Jiang Zeyan didn't know where she had gone.
He knew her habits. Her schedule. The way she organized her notes. What kind of tea she reached for when she was stressed. But none of it told him where she would hide when she needed space.
He didn't even know who she'd call.
Because she hadn't called him.
Not once.
---
The first few days, he tried not to act on it.
He told himself she needed time. That she was healing. That his presence would only make things worse.
But then he started checking the news more often, not for market updates, but for her name.
He told his assistant to quietly monitor online searches, blog posts, fringe gossip.
He didn't say why.
He didn't have to.
The assistant just nodded, soft-eyed, and said, "We'll let you know the moment she resurfaces."
Zeyan hadn't realized how angry that made him.
That they already assumed she was gone for good.
He hadn't given up.
Not yet.
---
It started with Su Cheng.
Zeyan found his number through internal records, a shared registration for a marketing event from years ago. He called.
No introduction. No delay.
"Where is she?"
The voice on the other end paused. "Hello to you too."
"I'm serious."
"I know. That's what makes it worse."
Zeyan's jaw clenched. "Is she safe?"
"She's breathing. Sleeping. Reading. Trying to put herself back together."
"Tell me where she is."
"No."
Zeyan's silence darkened. "You're protecting her from me?"
"I'm protecting her from everything she walked away from. You included."
"She didn't walk away from me."
"Didn't she?"
That one hit harder than expected.
Su Cheng sighed. "She doesn't need a press conference. Or more headlines. She doesn't even need you to say you're sorry. She just needs space. And if you care about her, you'll give it to her."
Zeyan ended the call.
Then immediately regretted it.
---
That night, he sat in his study with his phone in hand.
He typed her name into the contact field.
Stared at it.
Did nothing.
He couldn't call.
Not yet.
Because he didn't know what he would say.
Or what she'd want to hear.
Or if she'd answer at all.
---
The next morning, he did what Jiang Zeyan never did:
He skipped a meeting.
He told Thalia, "Reschedule everything."
She raised an eyebrow. "You're going somewhere?"
"Yes."
She looked at him for a beat, then simply said, "About time."
---
He started with the places she mentioned in passing.
Small towns. Her old university. A coffee shop in a district he hadn't been to in years.
It was inefficient.
Unreasonable.
But for the first time, he didn't care.
Because she had left without saying goodbye.
And the world hadn't felt right since.
---
He stood outside an old bookstore by the sea.
It looked like the kind of place she would escape to. Quiet. Shelves stacked too high. Handwritten signs on the glass.
He hesitated.
Then stepped inside.
The bell above the door chimed softly.
The woman behind the counter looked up from her magazine. "Help you?"
Zeyan glanced around, saw the back corner, the staircase leading to a second floor.
And for just a second, his heart kicked against his ribs like it wanted to break something.
"I'm looking for someone," he said.
The woman blinked. "A girl?"
He nodded.
"Sharp. Talks back. Always reading."
His throat tightened. "Yes."
She smiled faintly. "She left this morning. But she'll be back."
"When?"
"Soon."
Zeyan turned, hands in his pockets.
He walked outside and sat on the stone ledge across the street, where the ocean wind hit him square in the face.
And for the first time in weeks, he breathed.
---
He didn't know what he'd say when he saw her.
Only that when she came back,
he wouldn't let her walk away again.