22. Jack
JACK
L ate evening light filters through the tall windows of my office, casting long, amber shadows across the floor and furniture.
The city beyond blinks and stutters with movement, headlights streaking down Fifth like impatient thoughts I can’t catch.
Inside, it’s all sterile emptiness, the kind that sets in when everyone else has gone home. Everyone but me.
I stand at the window in a black suit, sleeves rolled to my forearms, tie loosened, shirt slightly wrinkled from a day spent pacing.
The ache in my temple pulses harder with every minute of silence.
Leo’s voice hums through the speakerphone, calm and methodical, his unshaken cadence at odds with the coiled tension pressing into my spine.
“The article hasn’t dropped yet,” he says. “But I spoke to the guy who owes you a favor. He’s holding the story, for now. The editor’s weighing it against a better offer. If we get a counter-narrative out first, we might be able to steer the conversation.”
“Define steer,” I mutter, dragging my eyes away from the city.
Leo exhales. “Minimize the blow. Shift the focus. Frame it in a way that doesn’t bury you.”
I sink into the leather chair, elbow braced against the arm, rubbing a thumb across my brow. The tension has settled into my bones. I’ve dealt with PR disasters before, but this one doesn’t just sting, it cuts deeper than it should.
“Get the counter-story ready,” I say. “Push the charity work, the scholarship funds. Keep it real. Make them remember I’m not the villain they want.”
“And Ivy?” Leo asks.
I glance at my phone. No texts. No calls.
“I haven’t heard from her since this morning,” I admit, voice lower now. “She said she’d check in after picking up her things from Derek’s.”
Leo pauses. “That was hours ago. Want me to send someone?”
I rise again, every step fueled by restless urgency. “No. I’ll go myself.”
We end the call. I grab my keys and shrug into a navy overcoat. My driver is already waiting when I exit the building, and I slide into the back seat without a word.
“Drive,” I mutter.
As the car winds through Manhattan, I scroll through my phone again.
Still nothing. Her silence is starting to echo in my head.
I replay her parting words over coffee, the softness in her smile, the way she touched my wrist like it meant something but wouldn’t name it.
At the time, it felt honest. Now, I can’t help wondering if it was already slipping away, if some part of her knew what was coming before either of us did.
We stop at a red light, and I glance out the window. That’s when I see it, the same dark sedan that’s been trailing us since Midtown. Two cars back. Tinted windows. No visible plates.
“Pull over ahead,” I say.
The driver hesitates briefly but obeys. We slow near a corner deli, and I step out, pretending to check my phone. My eyes flick to the store’s glass windows, using them as mirrors. The sedan coasts behind us, slows, then drives on.
I climb back in. “Change route. Take Park instead.”
He nods without comment. The rest of the ride is quiet, but the sense of unease doesn’t let up. If Derek has someone following me, then whatever’s happening is more calculated than I thought.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing in the lobby of my own building. I nod to the doorman, who barely glances up. In the elevator, I key in my own access code and head straight to Graham’s floor. The hallway is unnervingly still. I knock once. Then again. Still nothing.
I press my ear to the door, listening for movement. Not a sound.
I call her. The line rings, echoing in my ear. No answer. No movement. Nothing to suggest she’s behind that door, or anywhere close.
Leaning against the wall, I exhale slowly and try to force some logic into my spiraling thoughts. Ivy wouldn’t vanish without telling me. Not unless something, or someone, made her feel like she had no choice. Only one name comes to mind.
Derek.
I push off the wall and start typing a text to Leo: Call in the favor. I want everything Derek’s touched in the last forty-eight hours. Legal. Personal. Off-record. I don’t care. Get me names.
As I walk to my apartment, I open another thread. This one to someone I haven’t called in years.
Jack: Ari. I need eyes in Manhattan. Discreet. Track movement off the grid, no cell, no cards, no license plate reads. Are you in?
Ari had done work for me before. Things I wasn’t supposed to need anymore. Things I promised Ivy I didn’t touch.
Ari: Fuck. You must be desperate. Send me what you’ve got.
I hesitate for half a second before sharing a screenshot, an address Derek was seen entering, a timestamp, and Ivy’s last known location. I add one word beneath it.
Jack: Priority.
By the time I step into my apartment, the city has swallowed the last of the light. The apartment is dark. This place once felt like a stronghold. Now it feels like a cage.
I toss my keys to the marble counter and start pacing. Jacket off. Shirt clinging to my back. I pull at the collar, trying to breathe, but the air feels thin.
I walk to the bar and pour two fingers of bourbon. I don’t bother savoring it. The glass is empty before it touches the counter again.
My phone buzzes.
Leo: You were right to worry. Derek’s been meeting with someone. Private apartment. No digital trail.
The words land hard. If Derek is cornering her, threatening her, if he made her believe this was her only choice, I’ll tear every piece of his life apart until he bleeds truth.
I think about calling again, but I already know how it ends, just the line ringing into nothing. She’s not picking up. Whether it’s fear or something worse, I don’t know. I tell myself to give her space. Still, the silence is unbearable.
I send a text instead: Are you okay? I need to see you.
No response.
I pace again, faster now. My shoulder knocks against the edge of the hallway wall, but I barely feel it. I drag a hand through my hair, down the back of my neck, willing her to answer. Just one word. Just something.
That’s when I see it, a flash of white on the floor near the door.
I crouch to pick it up, a folded note. My name is written across the front in her handwriting.
I open it and read it. The words hit with more force than anything Derek could ever throw at me.
I stumble backward and drop into the nearest chair, elbows on my knees, the letter shaking in my hands.
My throat tightens. A sound rises in my chest but never escapes.
My fingers press to my temple, as if I could push the ache out, as if grief could be reasoned with.
She left. Not because she stopped wanting me, but because she believes disappearing is the only way to protect what we’ve started. She still thinks she has to carry it all alone. Even now, when she’s not.
I close my eyes, and a memory hits hard: her bare feet on the hardwood, laughing quietly at something I mumbled into her neck.
The morning sun catching the edge of her smile.
Her hand brushing crumbs from the counter while I tried to convince her to stay a little longer.
Maybe she hoped I’d let her go. That I’d take the hint.
That this letter would be enough. She miscalculated.
I get back up, slowly. Every movement feels heavier than it should. I walk to the window, the note still in my hand. The city outside is unchanged, indifferent, relentless. Lights blink like nothing’s been lost.
I press my palm flat to the glass, forehead resting there for a beat, the paper crushed lightly in my fist. “Ivy,” I whisper, her name a vow and a threat to the silence around me. “You don’t get to disappear alone.”
The bourbon glass sits untouched behind me. I don’t need another drink. I need a plan. She doesn’t know what I’m capable of when there’s nothing left to lose. But she’s about to.
I reach for my phone again and type with steady fingers.
Jack: Find her. I don’t care how clean it looks. Burn the trail if you have to. Just find her.
This story doesn’t end with a note and an empty apartment. She told me she loves me. And I will not let her disappear into the dark believing I’ll ever stop fighting to bring her back. Not when I finally have something worth losing.