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Julian pov
Julian's fists clenched around his phone, the screen dimming but his fury blazing. Missing? Rose? The words had barely sunk in before his blood began to boil.
He was still in Country M, handling business deals that now seemed like dust compared to the weight in his chest. The moment he ended the call with Flourish, he texted Alex—his right-hand man, the one person he trusted to move in silence and strike hard.
Julian: Find her. I don't care how. Just do it. Now.
No pleasantries. No delay.
Julian turned sharply on his heel, storming down the steps of the penthouse and back toward the tarmac. The sun hadn't even set properly, and already he was back inside his private jet.
"I need to leave. Now," he barked at his pilot.
The man looked hesitant, sweat already forming at his brow. "Sir… we can't just fly out again. There's an airspace protocol, we need to inform the tour house first. It's regulation—"
"I don't give a damn about regulations," Julian snapped. His eyes locked on the pilot's with a fury that could burn holes in steel. "Get. In. The. Sky."
The pilot nodded nervously. "Yes, sir."
The engines roared to life.
Even with his rage seething beneath the surface, Julian's mind wasn't quiet. He stood near the window, looking out into the clouds ahead, fists still clenched, jaw tight. Why Rose? Why now? And who had the audacity?
Seven hours.
Seven whole hours before he'd be back on home soil. Every minute felt like a dagger in his gut.
His phone buzzed. A message from Alex.
Alex: We pulled CCTV from the nearby district. She was walking alone, likely after the accident on the 15th lane. Then… a van. Black. No plates. Tinted windows. Pulled up and snatched her. Quick and clean.
Julian's eyes darkened.
Julian: Have you found the van?
Alex: We're tracking. We've narrowed down its possible location. Might be near the west docks. Still confirming. I'll update every thirty minutes.
Julian typed back quickly.
Julian: I want that location pinned before I land. And when I do, we're burning down whoever's behind this. Be quick. Be ruthless.
The jet cut through the sky, slicing through clouds like Julian's resolve—cold and sharp. He paced, restless. The leather seat didn't offer comfort. The drink didn't calm him.
He wasn't scared.
He was furious.
Because no one—no one—touched what was his.
And Rose?
She wasn't just a nanny.
She was something more.
Something his.