Tension
ARIANA'S POV
The scent of sizzling bacon and cinnamon-dusted pancakes teased my senses as we walked hand in hand down the grand staircase. Light streamed through the arched windows, casting golden slants on the polished marble floors. Hardin looked entirely too smug, dressed in a crisp button-up shirt and slacks that hugged him in all the right places. I, on the other hand, felt thoroughly used and thoroughly adored—still glowing from what we’d done not thirty minutes ago.
He bumped his shoulder into mine gently. "You’re smiling like a cat who got into the cream."
"You say that like you didn’t make me purr first," I teased, elbowing him lightly. "Besides, you’re the one who practically roared."
He laughed, low and deep, and the sound sent a ripple of warmth through me. We turned the corner into the dining room, where the long mahogany table gleamed under the antique chandelier.
Grandpa was already seated at the head, a newspaper in one hand and a steaming cup of black coffee in the other. His sharp blue eyes peered over the rim of his glasses, and a slow, knowing grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"Ah, finally decided to join the land of the living," he said, folding the paper and setting it aside. "Sleep well?"
Hardin squeezed my hand discreetly as we both tried to keep straight faces. "Morning, Mr Miller," he greeted.
"Morning, Grandpa," I echoed, cheeks warming.
Grandpa's eyes flicked between us, twinkling with mischief. "You kids look flushed. Healthy. You know what this old man thinks? It’s time for great-grandchildren."
I choked on a laugh. "Grandpa!"
"Don’t you 'Grandpa' me, young lady. I’ve waited long enough. I want chubby cheeks and baby feet thumping across these floors before I turn to dust."
Hardin chuckled, pulling out a chair for me. "We’ll see what we can do."
I shot him a playful glare as I sat. "Don’t encourage him."
Grandpa smirked. "Too late."
The maid entered quietly, placing pitchers of orange juice and platters of scrambled eggs, fruit, and pancakes on the table. The spread looked mouth-watering. As we began to serve ourselves, the mood settled into an easy rhythm. Soft laughter filled the room.
Hardin leaned over to whisper, "You want strawberries or just syrup?"
I turned to him, heart fluttering at the way he looked at me. "Strawberries. And syrup. Thank you."
He kissed my temple. "Okay,"
Grandpa cleared his throat dramatically. "I was young once too, you know. Keep your hormones on the plate."
I burst into laughter, nearly spilling my juice.
Halfway through breakfast, between bites of toast and light banter about Grandpa's younger days—which involved a suspiciously high number of bar fights and flirty nurses—I noticed someone was missing.
"Has Mom come down yet?" I asked, glancing at the empty chair beside Grandpa's.
The maid, Liana, paused with the syrup jug in hand. "No, ma’am. I haven’t seen her this morning."
A small knot formed in my stomach. "That’s unusual. She’s always up by now. Can you check on her, please?"
Liana nodded, setting the jug down carefully before exiting the room.
Hardin, ever observant, leaned closer. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I said slowly, but the tightness in my chest told a different story. "She was fine last night. Maybe she just overslept."
Grandpa stirred his coffee silently, his expression growing thoughtful.
We continued picking at our plates, but the lighthearted mood had dulled at the edges. I kept glancing toward the hallway, waiting to hear Liana’s voice returning with a sheepish explanation.
But instead, she came back with panic etched across her face.
Her hands were wringing her apron, and her breath was shallow. "She’s not there."
The entire room stilled.
I slowly set my fork down. "What do you mean, she’s not there?"
Liana looked between us, eyes wide. "Her bed hasn’t been slept in. The covers are still neat. Her closet looks... like some things are missing."
My breath caught.
"Wait, gone? As in she left?"
"There’s no note. No messages. Nothing."
Grandpa stood up so fast his chair scraped the floor with a screech. "Call the driver. See if he took her anywhere."
Liana nodded and rushed out of the room.
Hardin was already on his phone, calling the security team.
I sat there, frozen, my fingers curling around the edge of the table. My mom never left without saying anything. Never.
The sound of my heart was a roaring thunder in my ears.
Hardin ended the call, voice clipped. "No one saw her leave. Cameras haven’t recorded any activity at the front or back exits. Her phone’s off."
I stood, blood draining from my face. "She wouldn’t just vanish. She wouldn’t."
Grandpa placed a hand on my shoulder, his voice calm but tight. "We don’t know anything yet. Don’t panic."
But my chest was already tightening. Fear crept in like a shadow, dark and relentless.
"Hardin," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Something’s wrong. I can feel it."
His eyes met mine—serious, stormy, full of the same dread I was feeling.
"I know," he said. "And we’re going to find her. I promise."
But even as he spoke, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible had already begun.
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