Page 84 of Broken Bonds

She turned my empty house into a home, filling each room with her warmth and light.

Ethan Conrad may have been onto something—Stella was the key to all of this. I had to protect her at all costs because just like myself, she was now in harm’s way. And annulling our marriage on grounds of fraud? That was out of the question—it would only bring undeserved consequences upon her.

The memories from the day of the attack flood my mind at lightning speed. There was someone else there, someone who looked eerily similar to me and claimed that I had stolen his life before knocking me unconscious.

I glance at my watch and curse under my breath—I’m running late. My wife must be wondering why I haven’t come home yet. She’s always been too good for me, too caring and understanding.

I quickly throw on my jacket from behind my desk chair, adjust my cuff links, and make my way out to meet her.

In the refrigerator, I left a bottle of champagne chilling. I want to toast before leaving.

“Stella, baby,” I call out to her when I realize she hasn’t come down yet.

My woman, still fussing with all that shit… the makeup, the hair. But I know she doesn’t need it. She’s naturally beautiful, she’s my Stella. My Hvezda, shining with her own light.

“Stella!” I call again, this time with impatience. The house is quiet and almost dark on the first floor. We don’t spend much time down there, so the lights are off except for the lamps on the breakfast bar.

I shout her name as I climb the stairs, senses on high alert. Something’s not right.

The tattered sofa where we usually cuddle up to watch movies at night is empty, as is our room.

Shit.

“Stella?” One more attempt before I reach for my phone from my jacket pocket and dial her number.

No answer, but I can hear her ringtone somewhere in the house. With phone against my ear, I follow the sound, searching frantically. Where could she have gone? How? And why?

Just the thought of someone taking her makes me see red. That’s what those security men Ethan sent are here for—he promised they were the best in the business.

I find Stella’s iPhone in the kitchen with a photo of us on the screen, taken on our trip to the beach.

We look so damn happy. The image is a reminder of the memories we created together and the future awaiting for us.

Where could she have disappeared to? Whatever game she’s playing, I’m not finding it amusing. Not one bit.

Next thing I do is to call the man I know is on call. “Sanders,” I blurt out on the phone as he answers. “I can’t find my wife.”

“See you in the kitchen in two,” he replies, we need to get organized immediately. Check the cameras, whatever it takes.

A realization strikes me like a bullet to the chest. Did she somehow overhear my conversation with my mother? The thought alone sends shivers down my spine. But there’s something else that terrifies me even more—how did she manage to run away from this fortress of a house?

Our security measures are top-notch. If she had taken one of our cars, we would have noticed immediately. As I pour myself a stiff glass of whiskey in the kitchen, Sanders shows me the security footage on his iPad. My regret pierces me like a knife - why didn’t I install more cameras inside the house? In my foolish attempt to protect our privacy, I put her safety at risk.

How stupid can I be?

“The only person who left the house tonight was your mother, Mr. Kral,” Sanders informs me. Of course I know that, but somehow she managed to slip away too. “I’ve dispatched the boys to search every corner of this place.”

But deep down, I know she’s not here. The mere thought of her being wounded or scared makes my blood boil and my heart pound dangerously fast. If bullets couldn’t kill me, this sure will.

Without another word, I storm off to her room where I know she kept the dress she planned to wear tonight - carefully protected in a garment bag. Despite wanting to see it as soon as she returned from her shopping trip, I held back when I saw how excited she was to surprise me. No, she wouldn’t leave without telling me.

Not unless she found a compelling enough reason to do so.

Yeah, dickhead, like listening to you yelling at your mom that you never married her, that it was all a lie. That she was just a piece in a complicated game of chess.

The vacant hanger hanging in the corner of the dressing room confirms my suspicions - she was preparing for our date tonight. My gut churns with fear and anticipation.

“Josh is on his way,” Sanders announces, running up the stairs to join me.

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