Chapter 88

Chapter 88
[Alexander's POV]

The afternoon dragged on with a peculiar heaviness.

"Where's your girlfriend?" Mike whispered from across the aisle, his grin wide and stupid.

I shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. "She's not my girlfriend."

"Right." Mike drew out the word, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "You just spend every waking moment together, drive her to school, eat lunch with her, and get into fights defending her honor. Totally platonic."

My jaw tightened. Before I could formulate a cutting response, Emily turned around from the row ahead, her expression painted with concern that looked almost genuine. "I heard Rose was pulled out of her history exam this morning. Mr.Davis came and got her right in the middle of the test."

"What?" The word came out sharper than I intended.

Sarah leaned over, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Someone from MIT showed up. A professor. They took her away in a black car." She paused for effect. "Very mysterious."

My stomach twisted. MIT. I pulled out my phone under the desk, thumbs moving quickly across the screen.

Where are you?

The message showed as delivered but not read. I tried calling. Straight to voicemail.

"Mr. Sullivan." Mrs. Morgan's voice cut through my thoughts. "Perhaps you could enlighten us on the solution to problem seventeen, since you seem to have finished already."

I glanced at the board, then down at my blank notebook. "Sorry, sir. I wasn't paying attention."

His eyebrows rose slightly. "That's unusual for you lately. See me after class."

The remaining forty minutes crawled by with excruciating slowness. I tried Rose's number three more times. Each call went unanswered. By the time the bell rang, my nerves felt like exposed wires.

Mrs. Morgan kept me only briefly, offering some gentle concern about my distraction and reminding me about the upcoming exam. I nodded through his speech, my mind elsewhere, and bolted the moment he dismissed me.

The hallway buzzed with end-of-day energy. Students streamed toward their lockers, voices rising in excited chatter about weekend plans and upcoming basketball games. I pushed through the crowd, scanning for familiar faces, when I caught sight of Rachel near the main stairwell.

She stood with Ethan, her voice pitched just loud enough to carry. "I'm sure Rose is fine. She probably just couldn't handle the pressure of the physics exam and decided to skip it entirely." A delicate laugh. "You know how she gets nervous about these things."

Ethan's expression shifted, something flickering across his features that I couldn't quite read. "Rose? Nervous about physics?" He shook his head slowly. "That doesn't sound right."

"Oh, you don't know her like I do." Rachel's smile held no warmth. "My sister has always been... fragile when it comes to academic pressure. Remember when she had that panic attack before the SATs?"

"That's a lie," I said, stepping into their conversation without preamble.

Rachel's smile faltered for just a fraction of a second before reassembling itself. "Alexander. I didn't see you there."

"Obviously." I kept my voice level, though my hands had curled into fists at my sides. "Rose didn't have a panic attack. She scored perfectly on the physics section. And she didn't skip any exam today—she was called away by MIT."

Ethan's eyes narrowed. "MIT?"

"A professor came to get her during her history test," I continued, watching Rachel's expression carefully. "Said it was urgent research business."

"How convenient," Rachel murmured, but I caught the flash of something else in her eyes. Jealousy, maybe. Or fear.

"Do you know where she is?" Ethan asked, and there was something in his tone that set my teeth on edge. An underlying current of concern that felt too personal, too familiar.

"Why would you care?" The words came out more aggressive than I'd intended.

Ethan straightened, his jaw tightening. "Just asking a question, Sullivan."

"Well, don't." I turned on my heel, leaving them both standing there.

My Audi sat in the student parking lot, gleaming black under the afternoon sun. I slid into the driver's seat and tried Rose's number again. Still nothing. The steering wheel felt rough under my palms as I gripped it, trying to think logically.

If MIT had come for her, it must have been important. Rose wouldn't just disappear without good reason. But the complete radio silence felt wrong, especially after everything we'd been through recently. She'd promised to keep me informed about her schedule, to not shut me out the way she used to.

I started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, heading toward Magnolia Estate. Grandfather would know something. He always knew.

