The office hummed with the usual noise — phones ringing, the low murmur of meetings, the relentless ticking of the clock. Just another day of Derek juggling stocks and media deals. He barely looked up from his desk as the hours bled together.

His phone had died an hour ago, right in the middle of a negotiation, and he hadn’t even had the chance to plug it in. Typical.

By the time he finally packed up, the sun was already sliding behind the skyline. A strange unease settled in his chest, but he brushed it off — just exhaustion, he told himself.

When he reached the mansion, he called out softly, “My love?” as he kicked off his shoes. Silence.

Something twisted in his gut. The house felt too still. Then he saw it — the dining table set with candles, their favorite meal still warm, wine glasses waiting.

Shit.

Their sixth anniversary. He had forgotten.

The realization hit like a blow. Suddenly, he saw every crack he’d ignored — every date he’d missed, every time she had smiled through disappointment, every “It’s okay” she’d whispered when it clearly wasn’t. He’d told himself it was normal, that work came first, that love could wait. He even silenced the media when they speculated about their marriage falling apart.

Six years. And he’d been blind enough to think they were fine. He hadn’t just missed a dinner. He’d missed them.

“Love?” His voice was louder now, echoing down the empty halls. Panic prickled through him as he moved from room to room. Nothing.

He fumbled for his phone — still dead. As it flickered back to life, the memory of their last conversation sliced through him:

‘You won’t miss the dinner, right?’ she’d asked softly. ‘I won’t,’ he’d muttered, eyes glued to his screen.

God. What had he done?

He tried calling her — once, twice, five times. No answer.

Every memory came rushing back, vivid and cruel. The first year — her laughter under the stars, their late-night kitchen dances, getting drenched in the rain and not caring because they had each other. She was his calm in the chaos. His home. And somewhere along the way, he’d walked out of it.

Grabbing his jacket, he stormed toward the door, dialing Liam’s number. Liam was the CEO of a tech company — if anyone could find her, it was him.

Rain hammered against the pavement as Derek stepped outside. He didn’t care. He just knew one thing.

He was going to find her. He was going to bring his wife home.