From Broken Sister To Beloved Wife

Howard POV:

The villa in Antibes was beautiful, the scent of lavender and salt air a constant companion, but it wasn't home. "I wish we could go back," Bryan grumbled one evening, swirling the ice in his whiskey glass. "I miss my lab."

I felt the same, a dull ache for the familiar chaos of my office, the quiet hum of the servers. This vacation, Francis's idea, had been a mistake. Leaving Jenna alone, consumed by her work, felt like a betrayal I couldn' t quite articulate.

"Just a few more days, Bryan," Francis chimed in, his voice light. "We've barely begun to enjoy the French Riviera!"

I cut him off, my voice firm. "We're leaving tomorrow, Francis. My business calls require my presence."

A familiar pout touched Francis' s lips. He looked like a disappointed child. "But you promised we'd stay longer, Howard," he said, his voice a soft whine. My mind flashed to a different promise, one I' d made to Jenna years ago, about protecting her, about never letting anyone hurt her. It was a promise I had broken, spectacularly.

I apologized, mumbled something about making it up to him, but the words felt hollow. My anxiety was a growing knot in my stomach, a persistent hum that had intensified with each passing day. My phone, usually a constant source of interruptions, had been eerily silent. Jenna hadn't called. Not once.

I walked out onto the balcony, the distant lights of Nice twinkling across the bay. I pulled out my phone, my fingers flying to Jenna's contact. "Just pick up, Jenna," I whispered, a desperate plea to the silent air.

It went straight to voicemail. Her professional, clipped message, devoid of any warmth. "You have reached the voicemail of Jenna Salazar. Please leave a message."

"Jenna, it's Howard," I said, my voice tight, an unfamiliar tremor in my hands. "We're cutting our trip short. We'll be back tomorrow morning. Call me back." I hung up, staring at the blank screen. Why didn't she answer? She always answered. Always. The silence was unnatural, unsettling. A cold dread began to creep in.

"Anything?" Bryan asked, stepping onto the balcony, a furrow in his brow.

"Voicemail," I muttered, trying to sound nonchalant. "Probably sleeping in her lab, as usual."

Bryan scoffed, but there was a tremor of doubt in his voice. "Sleeping? Or maybe she's just… disappeared again." His eyes met mine, mirroring the guilt I felt for leaving her there, alone, with nothing but her work for company.

He was right. The cruel truth hit me, a punch to the gut. I had convinced myself she was strong, capable, that she didn't need us. I had focused on Francis's supposed fragility, his manufactured needs, pushing Jenna further and further into the periphery. I had sacrificed my sister's happiness for a lie, for a perceived duty that was nothing but a sham. Had I underestimated her pain? Had I pushed her beyond the breaking point?

The flight back the next morning was tense. Bryan was sullen, Francis quiet and withdrawn. I reviewed documents, but my eyes kept straying to the map on the screen, tracing our flight path, counting the minutes until we landed.

The car pulled up to the estate. It was dark, silent. An unnatural stillness hung in the air. "Jenna?" I called out, my voice echoing in the empty hall. Only silence answered.

Panic clawed at my throat. I ran up the stairs, ignoring Bryan's complaints, straight to her room. Empty. Spotlessly clean. Every trace of her gone. Her lab, usually a chaotic mess of wires and monitors, was just as empty. Clean. Sterile.

She was gone. Really gone.

I searched the house, frantically tearing through drawers, looking for a note, a sign, anything. Nothing. It was as if she had simply evaporated. The anxiety from Antibes now screamed in my ears, a deafening crescendo of fear.

I stumbled into my office, my hands shaking.