The drive took twenty minutes in light traffic.

Alfred met me at the door, his expression carefully neutral. "Mr. Alexander. We weren't expecting you until dinner."

"Where's Grandfather?" I asked, already moving past him into the entrance hall.

"In his study with Mr. Christopher. They've been trying to reach Miss Rose."

My pulse quickened. I took the stairs two at a time, my footsteps echoing against marble until I reached the heavy oak door of Grandfather's study. I knocked once, perfunctorily, then pushed it open.

James sat behind his massive desk, his phone pressed to his ear, while Christopher stood by the window, his own phone in hand. Both looked up as I entered.

"Alexander," James said, lowering his phone. "Have you heard from Rose?"

"No." I crossed the room in quick strides. "I tried calling her a dozen times. Nothing."

Christopher's expression tightened. "She's not answering our calls either. We've tried her cell, the school, even Professor Thompson's office at MIT."

"MIT?" I looked between them. "So you know about that?"

James nodded slowly, setting his phone down on the desk with deliberate care. "Professor Robinson came to get her this afternoon. Something about an urgent research matter that couldn't wait."

"What kind of research requires pulling someone out of their final exams?" Christopher's voice held an edge of frustration. "Rose has obligations. The show taping is scheduled for tomorrow morning at nine."

"The show," I repeated, the words tasting bitter. "That's what you're worried about? Rose could be anywhere, doing anything, and you're concerned about her missing a reality TV recording?"

"Watch your tone," Christopher said sharply, but there was no real heat behind it. He looked tired, hollowed out in a way I'd never seen before. Lauren's betrayal had gutted him more thoroughly than he'd admit.

James held up a hand, forestalling further argument. "Alexander is right to be concerned. So am I." His fingers drummed against the desk, a nervous gesture I'd rarely witnessed. "But Rose is brilliant and capable. If MIT needed her help with something urgent, she went because it was important."

"She should have called," I insisted. "At least sent a text."

"Perhaps she couldn't." James's voice held a note of something I couldn't identify. Worry? Pride? "Your great-grandmother has always put duty before convenience. Even when it meant—" He stopped abruptly, his jaw working.

The room fell silent except for the tick of the grandfather clock in the corner. I thought about Rose's face when she talked about her work at MIT, the way her eyes lit up when she solved a particularly difficult problem. She lived for that kind of challenge, thrived on pushing the boundaries of what seemed possible.

"We wait," James said finally, his decision carrying the weight of absolute authority. "Rose will contact us when she can."

But waiting proved harder than any of us anticipated. Dinner came and went with Rose's chair sitting empty at the table. Lily kept asking where "Aunt Rose" had gone, her small face crumpling with worry until Christopher finally distracted her with promises of ice cream. Alfred served the meal with his usual efficiency, but even he seemed subdued, his movements lacking their characteristic precision.

I tried to eat, managed maybe three bites of the roasted chicken before giving up. The food tasted like cardboard, each swallow requiring conscious effort. Across from me, Christopher pushed his own meal around his plate without much more success.

"She's fine," James said, more to himself than anyone else. "She has to be fine."

After dinner, I retreated to the sitting room with my PlayStation 4. Not because I actually wanted to play, but because I needed something to do with my hands, some way to burn off the nervous energy that made my skin feel too tight. I'd been working through The Last of Us Part II, a game that normally demanded total focus, but tonight the story couldn't hold my attention.

Grandfather joined me around nine, settling into his favorite armchair with a book he didn't actually read. The pages never turned. We existed in parallel states of pretended occupation, both of us listening for the sound of Rose's voice, her footsteps in the hall, anything that would signal her return.

Christopher appeared around ten, his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up. He'd been in his office, supposedly working on damage control for the company, but I suspected he'd spent most of the time staring at his phone like the rest of us.

"Nothing?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

James shook his head without looking up from his unread book.

The hours crawled forward with excruciating slowness. Eleven o'clock. Midnight. One AM. The house settled into its night rhythms, floorboards creaking and pipes groaning. Somewhere upstairs, Lily cried out in her sleep and was quickly soothed by her nanny. The sound made my chest ache.

