I couldn’t just stand by and let it happen.
Like a madman, I tore into the bedroom. Empty.
Her bag and phone were gone.
I darted to the bathroom, the balcony, and the kitchen, but there was no sign of her.
She had already left.
When? Where to?
My eyes locked on the words glowing on the screen. [She’ll definitely show up.]
Would she really go? Did she know?
I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t.
But one thing burned clear in my mind: I had to stop them.
Now. Right now.
I dialed her number. No answer.
Tried again. And again. Straight to voicemail.
Leaning against the doorframe, my mind spun, hollow and weightless.
Outside, the city lights pulsed, neon, traffic, voices, all of it distant, unreal.
Then I remembered.
Last year, on a whim before a business trip, I had secretly installed a tracking app on her phone.
She never found out.
With trembling fingers, I grabbed my phone and launched the app.
A red dot blinked into view.
It moved, then stilled, right in the city center, near a hotel.
At that moment, it felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.
My entire body shuddered.
I couldn’t remember how I got downstairs or how I even started the car.