Page 19 of Stolen Vows

This doesn’t make sense.

“What happened?” Beau asks, tossing the apple core into the trash. I don’t even know where he got that from. I don’t leave fruit hanging out inside my office, not when I have expensive equipment in every corner.

I exhale sharply. “It didn’t find anything.”

Beau shrugs, unconcerned. “Maybe you need to tweak something in your code.”

I scrub a hand over my jaw. “Yeah, maybe.”

Beau rocks back on his heels, studying me. “Or maybe she’s the kind of person who doesn’t want to be found. Maybe she gave you a fake name.”

The words settle uneasily in my chest. I don’t like not having answers.

And I sure as hell don’t like the idea that she’s somewhere out there, but just out of reach.

I could keep digging. Run deeper searches. Expand my parameters. Start tracking things I shouldn’t.

Instead, I open a new script, fingers moving before I fully register the decision. If I can’t find her today, I’ll let the software do the work for me.

I attach a notification web to all the names I pulled, linking it to every system Oracle can scrape. And if, at any point, one of them connects to the name Francesca? I’ll know.

I lean back, exhaling slowly as I watch the script run.

Beau squints at my screen. “You done?”

I click out of the program, the notification system already working in the background. “Yeah. For now.”

I close out of the program, clearing the screen before shoving away from my desk.

“She’s out there,” I mutter under my breath.

Somewhere.

And one day, I’ll find her.

5

FRANCESCA

present day

The key feelsheavy in my palm. Not because of the metal itself, but because of what it represents.

Freedom. Independence. The chance to build something that’s mine.

Or at least, the illusion of it.

I inhale slowly, shifting my grip on the key before sliding it into the lock. The old brass resists for a second before turning, the mechanism clicking open with a satisfying finality.

Romeo vocalizes softly at my feet, his leash looped around my wrist. At nine months old, my mini Australian Labradoodle is a fluffy shadow, never more than a few steps away. I swear he can sense my emotions, sometimes even before I do.

He whines again, pressing against my calf, and I exhale.

“I know, buddy.”

The feeling isn’t unfamiliar. Hope laced with pressure. Anticipation tinged with unease. It’s not the first time I’ve stepped through these doors, but it’s the first time as its rightful owner.

As long as I prove myself.

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