Chapter Thirty-Four — The Disappearance
(Amira Rivera — first person)
Court doesn't start with a bang.
It starts with paperwork.
It starts with emails written in polite language that still feel like knives. It starts with motions stamped and filed and forwarded, each one a quiet reminder that someone with resources has decided you will bleed on schedule.
By Monday morning, my attorney had already sent three updates.
Motion to Compel.
Request for Expanded Discovery.
Notice of Intent to Introduce Supplemental Evidence.
Cassandra wasn't trying to win in the courtroom first. She was trying to win in my nervous system.
My phone sat beside my coffee like a loaded gun. I stared at it more than I drank. Every vibration felt like it could be Julian, and every time it wasn't, I felt a little more foolish.
I told myself to stay disciplined.
I told myself: He promised.
But promises are soft things. Paper is harder.
By noon, my attorney called.
"Any word from Archer?" she asked.
I froze. "He's… working on it."
A pause that said she didn't have time for fantasy.
"Amira," she said gently, "we need him. Not his intentions. Him."
"I know."
"If he doesn't testify," she continued, "we're exposed. Your credibility becomes the entire battlefield."
My throat tightened. "He's going to show."
"Then tell him I need confirmation today," she said. "Not tomorrow. Not 'soon.' Today."
After we hung up, I paced my living room like a caged thing, fighting the urge to call Julian again. I'd already texted him once the night before.
Me:You good? Just checking in.
No response.
I'd told myself it was fine. He was handling things. He was being strategic. He was dealing with Cassandra.
But strategic silence has a smell.
And I'd smelled it before.
I called him anyway.
Straight to voicemail.
I tried again, slower, like patience would change the outcome.
Voicemail.
I stared at my screen until it dimmed. Then I checked it again, like the act of looking could force reality to rearrange itself.
Nothing.
I walked to the window and watched people on the street—ordinary lives, ordinary problems. A man arguing into his phone. A couple laughing over something small. A woman walking her dog like the world wasn't full of traps.
I envied them so sharply it made my eyes sting.
I turned away and checked the calendar again.
Court date circled in red, getting closer like a predator.
On Tuesday, I called his assistant.
Her voice was tight, careful—too careful.
"Hi, this is Amira Rivera," I said, keeping my tone neutral. "I need to speak with Julian."
A beat. "He's… unavailable."
"Unavailable how?" I pressed.
"I don't have details," she said quickly. "He hasn't been in. He hasn't—" She stopped herself.
"He hasn't what?" I asked, voice sharpening.
Another pause. "He hasn't called."
My stomach dropped.
"What do you mean he hasn't called?" I demanded.
"I mean," she said, words clipped, "I don't know where he is. I'm sorry."
I went still.
Julian Archer didn't vanish from his own office without notice. He didn't go silent with a court date approaching. He didn't just… disappear.
Unless he was forced.
Unless something happened.
Unless—
I ended the call before my voice could crack and stood in the middle of my apartment, arms hanging at my sides like I'd forgotten how to use them.
I checked the tracker.
Dead.
Still dead.
Not "no signal." Not "low battery."
Disabled.
I felt heat crawl up my neck—anger first, then panic trying to wear anger's clothes.
Tasha had told me to protect myself. She'd told me not to let his chaos keep spilling into my life. She'd told me Cassandra didn't play fair.
And still—still—Julian was the anchor I hadn't admitted I needed.
Now the rope was cut.
I texted him, fingers moving fast.
Me:Where are you?
Nothing.
Me:Julian. Court is coming. I need you to answer me.
Nothing.
My chest tightened. Breath shallow. That familiar spiral beginning.
I forced myself to sit, forced my hands flat on my thighs.
Think, Amira. Think like you don't have the luxury of love.
The words felt cruel inside my own head.
But they were true.
Wednesday afternoon, Cassandra's attorney sent a message to mine: Mr. Archer has not responded to our request for deposition confirmation.
My lawyer forwarded it with one line:
We need to talk. Call me ASAP.
I stared at the screen until my vision blurred.
Then I called.
