Savannah

The wipers squeaked across the windshield in a steady, monotonous rhythm, but even that couldn't drown out the pounding in my head. The town of New Hope looked different at night—blurred neon signs, sleepy storefronts, and familiar streets that seemed to mock our frantic search with their silence.

"Dean," I said, for the fourth time. "We've been driving for hours. Are you sure there’s no one else she might be with?"

My voice was thick with exhaustion, my eyes scanning the dimly lit sidewalks as if we were on a scavenger hunt for a ghost. The car's heater hummed quietly, providing the only warmth in the mounting tension between us. We’d checked every local spot—diners, the bowling alley, even that old church on Grove Street. Nothing.

Dean didn't answer right away. He just gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles white.

"She's out there somewhere, Sav," he said, his jaw flexing. "She's emotional. Vulnerable. I don't want her falling into a bad situation."

I folded my arms, feeling a chill. "She seems to create her own situations, Dean."

His eyes flicked toward me—a lingering, unreadable look—before returning to the road. "She’s fragile," he insisted. "She meant no harm today. Alyssa shouldn't have humiliated her like that in front of everyone."

"She’s a grown woman who used a family crisis for social media attention," I countered. "How is that 'meaning no harm'?"

"She handles pain differently," Dean argued, shifting gears. "She was just trying to cope in her own way. Don't we all have our coping mechanisms?"

Yeah, Dean. Some of us choose integrity, others choose a ring light.

"Cope?" I was stunned. "She nearly tore the family apart, and now she’s pulled a disappearing act to make herself the victim—and you’re still defending her?"

"Look, Emily is awake and safe. That’s what matters," Dean said, his tone turning sharp. "Lizzie mentioned your fiancé handled the situation with Emily's father. So everything Chloe was accused of causing? It's settled. People should let her breathe."

The mention of Roman made me pause. "He handled it?"

"Apparently," Dean nodded. "He’s the 'mighty fiancé,' right? He fixed it. Which means Chloe was pushed to her breaking point for no reason."

I stared at him with a mix of disbelief and pity. Chloe truly had him under a spell. The silence grew thick as we drove past rows of parked cars.

"You really love her, don't you?" I asked quietly.

His silence was louder than any confession he could have made.

"You broke my heart, Dean," I whispered, the words finally coming out. "Then you got engaged to my sister. And now you’re sitting here, treating her like she’s the center of the universe while I’m right next to you. How dare you?"

He flinched. Good. Let him feel the weight of it.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he muttered. "But what we had... it was for the best that it ended."

"For you, maybe." I leaned back, a faint, bitter smile touching my lips. "But don't worry, Dean. I didn't just move on. I upgraded."

Dean didn't respond, but his grip on the wheel tightened as if he were trying to snap it.

Fifteen minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot of a high-end mall. It was a hunch—Chloe only had two modes when she was upset: seeking Dad's comfort or spending money she hadn't earned.

Inside, the mall was a cathedral of glossy marble and quiet luxury. We walked past high-end boutiques until a familiar, carefree laugh echoed through the corridor.

Chloe.

She was standing in the middle of a designer boutique, draped in a maroon silk gown, twirling in front of a mirror. Shopping bags were piled at her feet. Her hair was down in perfect waves, and she looked vibrant, not at all like a woman who had spent the last few hours "missing."

"Oh, look who finally found me," she said, spinning around with a smug smile. "Took you long enough. I was beginning to think no one cared."

Dean rushed to her side like a man who’d found water in a desert. "Are you okay? What were you thinking, running off like that?"

"I needed space," she said airily, flipping her hair. "And some retail therapy. It’s healing."

"We’ve been combing the entire city for you," I said, my arms crossed.

"And you found me," she arched a brow. "You always do."

Dean took the bags from her and kissed her cheek. "Don't ever do that again, Chloe. You had us terrified."

She melted into him, her fingers looping through his belt. "I won't... as long as you promise to make it up to me later."

I forced a neutral expression. "You seem quite... recovered."

"I'm treating myself to the peace of mind I deserve," Chloe gestured at her new purchases. "Want to join? They’re having a sale."

I tilted my head. "Did you come here alone, Chloe?"

She blinked, a second too late. "Yes."

It sounded like a practiced line. I narrowed my eyes but kept my thoughts to myself. "Let's just get you home. Dad was ready to call security."

She hesitated but eventually relented. As they walked away, leaning into each other, my phone buzzed. Roman.

"Hey," I answered, stepping away from the happy couple. "Please tell me you have news."

"I handled Emily's father," Roman's voice was composed, but there was an edge to it. "He won't be a problem for Alyssa or Emily anymore."

My breath caught. "How? Legally, or...?"

"He won't bother them again. That’s all you need to know for now," he said. "We'll talk details when you get back. It’s not a conversation for a phone line."

"Did you find anything else? Any skeletons in the closet?"

There was a long pause. A heavy one.

"Let’s just say some closets are better left closed, Savannah," Roman replied, his voice clipped. "I'll be at the house when you arrive. Lizzie is staying with Alyssa until the morning."

I nodded, feeling a strange mix of relief and dread. "I’m on my way."

The line went dead. I turned around to find the others, but I smacked straight into a solid chest.

"Sorry, I—"

I looked up, and the words died in my throat.

"What are you doing here?"