My contract love story

Three days ago

Adrian returned Monday night to the mansion with plans to see Ashleigh concerning her admission. After their last conversation on Saturday, he’d instructed Mr. Turner to contact Robin College’s administration to discuss her admission. The news wasn’t bad – the college was holding a stakeholder meeting the next morning, perfect for potential investors like Adrian. He’d arranged a trip immediately, leaving in the dead of night to secure Ashleigh’s place.

As expected, the school administration welcomed him with open arms. He laid out his plans for investment, with one crucial condition: Ashleigh’s admission. The deal was finalized with eager acceptance. Eager to share his success and pick a suitable exam date with Ashleigh, Adrian rushed back home. But upon arrival, he was met with an empty house and the unsettling news that Ashleigh had gone to work and hadn’t returned.

He wasted no time calling Mrs. Smith, who informed him that Ashleigh was staying with her. While displeased by the lack of communication regarding Ashleigh’s whereabouts, he chose to let it slide for the time being. However, by the second day, with no calls, texts, and a switched-off phone, his patience wore thin. Determined to bring her back, he made his way to Mrs. Smith’s house.

The moment he arrived, Mrs. Smith’s guarded demeanor and reluctance to discuss Ashleigh’s location set off alarm bells. “Adrian,” she began, her voice laced with disappointment, “I must say I’m quite let down by how you handled Ashleigh’s exams. You promised to deal with any concerns about her studies.” Adrian sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration.

“I understand Ashleigh’s here,” he admitted. “Let me assure you, it’s nothing like that. I left abruptly to secure her college placement. She can take the exams at a mutually agreeable date.” Mrs. Smith’s eyes widened with realization and a flicker of guilt.

“If that’s why she hasn’t returned my calls,” he said, “please ask her to come down so we can head home together.” Mrs. Smith, however, remained rooted to the spot.

Confusion clouded Adrian’s face as he repeated his request. “Mrs. Smith, please ask Ashleigh to come down. There’s no point arguing about this.” Yet, the worry in her eyes only intensified his growing alarm.

“Actually, Adrian…” she began hesitantly. As she finished her explanation, a wave of anger washed over his face. He immediately called for Mr. Turner, who was nearby.

“Find the addresses of Fiona Mallory and James Wilson,” he commanded with steely resolve. “Send a team to each location. If Ashleigh is found at either place, bring her back to the mansion immediately. Use force if necessary.” Mr. Turner, recognizing the urgency, wasted no time carrying out his orders.

Mr. Turner’s voice held a tremor of trepidation as he reported, “Sir, there was no sign of Miss Ashleigh at either address. Both apartments were empty, and the keys were inexplicably left in plain sight.” Adrian’s gaze snapped towards Mrs. Smith, a flicker of surprise crossing her face at the news.

“But Ashleigh told me she was staying with her colleagues this week!” Mrs. Smith exclaimed defensively. But Adrian’s icy glare silenced her protest.

“There are two possibilities,” he stated, his voice devoid of warmth. “Either she lied to you, or you were more aware of her little trip than you’re letting on.” Mrs. Smith’s guilt hung heavy in the air, the lie about Ashleigh’s whereabouts now impossible to deny.

“Adrian, please don’t…” she began, but he cut her off with a curt rise from his chair.

“I believe we’re done here, Mrs. Smith,” he finished coldly, his exit marked by a slam of the door.

Outside, Mr. Turner stood dutifully by the car. Adrian barked out an order, his voice taut with repressed fury.

“Find Ashleigh. Track her every move for the past 24 hours. I need a full report on my desk by this evening.” He slammed the car door shut, the roar of the engine echoing his mounting frustration as he stormed back to the mansion.

True to his word, Mr. Turner returned that evening, a folder clutched in his hand. He entered the study, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Sir, I’ve compiled Ms. Cagliari’s activities for the last day,” he began, laying the folder on the desk.

“Proceed, Mr. Turner,” Adrian commanded, his voice betraying none of the turmoil within.

Mr. Turner cleared his throat and began detailing his findings. “Ms. Cagliari left the office at 5:30 PM yesterday in the company of her friends. Her last internet search focused on vacation rentals in X City. By 6:00 PM, her phone’s location pinged near an ATM close to a bus station with routes extending to five nearby towns. There were no transactions on her personal bank accounts, but a transfer of $100, 000 was made from the credit card you provided for her expenses to the account of her colleague, Ms. Fiona Mallory.”