I killed the final boss in my game around one-thirty, the victory hollow and unsatisfying. The end credits rolled across the screen while I sat there, controller slack in my hands, trying not to imagine all the terrible things that could keep Rose from calling. Car accidents. Lab explosions. Government conspiracies.

"This is ridiculous," Christopher muttered, standing abruptly. He began pacing the length of the sitting room, his footsteps sharp against the hardwood. "She should have called by now. Something's wrong."

"Christopher." James's voice held a note of warning. "Sit down."

"I can't just sit here doing nothing while—"

"Yes, you can." The steel in Grandfather's tone brooked no argument. "Because that's what Rose needs from us right now. Trust. Faith that she knows what she's doing."

Christopher stopped mid-stride, his shoulders sagging. For a moment, he looked exactly like what he was—a man who'd lost too much too quickly, grasping for any semblance of control. Then he sank back into his chair, rubbing his hands over his face.

James had dozed off in his armchair by two AM, his head tilted back and his breathing deep and even. I envied him that ability to let go, even temporarily. My own eyes burned with exhaustion, but every time I closed them, my mind conjured new disasters.

The phone rang at 2:16 AM.

The sound shattered the silence like a gunshot. Grandfather jerked awake, nearly toppling out of his chair in his haste to reach his cell phone. Christopher bolted upright, his expression wild with hope and fear.

"Rose?" James's voice cracked on her name. He listened intently, his free hand gripping the arm of his chair hard enough to whiten his knuckles. "Yes. Yes, I understand. Are you—" He paused. "No, of course. As long as you're safe."

I abandoned my controller and crossed the room in three long strides, desperate to hear her voice even if only as a distant murmur through the phone's speaker.

"Tomorrow morning?" James's eyebrows rose. "The show taping is scheduled for nine. Can you—" Another pause. "I see. Yes, we'll handle it. No, don't apologize. This is important work you're doing."

Christopher reached for the phone, his hand outstretched in silent plea. James hesitated, then held it out to him.

"Rose?" Christopher's voice gentled in a way I'd rarely heard. "Are you alright?" He listened, nodding even though she couldn't see him. "No, it's fine. We were just worried. Where are you exactly?" His expression shifted, becoming more alert. "Lincoln Laboratory? That's defense department territory. Rose, what exactly are you working on?"

I couldn't hear her response, but Christopher's face told its own story—surprise, concern, and a grudging sort of pride all mixed together.

"Here," he said finally, thrusting the phone toward me. "She wants to talk to you."

My hand trembled slightly as I took the device, pressing it to my ear. "Rose?"

"Alexander." Her voice sounded exhausted, worn thin by whatever she'd been doing for the past twelve hours, but underneath the fatigue I heard something else. Excitement. The same tone she got when solving a particularly elegant equation. "I'm sorry I couldn't call earlier. They confiscated all our phones when we arrived. Security protocols."

"Are you okay?" The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "Where are you? What's happening?"

"I'm fine. Just tired." A soft laugh, barely audible. "And I can't tell you much about what we're working on. It's classified. But I'm safe, and I'm with people who know what they're doing."

"When are you coming home?"

Silence stretched across the line, heavy with things she couldn't say. "I don't know yet. Probably not tonight. Maybe not for a few days, depending on how the calculations go."

My stomach sank. "But the show—"

"I know." Frustration bled through her exhaustion. "I promised the team I'd be there. I don't break my promises, Alexander."

"We can reschedule," I said quickly. "Grandfather has connections. He can make the producers wait."

"No." The word came out sharp, definitive. "That's not fair to Ava and the others. They've worked too hard. I'll figure something out."

Before I could respond, I heard muffled voices in the background, someone calling her name with urgency. Rose sighed. "I have to go. They need me back at the terminal. Tell James not to worry, and tell Lily I'll bring her something special when I get home."

"Rose, wait—"

But the line had already gone dead.