ZYRAN’S POV

Five years.

One thousand, eight hundred and twenty-five days of waking up in a cold, empty bed. Five years of staring at the ceiling, haunted by her tears and the guilt that consumed me.

I hired the best private investigators. I spent millions tracking dead ends. She vanished like a ghost, leaving behind only a signed divorce paper and my ring.

But I never stopped looking. I couldn’t. Without her, I wasn’t a man. I was just dead without her.

Then, three days ago, a random European architectural magazine landed on my desk. On the third page, there was a picture of the new Lead Designer for Vance...