Adrian listened intently, a flicker of grudging respect sparking in his eyes. Ashleigh was sharp. Suspecting the phone might be monitored, she’d switched it off at a crucial juncture. Bank statements could be traced, so she’d moved the necessary funds to another account, knowing he wouldn’t have access to her friends’ finances. She’d covered her tracks meticulously.

“Deploy search teams to every town the bus station services,” he instructed, his voice laced with steely determination. “They are not to return until she’s found.”

As Adrian dismissed Mr. Turner, a heavy silence settled over the room. He realized, with a sickening certainty, that unless a stroke of luck intervened, finding Ashleigh wouldn’t be easy. The audacity of her defiance stunned him. He had underestimated her strength, her will. And he vowed to himself that this would never happen again.

Days turned into a blur of frustration. By mid-afternoon of the third day, Adrian was a seething cauldron of anger. The reports on the search teams were uniformly bleak. Ashleigh had vanished without a trace. It was as if she’d simply fallen off the face of the earth, leaving him with a gnawing sense of helplessness and a burning desire to find her, no matter the cost.

Currently….

The air crackled with tension as Adrian slammed a tablet onto his desk. “Are you trying to tell me,” he thundered, his voice a low growl, “that a team of seasoned professionals can’t locate a woman and her two friends? Is this the best your recruitment skills can muster, Mr. Turner? Perhaps I need to find a more competent… secretary.”

Mr. Turner flinched, his eyes flitting nervously between Adrian’s taut face and the damning information displayed on the tablet. “My apologies, sir,” he stammered. “The search teams are working around the clock…”

“Clearly, not hard enough,” Adrian interrupted, his voice dripping with icy disdain. “They haven’t brought back a single shred of useful information.” He turned on his heel and stalked towards his room, leaving Mr. Turner drowning in the wake of his fury.

“Get out,” Adrian barked, his hand on the doorknob. “And don’t come back until you have something concrete.” The slam of the door echoed through the mansion, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.

Mr. Turner, his shoulders slumped in defeat, turned to see Mr. Atkinson, the butler, observing him with a sympathetic grimace. Susan, Ashleigh’s assistant, stood beside him, her face etched with worry. With a gentle smile, she placed a hand on Mr. Turner’s arm.

“Before you dive back in,” she said softly, “go and get something to eat. You need your strength for this.”

Despite his initial protest, Susan’s firm grip steered him towards the kitchen. He hadn’t touched a meal since yesterday afternoon, the stress of the situation gnawing at him. As he ate, he couldn’t help but question his fate. Why work for a boss as ruthless as Adrian Cagliari, and why, for that matter, did Adrian choose a woman as strong-willed as Ashleigh?

He left the kitchen with renewed determination, only to find himself back in the same frustrating loop of dead ends and unanswered questions. Hours bled into each other, the tension in the mansion thickening with each passing moment.

Then, just as despair threatened to consume him, an opportunity arose. Bursting into Adrian’s study, Mr. Turner found his boss pacing, a storm brewing in his eyes.

“Sir,” he announced, his voice tight with excitement, “I have an update on Ms. Cagliari’s location. Her phone was switched on briefly, and we were able to track it to a town called Q, two towns away.”

A flicker of life returned to Adrian’s face. “Excellent work, Mr. Turner. Get the driver ready. We leave for Town Q in ten minutes. If the search teams manage to pinpoint her exact location, I don’t want them contacting her. I’ll handle this myself.”

With a curt nod, Adrian disappeared into his room to change. Mr. Turner wasted no time, informing Mr. Atkinson of the news and Adrian’s decision. Atkinson swiftly arranged for a security detail to discreetly follow Adrian, while Mr. Turner prepared the vehicle.

Minutes later, Adrian descended the stairs, his face a mask of cool determination. “The car is ready, sir,” Mr. Turner announced, stepping aside for his boss.

Adrian strode past him without a word, settling into the back of the waiting car. The driver, already briefed, punched the coordinates into the GPS and pulled away from the mansion, the red taillights vanishing into the inky night.