Panic doesn't start as a scream.
It starts as silence.
Heavy.
Stagnant.
Suffocating.
The kind that presses against your ribs and whispers that something is wrong—before you even see the evidence.
And this time, the evidence was everywhere.
The unlocked door.
The empty crib.
The missing blanket.
The note.
Two words: "He knows."
My hand shook so hard I dropped it.
My legs buckled, but adrenaline forced them forward. I tore through the penthouse like a storm, shouting Noah's name like it was the only word I remembered.
"NOAH! NOAH!"
Rhyland stumbled out of the office barefoot, shirt wrinkled, hair dishevelled.
"What—Emery? What's going on?"
"He's gone."
He couldn't believe it.
"What?"
"Noah's not here. His bed's untouched. The door was unlocked. And this—" I held up the note. "Someone left this."
He grabbed it and scanned the shaky handwriting.
"Where was this?"
"By the door."
His face hardened. "We're calling the police."
I was already grabbing my phone. My hands couldn't keep steady enough to hit the numbers.
Rhyland took it from me. Dialled. Pinned it to his ear.
I collapsed onto the couch.
Cold sweat. Shaking. All of it.
Not again.
Not again.
Not again.
I'd survived Caleb once.
But I wasn't sure I'd survive this.
The cops arrived fast. Uniformed. Calm. Unhelpful.
They asked questions I couldn't answer.
Was there a custody order? No.
Was there forced entry? No signs.
Did Noah leave voluntarily?
"He's two," I snapped. "He doesn't leave. He gets taken."
They exchanged glances.
Rhyland pulled one of them aside and handed over a copy of Caleb's previous restraining order. "Start here."
Another officer questioned the front desk. Surveillance footage was being pulled. My brother showed up mid-interview, furious and frantic.
The apartment became a war zone of quiet conversations and sharp commands.
I sat in the centre of it all, knees pulled to my chest.
Waiting.
Two hours later, they found the footage.
A man—tall, baseball cap, and hoodie—entered the building at 4:18 a.m. using a stolen keycard.
He bypassed security.
Head down.
Face angled away.
But I knew that posture.
I'd spent years memorizing it. Dreading it.
"Caleb," I whispered.
My brother cursed under his breath.
Rhyland stood behind me, silent. But his hands were fists.
I looked up. "He took him."
No one argued.
Not this time.
The police issued an alert and promised updates. But I didn't trust promises anymore.
Not from cops.
Not from the world.
Not even from Rhyland.
I sat alone on the balcony as the sun rose, wearing the same sweatshirt I'd cried into the night before. My eyes were swollen. My heart was hollow.
And then he came.
He didn't speak.
He sat beside me. Close, but not touching.
"I've been through a lot of bad things," I said, voice raw. "But this... this is the first time I've ever felt like the world stopped."
He looked at me. "We'll find him."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
"Why?"
"Because I won't stop until we do."
I stared at him.
And for the first time in hours, I wanted to believe someone again.
By afternoon, we had nothing.
No location.
No updates.
No ransom demand.
Just silence.
Until Rhyland's phone buzzed.
Blocked number.
One new voicemail.
He played it on speaker.
"If you want him back, tell her the truth. Tell her why you started this lie. Otherwise, she'll lose more than just a son."
Click.
Noah's voice followed.
Faint.
Crying.
Then silence.
I stopped breathing.
Rhyland didn't say a word.
He just turned and walked to his office.
I followed.
Slammed the door behind me.
"What the hell is he talking about?"
He didn't turn around.
"Rhyland."
"I don't know."
"Don't you dare lie to me again."
He turned.
Face pale.
Eyes dark.
"I started the lie because I needed the deal. You know that."
"That's not what he meant. What's the truth you've been avoiding?"
He hesitated.
And I lost it.
"I gave you my life, Rhyland. My son. My trust. And you've been holding back something. Why?"
"Because I didn't want you to hate me."
I stared at him.
And waited.
He sat down at the edge of his desk like he couldn't stay standing.
"Before this started, I was in talks with Granger for months. I knew what he was looking for—a family man. A real partner. Someone stable. Not someone like me."
"Go on."
"So I built the narrative. I told him I was seeing someone. That I was close to settling down. I used your name."
My stomach dropped.
"You what?"
He swallowed.
"I used your name, Emery. Before you even agreed to any of this. Before I asked you."
The world tipped sideways.
"You sold me."
"I didn't mean it like that."
"But that's what you did."
"I told myself it was harmless. That it didn't matter because I'd never ask you for anything real. I just needed a name. A face. And when you showed up at the apartment with Noah... it felt like the universe handed me the one thing I couldn't fake."
I backed away.
Slow.
Careful.
Like he might break more than just my heart.
"You lied to me before I even said yes."
"I did."
I pressed my hand to my chest. It hurt to breathe.
"And now he has my son. And he knows more about this than I do."
"I'm sorry," Rhyland said.
But sorry wasn't enough.
Not anymore.
My phone buzzed.
Another message.
One photo.
Noah.
In a dark room. Holding his bear. Crying.
Captioned: "You trusted the wrong man. I'll show you what real family looks like."
I looked up at Rhyland.
And I knew—whatever love we'd almost had? It might not survive what came next.