My lawyer didn't soften it.
"If he doesn't appear," she said, "they'll argue you're fabricating. They'll argue you're unstable. They'll argue you're harassing him."
I swallowed. "He's not missing because of me."
"I know," she said. "But court doesn't care what we know. Court cares what we can prove."
I pressed my fingers to my forehead. "What do I do?"
A pause. "We brace. We plan as if he won't show."
The words hit like a slap.
I sat there, numb, listening to her outline contingencies—motions, objections, strategy. It all sounded like someone explaining how to build a shelter while the roof was already burning.
When we hung up, I didn't cry immediately.
I just sat.
And in the silence, Eli's death rose up again—sharp and unfair.
If someone could break into my home and steal my life, if someone could end Eli and walk away clean, then what did "disappearing" really mean in this world?
Not romantic mystery.
Danger.
Threat.
Leverage.
I didn't want to believe Cassandra could do that.
But I also didn't want to be naive enough to pretend she couldn't.
I called Cassandra the next day—not directly. Through a number I had for her assistant, a professional line. I kept my voice smooth.
"Hi, this is Amira Rivera," I said. "I need to speak with Cassandra."
The assistant hesitated. "One moment."
Cassandra picked up.
Her voice was calm, polished, mildly amused—like she'd been expecting me.
"Amira," she said. "To what do I owe the honor?"
My stomach twisted. "Where is Julian?"
A soft laugh. "I have no idea."
"You're his wife."
"And?" she replied, still calm. "Am I his keeper? His mother? His warden?"
"You know," I said, voice tightening.
"I truly don't," she said, and the way she said it made my skin crawl. "But I will tell you this: if he's gone quiet, perhaps he's finally learning what consequences sound like."
My nails dug into my palm. "You're enjoying this."
"I'm enjoying justice," she corrected sweetly. "And watching you learn the difference between desire and entitlement."
I clenched my jaw. "This isn't about entitlement."
"It never is," she said. "Not when the person losing wants to feel righteous."
I took a breath. "If something happened to him—"
"Then you'll do what you always do," Cassandra cut in smoothly. "Make it about you."
I went still.
Her tone hadn't changed, but something in it sharpened—like she wanted that sentence to land and stay.
"I don't know where Julian is," she continued. "But I do know where you are. I know what you've done. And I know what you can't take back."
My chest tightened.
"Have a nice day, Amira," she said brightly, and ended the call.
I stared at my phone like it had burned me.
That night, I didn't sleep.
I sat on my couch with my laptop open, legal documents scattered around me, phone charging like it might grow a conscience and ring.
I thought about Julian's promise.
I'm filing.
I'll testify.
I mean it this time.
I thought about the way his face had shifted when his phone buzzed, the moment he'd looked like a man reminded of something dangerous.
I thought about the reality that love didn't stop Cassandra's pen. It didn't stop the court calendar. It didn't stop rent from being due.
Love without power is still vulnerability.
And I was vulnerable as hell.
Just before midnight, my phone buzzed.
My heart jumped so hard it hurt.
Unknown number.
One message.
STOP CALLING HER.
My blood ran cold.
I stared at the screen until it dimmed, then brightened it again, as if looking twice would change the words.
I stood up so fast the couch creaked.
My hands shook as I typed.
Me:Who is this? Where is Julian?
No response.
I tried calling the number.
Straight to a dead tone.
No voicemail.
No ring.
Nothing.
I paced my living room like a panther, mind racing, every possibility worse than the last.
Was Julian hiding?
Was he trapped?
Was he being threatened?
Was this Cassandra? Was this someone else?
I stopped mid-step and stared at the dark window, my reflection ghosted over the city lights.
For the first time in weeks, I didn't feel sexy. Or powerful. Or ambitious.
I felt small.
And I hated it.
I sank slowly back onto the couch, phone in my hand like a fragile thing, and whispered into the empty apartment:
"Don't do this to me."
No answer.
Just silence—wide and endless.
Julian Archer was gone.
And whether he'd chosen that or not… the result was the same.
I was walking into court alone.