Damien’s POV
Caleb Morrison stood in the doorway, his expression nothing but genuine confusion. But I could see through it. I had to see through it.
"Damien?" He tilted his head, brows furrowed like he was trying to solve a puzzle. "What are you doing here? Why would you think I know where Sera is?"
"Don’t." The word ca out like gravel. "Don’t fucking lie to , Caleb. I heard her. I heard a woman’s voice."
My whole body was shaking—every muscle wound tight, ready to explode. Three weeks. Three goddamn weeks of searching of lying to everyone about where my mate had gone.
"A woman’s voice?" Caleb’s confusion looked so real it made want to scream. "Damien, that was probably just the TV. We were watching—"
"BULLSHIT!" I slamd my fist against the doorfra. The wood splintered under my knuckles. "You think I don’t know what I heard? You think I wouldn’t recognize—"
"Recognize what?" He spread his hands, the picture of innocence. "Man, I don’t know what you think you heard, but there’s no one here except my parents and ."
"Then let in." I moved forward, but he held his ground. "Let in and prove it."
"Damien, you can’t just—"
"Watch ." My alpha power exploded outward like a shockwave. The air itself seed to vibrate with the force of it. "Let in, Caleb. Let search your house. Or are you going to stand there and tell you have sothing to hide?"
I watched his body respond to the command—shoulders tensing, breathing shallow, his wolf recognizing the authority of a superior alpha. But his face... his face showed nothing but concern.
"Of course you can co in," he said, stepping aside. "But I’m telling you, there’s no one here."
I pushed past him, my senses on high alert, searching for any trace of her. That scent—jasmine and rain—I knew it was here. I could feel it in my bones.
"SERA!" My voice bood through the house, desperate and raw. "SERA, I KNOW YOU’RE HERE!"
An older woman erged from the kitchen, wiping flour-dusted hands on her apron. Behind her was a silver-haired man.
"What on earth?" her eyes went wide. "Caleb, who is this man? Why is he shouting?"
"I’m looking for my wife!" I was already moving past her, throwing open doors, checking corners. "I know she’s here!"
"Your wife?" her voice rose with genuine alarm. "Young man, there’s no one here but family."
The couch was still warm—two indentations in the cushions like people had been sitting there monts ago. But where was she? Where the fuck was she hiding?
Was I going crazy? Had I imagined her voice?
No. No, I couldn’t have. I knew what I heard.
I took the stairs three at a ti, my heart hamring so hard it hurt. Bedrooms. She had to be in one of the bedrooms.
"Sir, please!" the woman’s voice followed up. "You can’t just—"
But I was already throwing open doors. Master bedroom—too pristine, too settled. Caleb’s room—sparse, masculine, wrong.
Guest room.
I stopped in the doorway, my breath catching.
The bed was made with obsessive precision. A woman’s cardigan draped over the chair—simple, practical, but the size looked right. On the dresser, a hairbrush with strands of dark hair caught in the bristles.
"Who’s staying here?" I demanded, whirling to face Caleb, who’d followed up.
"No one right now," he said. "That’s just... we keep it ready for guests."
"Guests." I moved to the closet, threw it open. A few items of clothing—won’s clothing—hung neatly. "What kind of guests leave their clothes behind?"
"Those are old things my mom keeps around." Caleb’s mother appeared behind Caleb, breathless from the stairs. "For when my nieces visit. They’re about that size, and they don’t like packing—"
I grabbed one of the shirts, brought it to my face, inhaled deeply. Nothing. Just laundry detergent and cedar.
I checked under the bed. Behind the door. Opened every drawer, every cabinet, searching for sothing—anything—that proved she’d been here.
Nothing.
"Damien," Caleb’s voice was gentle, pitying. "Man, she’s not here."
I slumped against the dresser, my hands shaking. Had I been wrong? Was my desperate mind playing tricks on ?
"I heard her," I whispered. "I heard a woman laughing. It sounded just like her."
"The TV," Caleb said again, softer now. "We were watching so cody show. Maybe the actress sounded similar?"
"I can’t sleep." My voice cracked. "Not until I find her. Not until I know she’s okay."
The woman’s expression softened with sympathy. "I’m sorry you’re going through this. I truly am. But we can’t help you with sothing we know nothing about."
"Please." I didn’t care anymore that I was begging. "Please, if you know anything—if she’s contacted you, if you’ve seen her—just tell . I just need to know she’s safe."
"I’m sorry," Caleb said, and he almost sounded like he ant it. "I wish I could help you. But I haven’t seen Sera since last ti I left."
"Fine." I straightened up, wiping my face with the back of my hand. "Fine. Sorry about all of these."
I moved past them, back down the stairs, each step feeling like I was walking away from my own heart. At the front door, I paused, turned back.
"If she contacts you," I said, my voice steady despite the storm inside . "Please tell her sothing for ."
Caleb nodded. "What’s that?"
"Tell her I’m not giving up. Tell her I’ll search for her every day for the rest of my life if that’s what it takes. And tell her..." My voice broke. "Tell her Adrian and her baby girl needs her mother."
"I’ll tell her," he said quietly. "If I see her."
I stepped out into the night, the cold air hitting my face like a slap. Behind , I heard the door close—soft, final.
Ophelia was waiting by the car, her face tight with concern. "Well?"
"Nothing." I leaned against the car, my legs suddenly too weak to hold .
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