58. Unsettled Focus

CHAPTER 58

Unsettled Focus

WREN

The house feels wrong without her in it.

I move through the entrance hall, my hand trailing along the handrail, fingertips brushing the wood. Her scent clings to my clothes. Fear, surrender, and need all mixed together. Proof of how completely she gave herself to me last night, how thoroughly she accepted who she is, who she belongs to.

But the silence grates against my nerves. Usually, coming home to an empty house gives me peace. It’s my sanctuary, the place where I strategize, manipulate, and plan my next move. But this morning, after dropping her off to face her father, the emptiness feels like an accusation.

The way she looked at me last night, how her eyes darkened as I bled the truth into her, layer by layer, tearing down every lie her father built around her. That moment of realization as she learned who she really is, followed by her complete surrender to me. The memory is burned into me, woven into every thought. My ballerina has embedded herself deeper than I intended.

She's become more than just an obsession, something I'm not sure I can, or want to, control. I wonder if she feels it too—this connection that's grown beyond mere possession.

When I reach my bedroom, the sheets still carry her scent. My pillows still hold the imprint of her head. If I close my eyes, I can hear her cries and moans. I can see the way her body arched as I made her come.

Spinning, I stalk out of the room. I'm too wired to try sleeping again. Instead, I pace through the galleries. Where I took her firsts, where I gave her the truth, every wall lined with photographs of her. Dancing, running, hiding, transforming beneath my touch. Each one capturing her evolution from a ghost into mine .

But it's not enough anymore. Not after having her in my arms, in my bed. Not after feeling her surrender so completely.

By six, I'm too restless to stay at home. I drive to school, the engine's growl doing little to calm my thoughts. The familiar routine of school should be enough to settle my mind, at least until she arrives.

Students move through the halls, an endless tide I barely notice, their chatter a dull hum in the background. My gaze is drawn to where she should be. The corners she slips through, the shadows she usually claims. I turn at each hallway intersection, scanning for her, my fingers clenching and unclenching at my sides.

She's not here.

My first instinct is to drive to her apartment, but showing up there would be a mistake. Me appearing at their door would only make things worse for her right now. The last thing she needs is her father having more reasons to try to control her.

No. Better to wait, to let things play out. She's strong enough to handle this—she proved that last night. I’m just being impatient.

"Something wrong?" Monty drops into the seat beside me, his elbow nudging mine, his gaze catching the tension I'm struggling to mask. "You look ready to kill. Where've you been? Thought you'd be in the cafeteria."

I lean back in my chair. "I needed to do a few things." I check the time on my phone, tracking the minutes until I can move again.

He studies me for a second or two, then shakes his head. "You know, for someone who usually has everything figured out, you seem pretty rattled."

I don't respond. How can I explain that it's her absence, the empty spaces where she should be, that has me like this?

Monty raises an eyebrow, clearly sensing my distraction. "Did you ever figure out what was up with that car crash last week? Or is there something else on your mind?"

I give him a sidelong look, but don't answer the second part of his question.

But his words serve their purpose, pulling me away from thoughts of her, and jarring loose a memory I'd let slip. The crash. The car embedded in the wall at the bottom of the school steps, plates missing, no driver. The setup was too neat to be an accident, too precise to be random.

The car was abandoned, staged in a way that ensured it would draw everyone outside. I can hear the screech of tires, the slam of metal against concrete, in my head but it recedes into the background behind my need to find her. I give a mental shake of my mind, and force myself to focus on the car.

"No, not really." I let the pieces click into place again. "It didn't look right, though."

Nico flops down on my other side, eyebrow raised. "What made it interesting?"

"No plates, no driver, no key in the ignition." I glance at him, my voice lowering. "Like someone wanted it noticed, but also didn’t want to be caught."

Monty leans forward, intrigued. "Someone was seen running, right?"

A shadow in my memory takes shape. A figure running away, just far enough to avoid detection but close enough to ensure they'd been seen. They wanted attention to be on them, but didn’t want to be recognized.

"Whoever set it up wanted to be noticed, but not questioned. They were a distraction."

"A distraction for what?" Nico frowns.

"I don’t know yet, but it's what I'd do. The kind of setup you'd use to draw eyes to one place, just long enough to sneak past unnoticed. If they needed a few minutes to be somewhere they shouldn't be."

Monty's gaze narrows, considering. "Think it's worth looking into? "

The question hangs in the air, a challenge, and the familiar lure of a puzzle begs to be unraveled.

"People don't stage scenes like that without a reason. The real question is whose attention did they want to divert?"

The bell cuts through our conversation, forcing us apart, but my mind doesn't leave it alone. Each moment of that day replays in vivid fragments. The car, the figure, the empty ignition. Whoever left that scene wanted just enough attention to serve their purpose, without questions sticking.

But even with that puzzle in my head, and the teacher droning on in the next class, my thoughts keep going back to Ileana.

I tap my pen against my notebook, my eyes regularly going to the door, waiting for her to walk through. Every classroom feels wrong without her. Every hallway is empty, her absence turning every corner into another dead end.

As each hour ticks by, her absence bothers me more, tension pulling my muscles tight. If she was anyone else, I could call or text. But she’s not . I should have picked up a cell phone for her, should have ensured there was a way for me to contact her.

I replay every detail of last night, every revelation pressed between kisses, every shiver of hers beneath my fingers. The way she arched into me when I stripped away the lies, every inch of her trembling as she learned the truth.

And the way she looked at me afterward. The connection between us isn't just about control anymore. It's something deeper, more visceral. Something I didn't plan for but now can't imagine living without.

By the final bell, I'm wound tight. Pushing my way through the crowded halls, ignoring the stares, my eyes scan each face. Every step is a reminder she's not where she should be.

I head to the places she might go to hide. Logically, I know she's not hiding from me anymore. Not after last night. But I still need to check, need to ensure I’m not reading the situation wrong.

The dance studio is empty, except for the scent of rosin. My footsteps echo as I pace, scanning the corners, checking every inch of the room.

The library. Every aisle I search is another reminder that she's not here. I scan each row, my fingers trailing across book spines, and my frustration grows.

The auditorium is dark and empty. It's like she's vanished, and the need to find her claws at me, growing stronger with every second.

The crash comes into focus again, pieces tugging at me, but it's her absence that pulls harder. Whoever set it up was careful, precise, expecting no one to look twice. But they can wait.

Right now, I need to know what happened when she confronted her father. What he might have done when his lies started crumbling around him. I can’t do that until later. I don’t want to walk into something I can’t predict. So I need to wait until she either comes to me, or night falls and I can go to her.

One thing's certain, though. If he's done anything to keep her from me, he'll learn exactly what happens when someone tries to take what's mine.