Chapter 2203

A chill crept up Jason’s spine. He shoved the paperwork aside, grabbed his jacket, and rushed home.

The apartment was empty.

Panic set in. He pulled out his phone and dialed Cecilia—the emergency contact Chelsea had once insisted he save.

Chelsea had offered Cecilia’s number for situations they never expected to face. Now, that precaution felt grimly prophetic.

Cecilia was in the middle of work when the unfamiliar number flashed on her screen. She hesitated, then answered.

“Hello? May I ask who’s calling?” Her tone was polite but cautious.

“This is Jason Whitaker, Chelsea Rainsworth’s boyfriend. Am I speaking with Ms. Smith?”

Cecilia frowned, unable to imagine why Jason would call her during work hours.

“Yes, this is Cecilia. Is everything all right?”

“Chelsea’s missing. Have you seen her? Is she with you, by any chance?”

“No. Why would she be missing?” Surprise sharpened Cecilia’s voice.

“Her office called—they said she never showed up today. I can’t reach her phone. Could you please contact her parents and help me look for her?”

Dread burned in Jason’s chest. Pride no longer mattered. He had no choice but to ask for help.

Hearing the tremor in his voice, Cecilia agreed without hesitation.

“All right. I’ll start asking around right away. Try not to panic.”

She ended the call, the screen fading to black.

Waiting felt unbearable, like a weight dragging Jason down. He grabbed a printout of Chelsea’s smiling face, went outside, and moved from shop to shop, showing the photo and pleading for any information.

A convenience store owner, wiping his hands on his apron, motioned him over.

“I saw that girl this morning,” the man said quietly. “A big black van pulled up and took her away.”

Jason opened his mouth to ask more, but his phone rang sharply. He stepped outside for better reception and glanced at the screen.

It was Cecilia.

“Hello, Ms. Smith—have you found anything about Chelsea?”

“Yes,” Cecilia said. “Her parents picked her up themselves. She’s safe, Jason. Don’t worry.”

Earlier, Cecilia had called Phoebe and learned the truth. She relayed the reassurance immediately.

“Thank you. Truly.”

Jason lowered the phone.

Relief flooded through him, though disappointment lingered like a dull ache. At least Chelsea was safe.

“Should we call the police?” the shopkeeper asked, still standing nearby.

“No. She’s home.”

“Good, good,” the man said, exhaling heavily. “I thought something terrible had happened to her.”

Jason forced a tight smile and headed home, each step weighed down.

Back in the apartment, the emptiness felt overwhelming. Every corner still carried traces of Chelsea.

“This is probably for the best,” he murmured to the silence.

At the hospital, after ending the call, Phoebe stood beside the bed, guilt shining in her eyes as she watched her daughter lying there.

She had told Cecilia only that they had brought Chelsea home. She hadn’t mentioned the injuries.

“What were you doing while my daughter jumped out of a moving car?” Kingston barked at the bodyguards stationed near the door.

“Sir, we’re sorry,” the lead guard said, head lowered. “She was calm at first. We never imagined she’d jump. It was our failure. We’ll cover every cent of her treatment.”

Kingston let out a tired breath. “Do you really think money is the issue?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry,” the guard muttered, shrinking back.

Kingston waved a hand, dismissing the matter under the harsh hospital lights.

“Forget it. You did what you could. Just be more careful next time.”

Chelsea had escaped with nothing worse than a clean fracture—no shattered spine, no internal bleeding. Relieved, Kingston decided the guards had suffered enough fear already and let the matter drop.