Chapter Nineteen

Darien

Darien’s frustration mounted as he scanned the crowded room for Baran. The gala was in full swing, people milling about, lost in conversation or admiring the art, but Baran was nowhere to be found. He’d promised they’d stay together, but now, standing there amid all the noise, Darien couldn’t help but feel something was amiss. Where was he? Why wasn’t he answering his phone?

As he moved through the throng of people, Darien caught sight of Baran’s father, lingering in front of a painting. The older man’s gaze was focused on it intently, his posture stiff, as if the art held some answer he was trying to puzzle out. Darien didn’t hesitate. He approached quickly, feeling an edge of desperation.

“Mr. Aslan,” Darien said, his voice clipped, a sharpness creeping into his tone that he couldn’t quite mask.

The older man turned slowly; his expression was unreadable. Darien barely recognized the flicker of emotion passing through his eyes—something distant. “Darien,” Mr. Aslan greeted him, almost too casually. “Looking for Baran?”

Darien’s heart skipped, and his voice came out harder than he intended. “Where is he?”

Mr. Aslan’s lips curled into a faint, almost pitiful smile. “He doesn’t need you anymore,” he said flatly, his eyes narrowing as he spoke. “I told him everything you wanted me to say. Gave him back access to his accounts, and then he left.”

A cold knot of panic formed in Darien’s stomach, but he tried to mask it. “What else? Why is he upset? What happened?”

Mr. Aslan’s gaze flickered away for a moment before returning to Darien with that same inscrutable expression. “He’ll be fine. Just stay away from him, Darien.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Darien’s pulse quickened as anger boiled up inside him, hot and sudden. Stay away from him? It made little sense. He had every right to know what was going on.

“He’s not fine,” Darien said through gritted teeth, stepping forward. “What did you do to him? What did you tell him?”

Mr. Aslan didn’t flinch, but his eyes narrowed. “Enough, Darien. I’ve already done what I was supposed to do. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Darien’s fists clenched. His entire body was taut with fury, but he forced himself to take a step back. He needed answers, and if Mr. Aslan would not give them, then he’d have to find them another way.

“He won’t be living with you anymore. He’ll be staying with me.”

Without another word, Darien turned on his heel and stalked off, his thoughts racing. He pulled out his phone, hands shaking slightly as he tried to call Baran again. No answer. He fired off a text, and then another. His fingers hovered over the screen as he waited for a response, but nothing came.

Each minute that passed without hearing from Baran felt like a weight settling heavily on his chest. Darien’s frustration turned to something darker, more consuming. He sent another message. Where are you?

Nothing.

Darien felt the sting of panic, but he didn’t allow it to take control. Instead, he turned to the next thing he could do. He opened his contacts and punched Miss Charlotte’s number.

“Charlotte, I need you to keep an eye out for Baran,” he said when she picked up. “If he comes home, call me. Immediately.”

She sounded confused but agreed without hesitation. “Of course, Darien. I’ll let you know. Did he run off again?”

“He saw his father, then disappeared.”

Darien ended the call, his mind already on the next step. He couldn’t stay here. Not while Baran was out there, somewhere, upset, alone. He stormed out of the gala, his mind focused on finding him. He told Mateo he had to leave. Luckily, the event was almost over, so he made sure he thanked everyone before he left. There were only a few art items remaining, so the shelter had taken in tons of money, confirming a successful evening.

It didn’t take long for him to connect the dots. He knew where Baran would go. Where he always did. The nearest subway station was only a few blocks away, and Baran used it when he needed to clear his head. Darien was already in motion, heading straight there. His heart pounded harder with each step, the tightness in his chest growing as the possibility of Baran being lost somewhere in the city gnawed at him.

At the subway, Darien barely stopped to buy a ticket. He needed to find Baran—now. He asked the man at the ticket center where the last train was headed.

“Brooklyn,” he said, pointing towards the empty platform, “It went to Brooklyn, but another one will come in twenty minutes. Make sure you get on the F Train.”

Darien paced until the F train arrived. He hoped his instincts were right. The ride felt endless, and the closer he got to Brooklyn, the more he feared he would be too late. Hopefully, he had gotten off at the first stop.

