, her voice cracking. The ice that had held her together since last night finally began to splinter.
"You sound awful, baby. What's wrong? Is it the new job? Did something happen?"
Bianca stared at her own reflection in the tiny window. A pale, tired-looking woman with hollow eyes stared back. She'd tried so hard to escape this. To be the strong one. The one who saved her mother, not the one who came running home, broken.
But she couldn't hold it in. Not from her.
"Mom..." she whispered, her throat closing up. "Mom, I... I'm in trouble. I'm in real trouble."
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. "What is it? What happened? Are you hurt?"
"No, I'm not... I'm not hurt," Bianca said, and then the first sob broke free. The tears she'd refused to shed now streamed down her face.
"Mom, I'm... I'm pregnant."
The silence on the other end of the line was heavy. Bianca could hear her mother's pained, slow breathing. She was bracing for the disappointment, for the "I told you so," for the lecture on making the same mistakes.
But when her mother spoke, her voice was just... quiet. And steady.
"Okay," she said. Just "okay."
"Okay?" Bianca repeated, wiping her face. "Mom, you don't understand. The father... he's... he's not in the picture. He's... complicated. He's... he's engaged. And he's... he's having another baby. With her. I just... I ran. I just took an indefinite leave from my job, and I ran."
The whole story came tumbling out in a broken, whispered rush.
Her mother didn't say anything for a long time.
"Okay, baby," she said again, and this time, Bianca heard the steel in her voice, the sound of a woman who had survived her own wars. "So you're pregnant. And he's a bastard. We've handled bastards before."
A small, watery laugh escaped Bianca's lips. "Yeah, Mom. We have."
"You listen to me," her mother said, her voice firm. "You're not in trouble. You're just pregnant. You're coming home. You'll have this baby, and we'll figure it out. Together. You're not alone, Bianca. Do you hear me? You are not alone."
Bianca closed her eyes, letting the tears fall, the tension finally leaving her shoulders.
"I hear you, Mom," she whispered.
"Good. Now, you get some rest on that flight. I'll have your room ready. I'll make you some soup."
They hung up. Bianca leaned her head against the window. She was running, not from her past, but to it. To the small, messy home she had fought so hard to escape.
But for the first time in twenty-four hours, she wasn't terrified. She wasn't alone. She had her mother. And she had this tiny, secret life inside her.
It would be enough.