My Ex, My Ruin.

Elena's POV:

I had hung up from another dead-end call and stared at my phone, willing it to ring with good news. Through the study door, I could hear the muffled sounds of Adrien's party, continued laughter, clinking glasses, the kind of carefree celebration that felt like it belonged to another universe.

When the door opened, I expected to see Sophia's perfectly composed face, ready to escort me out with polite firmness. Instead, it was Adrien, carrying two cups of coffee and looking like he was steeling himself for battle.

"Black, no sugar," he said, setting one cup in front of me. "Unless you've changed."

I haven't... The fact that he remembered this small detail after three years of silence made something twist painfully in my chest. "Thank you."

He settled into the chair across from his desk not behind it, I noticed He's not putting a barrier between us. The coffee was perfect, rich and strong, exactly how I needed it right then.

"Tell me about Miguel," he said quietly.

The sound of his name made something loosen in my chest. "He got a job six months ago at an investigative news site called Truth Wire. Small operation, but they do real journalism. Miguel was so proud." I took a sip of coffee, trying to organize my thoughts. "You should have seen him, Adrien. He was finally doing something that mattered, something bigger than himself. He  called me a few days ago, talking about ethics in journalism, about how they weren't just chasing clicks but actually trying to expose corruption."

"What was he investigating?"

"That's just it, he wouldn't tell me. But two weeks ago, he started acting paranoid. Checking over his shoulder, switching phones." I pulled out my cell, showed him our last exchange. "Look at this."

I scrolled to Miguel's texts from two weeks ago. "Look: 'Holy shit, Elena. This could be huge. But if I'm right, some very dangerous people are about to lose a lot of money.'"

Adrien frowned, leaning closer to read the screen. His proximity brought back memories. I wasn't prepared for the way he always smelled like expensive cologne mixed with something uniquely him, the way he focused completely when something mattered.

 "Money laundering?"

"Maybe. The next day he texted: 'They're using kids, shit!! Fucking kids.' Then nothing specific after that, just him being jumpy and secretive." I scrolled through more messages, my heart breaking all over again at Miguel's growing anxiety. "He started asking weird questions about our childhood."

"Now you think he was trying to figure out who he could trust."

"Exactly." I pulled out the manila folder I had taken from Miguel's apartment. "I found these hidden under his mattress."

Adrien flipped through financial records, his expression darkening with each page. "These shell companies... they're all moving money to the same offshore account. Cayman Islands." He paused at one particular document, his jaw tightening. "Elena, some of these amounts... we're talking millions of dollars being moved through fake businesses."

"There's more." I showed him a photograph Miguel had printed out. "He took this outside a warehouse in Queens. See the license plates? Half are diplomatic immunity."

"Jesus!!." Adrien studied the photo, then looked up at me with an expression I remembered from our marriage, that moment when he realized something was much worse than he had  initially thought. "Elena, if Miguel stumbled onto some kind of human trafficking operation involving foreign diplomats..."

"That's what I'm afraid of." My voice broke. "The last text I got from him was Thursday night: 'Meeting my source at midnight. If something happens to me, look for the blue notebook.' But there was no blue notebook in his apartment."

"Which means someone took it."

The implication hung between us. Someone dangerous enough to make Miguel hide evidence. Someone who might have caught up with him. I watched Adrien process this, saw the moment  his businessman facade slipped and the man I had  married, the one who would burn the world down for his family, flickered to the surface.

"Have you been to the warehouse?" he asked.

"Yesterday. It's abandoned now, but there are fresh tire tracks, cigarette butts that haven't been rained on. Someone was there recently." I pulled out my phone again, showing him photos I had taken. "I also found this caught on a chain-link fence."

I held up a small piece of fabric, blue denim, torn and stained with what looked like blood.

Adrien's face went white. "Elena, you shouldn't have gone there alone."

"I had to. The police won't do anything until he's been missing for 48 hours, and even then they think he just took off." I felt tears threatening again. "I need your help, Adrien. Your private investigators, your security contacts. The police think Miguel ran off to Vegas. But I know my brother he's in serious trouble."

Adrien set down the folder and looked at me, really looked at me, the way he used to when we were trying to solve problems together. And for the first time since I had walked into his apartment that night, I saw something shift in his expression.I caught a glimpse of the man who had once promised to always protect the people he loved.

"I'll make some calls," he said quietly. "I know a few people who specialize in this kind of thing. The relief was so overwhelming I nearly started crying right there in his study. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

"But Elena," his voice was serious now, almost stern. "If this is as dangerous as it seems, you need to be prepared for the possibility that we might not like what we find."

the way he carefully said that showed how concern he is about me and my feelings.

I nodded, even though the thought terrified me. Because not knowing was worse than any truth could be. And sitting there with Adrien, watching him shift into the protective mode I remembered so well, I felt something I haven't felt in days.

Hope.

And Relief.