Chapter 96 The Vanishing Point
Nate’s POV
The Salvatore estate had always felt like a fortress designed to keep reality out and tradition in. Tonight, the air was thick with the scent of roasted duck and the suffocating weight of my mother’s expectations. Around the long, candlelit table, the directors of Salvatore Enterprises were discussing the acquisition of a European logistics firm, their voices a low, monotonous drone that made the room feel smaller with every passing minute.
I sat at the foot of the table, my hand resting near my phone. I had been checking it every ten minutes. It wasn't just restlessness; it was a deep-seated instinct. After everything that had happened with Mila’s parents and the shadow of "Vane" looming over Brooklyn, I had taken liberties with her phone. I’d installed a custom tracking alert—a silent, digital tether that pinged my device every time her location shifted.
My mother was in the middle of a sharp-tongued critique of the third-quarter projections, her eyes scanning the board members for any sign of weakness. "The volatility of the current market requires a surgical approach," she said, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Nathaniel, I trust you’ve reviewed the—"
A sharp, staccato vibration against my thigh cut her off. Not a text. Not a call.
I pulled the phone from my pocket, shielding the screen from my mother’s icy gaze. The alert was red. Signal Lost: Device Offline.
My heart didn't just skip; it plummeted. The tracker didn't just lose GPS signal; the entire hardware had gone dark. At Alverstone, the signal was perfect. Mila wouldn't turn her phone off, not when she knew I was checking in on her. The only way that signal died that fast was if the phone was destroyed.
My blood ran cold, a sudden, violent surge of adrenaline washing away the boredom of the dinner.
"Nathaniel?" my mother prompted, her eyebrows arched in warning. "We are waiting for your input."
I stood up, the legs of my heavy oak chair screeching against the marble floor—a sound of pure sacrilege in this room. The board members stared. My mother’s expression shifted from annoyance to a terrifying, quiet fury.
"I have to go," I said, my voice sounding like gravel.
"You will sit down," she commanded, her voice low and dangerous. "This meeting is not adjourned."
"I don't give a damn about the meeting," I snapped, already turning toward the door. I didn't look back to see the shock on the directors' faces or the way my mother’s hands clenched into fists atop the white linen.
I was out of the dining hall and sprinting through the foyer before the heavy doors had even finished swinging shut. I threw myself into my car, the engine roaring to life as I tore down the long, winding driveway. The gravel kicked up behind me like a storm as I pushed the car to its limits, the speedometer climbing before I even cleared the main gates.
I hit the Bluetooth on the dash, dialing Eliza’s number first. It rang three times before she picked up.
"Nate? Is everything okay?" she asked, sounding hushed.
"Where is she, Eliza? Her phone just went dead."
"What? She... she went to the Alpha Sigma gala, Nate. She was so torn about it, but she wanted to prove she could handle that world. I’m at the apartment with the girls."
I slammed my palm against the steering wheel. "The gala? I told her she didn't need that. Why would her phone go dark at a university event?"
"She was nervous, Nate. She thought she had to do it to be your equal. Is something wrong?"
"I don’t know yet," I growled. "Stay with the girls. Lock the doors. I’m heading to campus."
I hung up and immediately dialed Gavin. He was a legacy; he was supposed to be there. If anyone could find her in that maze of egos, it was him.
"Hollis," he answered, his voice sounding muffled by the background noise of a crowd.
"Gavin, it's Nate. Is Mila there? Have you seen her?"
There was a pause. I could hear the clink of glasses and the low hum of conversation. "Mila? Yeah, I saw her about twenty minutes ago. She was talking to Scarlett Tate. They were having some kind of 'women of Alverstone' moment. Why?"
"Where is she now?"
"I... I don't know," Gavin said, his voice sharpening as he caught the panic in my tone. "I lost track of them. I thought they went toward the back to meet some board members. Hold on, let me look around."
I heard him moving, the sound of his footsteps echoing on marble. A minute passed—the longest sixty seconds of my life.
"Nate, she’s not here. Scarlett is back in the room, talking to the Dean’s wife, but Mila isn't with her. And Scarlett is looking a little too... satisfied."
"Find her, Gavin," I roared, weaving the car through the late-night traffic of the city, the speedometer climbing into territory that would have lost me my license in any other context. "Don't let Scarlett out of your sight. If anyone touches her—"
"I’m on it," Gavin said, his voice dropping into the professional, cold tone he used in court. "Get here, Nate. Fast."
I ended the call, my knuckles white as I gripped the steering wheel. The city lights blurred into long, neon streaks outside my window. I didn't care about the board, or the estate, or the Salvatores. All I could see was the red alert on my phone.
The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow: I had spent so much time trying to prepare Mila for the wolves outside that I’d forgotten the most dangerous ones were the ones wearing silk and gold. Scarlett was a Tate; her family didn't just play the game, they wrote the rules for how to destroy someone without ever getting their hands dirty. If she had steered Mila away from the crowd, it wasn't for a polite introduction.
I pushed the accelerator to the floor, the car screaming as I bypassed the main entrance of Alverstone, opting for the service road that led directly to Founders' Hall. My mind was a chaotic blur of every worst-case scenario I had ever imagined. Mila was smart, she was strong, but she was out of her depth in a room full of people who viewed her as a threat to their carefully curated hierarchy.
The security at the gate barely had time to register my plate before I was through, the car skidding to a halt near the West Wing. I didn't bother locking the door as I leapt out, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The cold night air bit at my face, but I couldn't feel it. I could only feel the silence coming from her phone—a silence that felt more like a scream.
I was coming for her. And if they had laid a single finger on her, I wouldn't just break the glass ceiling—I would burn the entire building to the ground.