CHAPTER 16 — The Trace

Drake had been given the digital equivalent of a broken compass—not everything he needed, but enough to start hunting. Damien stood over him, plugging a high-speed data cord from his own phone into Drake’s workstation, his eyes fixed on the blinking terminal.

"Hello. Who is this?" Damien answered sharply when the unknown number initiated a video call. The face on the other end was a void, hidden behind a tactical mask. The room fell so silent that the hum of the laptop felt like a roar.

"Hi, Princey," the distorted voice purred through the speakers.

"And who are you?" Damien’s brow furrowed, his body leaning into the screen as if he could reach through the pixels and tear the mask off.

"Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your baby so soon." The kidnapper giggled, a jagged, sickening sound. From the background, a muffled, desperate whimper broke through. "Would you like to see who’s behind the camera?"

The video feed shifted. Damien’s chest tightened so hard he couldn't breathe. Aiden was tied to a bed, his face covered with a black sack, his small frame trembling violently. The man yanked the sack away. Aiden’s face was deathly pale, slick with sweat and streaks of tears, his eyes blown wide with terror.

"Don’t you dare touch him!" Damien’s voice cracked with a raw, agonizing fury. "Or I swear you’ll be dead before the sun rises."

"I feel like that’s just an empty threat, Ice Prince," the kidnapper laughed, intentionally stroking Aiden’s cheek with a gloved hand for the camera. "See for yourself."

The screen cut to black.

"Damn it!" Damien slammed his fist onto the desk. "He disconnected!"

"Were you able to track the signal?" Charlie asked Drake, his voice urgent.

Drake hesitated, his fingers flying across the keys. "No… but—"

"But what?" Damien snapped.

"The IP was too scrambled for a remote trace, but the pointer kept circling within this district. It means he’s nearby. Very nearby."

"And how sure are you?" Charles asked.

"If he were far, the signal wouldn’t be this strong. Look—" Drake pointed at a blinking red dot on the digital map. "He's roaming within a two-block radius of this hotel."

"Did you check the neighboring buildings' CCTV?" Charles asked the security guards.

"No, sir. The building owners in this sector refused to cooperate. They demanded a warrant for 'invasion of privacy,'" a guard reported.

"The building owner isn’t a fan of the Smiths," Sean explained grimly. "They’re using red tape to buy time."

"Who cares who owns it?" Charles growled.

"Sir Damien," Drake’s voice broke the tension. "I think I can bypass their firewall. I’m into their local network... I’ve got it!

Everyone crowded around the small screen. The footage was grainy but clear: Aiden being carried through a back service lobby of a connected wing. The staff in the video didn't flinch—one even began mopping the floor immediately after they passed to erase any scuffs.

"The feed cuts at the elevator," Drake said. "I don't know the floor."

"Good work, Drake," Charles nodded, his face hardening. "Sean, meet me downstairs. Now."

Damien was already at the door, his jaw set in a line of pure, murderous rage.

At the Hotel Wing

"Sir, you can’t access the penthouse right now," the receptionist said, her voice trembling as Damien loomed over the desk. "It’s under construction."

Before Damien could erupt, a woman among the staff recognized him. She leaned forward, sliding a gold-rimmed keycard across the marble. "Mr. Smith… use this," she mouthed silently.

"What are you doing?" another receptionist barked, reaching for an alarm.

Too late. Damien’s security team burst through the front glass, weapons drawn. Gunfire erupted in the lobby as the kidnapper's hidden guards revealed themselves. Damien didn't flinch. He pushed forward, eyes fixed on the elevator bank, heading straight for the top floor.

Inside the Penthouse

"Sir, they’ve found the floor!" a voice yelled from the hallway.

"You think!?" Mike roared, pulling his mask off and throwing it at the wall. "Idiot!"

He snatched his phone, looking down at the bound Aiden. "Don’t worry, princess. No one’s going to catch me. I’ll be back for you—and next time, there won't be anyone to save you." He laughed, hurriedly shoving a burner phone into his coat and heading for the service stairs.

Aiden could hear the chaos—the shouting, the boots hitting the floor. Panic surged. "Hmmmm!" he whimpered through the gag, his body shaking. The room began to tilt. The oxygen felt thin. Tears stung his eyes as the trauma finally overwhelmed his system, and the world faded into black.

Sometime Later

"Help me… please!" Aiden jolted awake, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He was drenched in sweat. He blinked at the sterile white walls and the steady beep-beep-beep of a heart monitor. "This isn’t my bed… why am I in a hospital gown?"

"You’re awake," a voice said softly.

Aiden turned. Damien sat in a chair beside him, a laptop on his knees, his eyes sunken and heavy with exhaustion.

"What am I doing here?" Aiden asked weakly, his throat feeling like it was full of sand.

Damien closed the laptop. "You made my life hell last night, Aiden."

"What?"

"I combed every inch of this district looking for you," Damien said, standing up. His voice was flat, but Aiden could see his hands trembling as he shoved them into his pockets.

"So… it wasn't a dream?" Aiden whispered, the memories of the dark room rushing back.

"No. And because of your 'stroll' in the garden, we missed our flight. We were supposed to be halfway to Monaco by now."

Aiden’s eyes narrowed. The relief of being safe was suddenly eclipsed by a flare of indignation. He clenched his fists against the thin hospital sheets. "So… the flight was delayed because of me? That’s your biggest concern?"

"If you had listened to me—if you didn't talk to strangers or wander off—"

"Oh, shut up!" Aiden snapped, sitting up despite the sharp pain in his head. "Says the man who treats people like property! You call me 'yours' in the car, then I see you on stage with a fiancée! You think I risked my life to be a side character in your rich-boy drama?" His voice shook with a mix of fury and hurt. "I’m done, Damien. I want out. Just take me back to my café and leave me alone."

The room fell into a deafening silence, broken only by the steady pulse of the monitor. Damien’s expression remained a mask of stone, but for the first time, something deep in his eyes cracked.