People turned. Some shook their heads, others shrugged, but no one had seen her. My legs gave way as I stumbled, clutching the railing. My daughter—my only child—was gone.
I fumbled for my phone, hands trembling, and dialed Leandro. The line rang. Once. Twice. Then—
A woman’s moan.
I froze. My ears burned as the sound of heavy breathing and whispered pleasure filled the line. My husband’s voice—low, intimate. Not for me.
The world blurred. My hand went numb, the phone nearly slipping from my fingers. I hung up before I vomited. Betrayal slammed into me like a wave, but I had no time. Gwen. My daughter. She needed me.
The cruise staff searched, the coast guards were notified, but by the time I returned home, the call came.
“Mrs. Jones,” a distorted voice sneered through the phone. “We have your daughter. If you want her back, one hundred million dollars. Tomorrow. Or she dies.”
One hundred million.
I rushed to my laptop, logging into my accounts, ready to send anything—everything. But the screen froze me cold. Funds unavailable. Every account. Locked. Frozen.
“No…” My voice was a broken whisper. “No, no, no!”