When he finally stepped off the train, the station was eerily quiet. Darien scanned the area, the realization setting in that he had no idea where Baran might be. He took a breath, forcing himself to remain calm. He couldn’t afford to panic—not yet. He checked his phone again, hoping for some sign of life from Baran, but the screen was empty.

His mind raced as he exited the station, his eyes darting to every sign, every building around him. He couldn’t waste time. Baran could be anywhere. Darien’s fingers flew across the screen again, searching for the nearest hotels. One popped up—a small, nondescript place just a few blocks away. Darien didn’t hesitate. He made his way there, hoping against hope that Baran was there. He had to be.

He entered the hotel with urgency, his heart hammering in his chest.

“I’m looking for a young man who may have checked in here tonight. His name is Baran Aslan.”

“We don’t give out personal information on our patrons.”

Darien pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. “Is he staying here?”

The clerk opened a book. “There is no Baran Aslan staying here.”

“Is there another hotel close to the subway?”

“There is one across the street. They still have a vacancy there.”

“Thanks.” Darien handed the clerk the hundred-dollar bill and left.

He reached the corner, paused, and waited for the arrow to turn green before stepping onto the crosswalk. The streets were eerily quiet, with only a few cars gliding by. The faint sound of footsteps echoed along the sidewalk as a couple of people leisurely strolled past. The air was crisp and carried a faint scent of exhaust from the passing vehicles. The scene felt strangely empty, as if the city held its breath in anticipation. The hotel across the street didn’t have a registration for Baran. Exhausted and disappointed, he continued his search. He should have driven here instead of taking the subway. He hadn’t been in his right mind.

Darien had been walking the streets of Brooklyn for hours or so it seemed, the soles of his shoes grinding against the cracked pavement, and the city’s hum a constant presence in his ears. He could feel the weight of the search pulling at him—Baran Aslan. Something inside him drove him forward, a gnawing feeling that Baran was close, just out of reach.

He had already checked into another two hotels, with no luck. Both clerks had given him the same blank look when he’d asked about Baran, but Darien was relentless. He knew Baran was here somewhere. He could feel it.

At yet another hotel, a dilapidated building with a neon sign flickering above the entrance, Darien pushed through the glass doors, the stale air inside greeting him with a musty chill. He approached the front desk where a tired-eyed woman sat behind a small cluttered counter, her face half-hidden by the glow of a computer screen. She didn’t look up at first.

“Excuse me,” Darien said, his voice quiet but firm.

The woman blinked, startled out of her daze. She glanced up, her gaze skimming over him, taking in his tuxedo, the shadows under his eyes. She didn’t ask him to wait or give him just a cursory glance. Instead, she sighed. “You need a room?”

“No,” Darien answered, sliding a few bills across the counter. “I’m looking for someone. Baran Aslan. Is he staying here?”

She didn’t touch the money at first, just stared at the cash for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Darien watched her carefully, willing her to give him something—anything.

“Name doesn’t ring a bell,” she muttered, her tone flat. “I’d have to check the register.”

Darien’s pulse quickened, but he kept his expression neutral. He leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice. “Look,” he said, his fingers tapping the edge of the counter. “I know he’s here. Just…think hard. Please.”

For a long second, it seemed like she might refuse, but then she sighed and pushed herself to her feet. She shuffled toward a back office without a word. Darien remained by the counter, his eyes darting around the lobby. The place looked abandoned, like no one had bothered to care for it in years. The floors were stained, and the walls bore peeling paint.

She came back moments later, holding a crumpled piece of paper. She looked down at it, squinted, then gave him a long, weary look. “Room 204. But you didn’t hear it from me.”

Darien gave her a sharp nod, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of his lips. He slid the money closer to her. “Thanks.”

She said nothing as she grabbed the bills, tucking them into the pocket of her faded uniform. Darien turned and headed toward the stairs, his shoes echoing against the walls as he moved up to the second floor.

Room 204 was at the end of the hall, a faded number on the door that looked like it might fall off at any minute. Darien knocked once, then again, his fist louder this time.

Nothing.

He raised his hand to pound a third time but stopped when he heard footsteps coming from the other side.