Storm paced the penthouse, his gaze fixed on his phone screen, the lit-up contacts page showing Scarlett’s name. Her number had been tried more times than he cared to count, but still, each call only met with the same result—straight to voicemail. He had no message, no explanation, not even a clue as to where she could have gone. She was simply… gone.He glanced up, his eyes darting around the penthouse, the now-emptied corners and bare surfaces a haunting reminder of her absence. He could still picture her standing here just yesterday, her hair slightly damp from the shower, her eyes holding that quiet storm that had drawn him to her from the beginning. But that storm had erupted last night, and she’d walked out without looking back.Grabbing his phone again, he tried Ana’s number. She had been Scarlett’s confidante, her constant presence in the house. If anyone knew where Scarlett had gone, it would be her.After only two rings, Ana picked up. “Mr. Scoville, good morning,” she said,
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