On Our Anniversary, He Ended Our Empire

Nico’s POV

[Tomorrow at 10 AM, Natalie’s prenatal exam. You’ll accompany her. And get your lungs checked while you’re at it.]

No reply.

Not even a read receipt.

At the time, I didn’t think much of it.

Serena had always been like that when she was upset—quiet, distant, then she’d come back around like nothing ever happened.

But this silence… felt wrong.

Not emotional.

Final.

---

The next morning, Vescari Medical Clinic was already cleared by Syndicate order.

No civilians. No press. Just trusted doctors and armed men in plain suits posted at every corridor.

Natalie clung to my arm the moment we stepped out of the car.

“Nico… is the baby okay?”

“Stable,” I said. “No damage from the fire.”

She exhaled like she’d survived a war.

I should’ve felt the same.

Instead, my mind kept slipping.

Serena’s face.

That last moment in the smoke.

Not fear.

Not pleading.

Just… that look.

Like she had already accepted something I hadn’t.

---

After lunch, I dropped Natalie back at the estate and headed straight to the council hall.

Steel doors. Fingerprint locks. Armed guards at every checkpoint.

The kind of place where decisions got made that never made it to the news.

My phone stayed silent the whole drive.

Too silent.

My beta met me at the entrance.

“Sir. Chairman Morgan’s returned. Summit starts tonight.”

I nodded, but my focus wasn’t there.

“Serena still unaccounted for,” I said.

My beta hesitated. “No clinic record. No gate exit. No surveillance hit.”

I stopped walking.

“No trace at all?”

“None, Don.”

That shouldn’t have been possible.

In my world, people didn’t disappear.

Not unless someone made them.

I exhaled slowly. “Check every Syndicate checkpoint. Every port. Every private strip.”

“Yes, Don.”

I started walking again.

Then, without thinking, I added, “Send gifts to Norththorn Holdings.”

My assistant blinked. “For Mrs. Natalie?”

A pause.

Something about the question felt wrong.

“…Send it to the Sterling estate,” I corrected.

Because that’s where Serena always returned to when she was angry.

At least, she used to.

---

A week passed.

Business didn’t stop.

The Syndicate never did.

Border disputes. Weapons shipments. Council negotiations. Three families trying to test loyalty lines.

Normal chaos.

Except nothing felt normal.

It was just after midnight when I came back from a patrol briefing.

The estate was dark.

Except for one light in the living room.

A silhouette on the sofa.

Silk dress. Bare shoulders. Familiar posture.

For a second—

Relief.

“Serena,” I said, almost under my breath. “I told you… I always come back. You don’t need to—”

I stopped.

It wasn’t her.

Natalie.

She looked up slowly, disappointment flashing across her face before she masked it.

“Nico…”

My jaw tightened.

“She still hasn’t come back,” she said softly. “Not even once.”

I loosened my tie. “She’s being dramatic.”

But my voice didn’t land the way it used to.

Natalie’s eyes glistened. “I apologized. I even tried reaching her. Maybe she just hates me too much now.”

I sat beside her out of habit more than thought.

“Don’t stress,” I said, brushing her hair back. “It’s not good for the baby.”

She leaned into me like it was natural.

“Then… what if she never comes back?” she asked.

A pause.

I didn’t answer right away.

Instead, I said, “This is your home now.”

A beat.

“…Whether she accepts it or not.”

The words should’ve felt like closure.

They didn’t.

---

Later that night, I stood on the terrace.

The city below was lit like a map of everything I controlled.

Everything except one missing point.

I lit a cigarette.

First one in years.

Didn’t help.

Didn’t even take the edge off.

My phone was already in my hand before I realized it.

Serena.

Still saved.

Still there.

Still not erased.

My thumb hovered over the call button.

Didn’t press it.

Instead, I typed:

Tomorrow is Chairman Morgan’s birthday. Stay quiet. Don’t provoke Natalie.

I stared at it.

For too long.

Then sent it.

The wind cut harder across the terrace.

And for the first time in years…

Nico Vescari felt something he couldn’t order, negotiate, or eliminate.

Uncertainty.