Chapter 239 She's missing

Chapter 239 She's missing
♡ Leila ♡

I twisted my head toward the front door the second it burst open, my heart slamming into my ribs so hard I thought it might crack them. For one frozen second, I was sure it was them—the same faceless men who’d dragged me out of New York in the dead of night, and dumped me back in Vegas without a single explanation.

My mind raced ahead of reality: What if they’d come back? What if they’d changed their minds and decided I knew too much? What if they saw Kayla standing there, wide-eyed and innocent, and decided she was collateral?

Oh God. Not her. Please, not her.

“Leila! My God, where have you been?”
June’s voice—sharp, familiar, laced with worry—cut through the panic like a knife. Relief hit me so fast it almost hurt. I wasn’t supposed to feel relieved to see her. June was the absolute last person I wanted in this house right now, the last person I wanted to face with the truth still rotting inside me. But compared to the alternative… I’d take June any day.

I let out a shaky breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“Come here,” she said, already crossing the room in three quick strides. Her arms wrapped around me before I could dodge, pulling me into a hug that smelled like expensive perfume and the faint sweetness of pregnancy hormones. “We’ve been so worried about you. How was Bali?”

I forced a smile—thin, brittle, the kind that felt like it might crack my face in half. Bali. The lie tasted worse every time I repeated it

Now it was going to haunt me forever, a ghost I couldn’t bury until I was ready to tell the real story. Which I wasn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“It was fine,” I said, easing out of her embrace before she could feel how badly I was shaking. My eyes flicked over her—really looked—and the contrast hit like a slap. June was glowing. Head to toe. Her skin radiant, her hair glossy, that defined baby bump proudly on display under her fitted white dress. Alive. Thriving. Everything my own body had failed to be. I had to look away before the jealousy burned holes through me.

“Good day, Miss Leila.”
Hermes’s voice pulled me back. He stood just behind June—tall, polished, effortlessly handsome as always—but there was something softer about him now. A quiet domesticity that hadn’t been there before. He looked… settled. Happy. Like fatherhood was already agreeing with him.

“So?” June prompted, eyes bright and expectant.

"So?" I ask, unsure what she was asking me.

"What’s the big news? Kayla called to say you were back and you had something to tell me. I dropped everything and rushed over here. You weren’t listening?”

My stomach dropped. That nosy little—
I opened my mouth—some half-formed excuse already forming on my tongue—but Kayla beat me to it.
“She lost the baby.”

The words landed like a grenade in the middle of the living room.

Everything stopped.
I froze, breath trapped in my throat. The room suddenly felt too small, the air too thick. Mrs. Miller—Mrs. Miller senior, Tobias’s mother—stood just inside the doorway, hand pressed to her chest like she’d been struck. Mr. Miller was right behind her, face pale. Lia hovered between them, arms crossed tight, jaw set, eyes already glistening with something that looked dangerously close to anger.

“Mrs. Miller… Mr. Miller…” My voice came out small, barely above a whisper. I dropped my gaze to the floor because I couldn’t bear to see their faces crumple. “Lia.”

The silence stretched—painful, suffocating—until June’s sharp inhale broke it.

“What?” she whispered. “Leila… no.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My throat had closed up, tears burning hot behind my eyes. I just stood there, arms wrapped around my middle like I could hold the emptiness inside me together a little longer.

Kayla stepped fully into the room, chin high, like she’d just done me a favor. Lia shot her a look that could’ve cut glass, but no one spoke. Not yet.

I felt June’s hand find mine—warm, steady—but I couldn’t squeeze back. All I could do was stand there while the truth I’d been hiding finally spilled out into the open, raw and ugly and irreversible.

And all I could think was: Now they know. Atleast they know something.

I sank onto the couch like my bones had turned to lead, the cushions swallowing me as the room filled with eyes—sympathetic, pitying, emphatic—all of them pressing in until I could barely breathe. Their words washed over me in soft waves: “It happens, sweetheart,” “You’re strong, you’ll get through this,” “God has a plan.”

