The city was sleeping, but Adrian couldn’t.

He sat alone in his study, surrounded by papers, unfinished contracts, and the faint glow of his laptop screen.

Every night since Rosemary’s disappearance, he found himself searching for traces of her — in headlines, in old photos, even in the quiet corners of his own guilt.

Tonight, his cursor hovered over a fashion article titled “The Mysterious Rise of Eleanor by R.L.”

He had ignored it before. But now… something about those initials — R.L. — stirred something deep inside him.

He clicked.

A slideshow opened. One by one, sketches appeared — elegant silhouettes, delicate embroidery, sharp lines softened by emotion. Adrian’s...