MARK

Whole, agonizing months slipped through my fingers like sand, and I had absolutely nothing to show for it.

I couldn't find any evidence, not even a single clue.

I monitored Zane's bank accounts, her emails, and her social media. I hired a guy to watch her when she went shopping. Nothing. She spent her days buying cashmere baby blankets, complaining about swollen ankles, and having lunch at expensive restaurants by herself.

She seems to be a ghost because every move is flawless.

I found it incredibly hard to believe that Zane—the quiet, needy woman who used to fetch my dry cleaning—was this smart. It defied logic. But there is...