Gestures followed—Mrs. Miller reaching out to squeeze my hand, Lia rubbing slow circles on my back, June hovering like she wanted to hug me again but didn’t know if I’d break.

“Oh, things like that happen, love. Don’t take it to heart,” Mrs. Miller said, her voice cracking on the last word despite how hard she tried to sound gentle.

But she was taking it to heart. I could hear it. Everyone could.

This wasn’t just some abstract loss to her—it was her grandchild.

The last piece of Tobias she might ever have held. The reminder of her dead son, gone before it even had a chance to breathe.

I bit the inside of my lip until I tasted copper, forcing my eyes down to my lap so no one would see the tears threatening to spill. How could I tell her the truth? How could I tell any of them?

I’d fed them the clean version: I fell down the stairs. Hit my head. Lost the baby.

The bruise on my temple backed it up. It wasn’t a complete lie—the fall had happened—but I’d left out the hands that shoved me, the cold concrete rushing up to meet me, the terror that came before the pain.

That part wasn’t mine to share.

I forced myself to look up, to scan the faces around me.

Lia was still rubbing my back, her touch steady but her eyes red-rimmed.

June sat across from me, silent now, watching with those cloudy gray eyes that saw too much. She didn’t say anything—thank God—because she knew I’d read pity in it, and we both hated pity like it was poison.

Hermes was next to her, one arm around her shoulders, the other hand resting protectively over her bump.

Mr. Miller stood near the doorway, arms folded tight across his chest, mouth working like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

Kayla had disappeared into the kitchen—I could hear the rustle of takeout bags, the clink of plates. Food.

That was the only thing grounding me right now. The promise of something warm and normal in the middle of this nightmare.

“It’s all Tobit’s fault,” Lia said suddenly, voice sharp enough to cut glass.

My head snapped toward her. Tobit. Not Cain. The name landed soft—almost funny in its distance. If she’d said Cain, I might have shattered right there on the spot.

“What do you mean?” June asked, finally breaking her silence.

“If he hadn’t shown up and messed with Leila’s head—playing that stupid prank, acting like the baby was his—she wouldn’t have felt so overwhelmed. She wouldn’t have run off to Bali, and this wouldn’t have happened.”

The room went still again.

Mrs. Miller sniffed, pressing a tissue to her nose. “That boy… he caused this—”

The dam broke. Words tumbled out—blame, questions, opinions crashing over each other like waves. “He always was trouble.” “Should’ve stayed away.” “If he hadn’t stirred things up…”

Cain might be dead. Cain is dead. Don’t blame him.
The thoughts spun in my head, louder than their voices, drowning everything else. My chest tightened.

“STOP!” I shot to my feet, the yell ripping out of me before I could stop it.

Silence crashed down like a curtain.
Everyone stared—wide-eyed, startled.
“Please just stop,” I said, quieter now, voice shaking. “I can’t—I can’t do this right now.”

June opened her mouth. “I’m sorry, Leila. We didn’t mean to—”

“Give me some cash,” I cut her off, holding out my hand. It trembled. I hated that they could see it.

June blinked once—then reached into her purse without hesitation. She pressed a small stack of bills into my palm—more than I needed, probably. I didn’t count.

“I need a break,” I said.

Then I turned and walked out.

The taxi pulled up to the curb with a soft hiss of brakes, right at the edge of a deserted park on the outskirts of Vegas.

I took one step toward the shade of a lone mesquite tree, then my phone buzzed in my pocket—sharp, insistent.
I fished it out, screen lighting up with an unknown number. My pulse kicked up hard. It had to be Mia. I swiped to answer before the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Miss Leila Samuels.”

The voice on the other end was calm, professional, female—and completely unfamiliar.

“Yes.” My own voice came out thinner than I wanted. I pressed the phone harder to my ears. “Who is this?”

“This is Tera Home Shelter. We’re calling about your mother.”

The world tilted.

"What… what about her?”

"She’s missing.”