Found But Lost

Donovan's POV

I stared at the darkened screen of my phone. The thick silence in my office felt suffocating, pressing against my ribs with a massive physical weight. My hands shook with a tremor I couldn't suppress. I lowered the device to the edge of my mahogany desk, releasing a long, ragged exhale. I closed my eyes, leaning back in my leather chair, letting the sheer impact of the last ten minutes crash over me in relentless waves.

Five years.

Five agonizing years of dead ends and shattered hope. I had hired dozens of elite private investigators from across the globe. I had spent countless sleepless nights staring at the ceiling, wondering if my little sister was even alive. The not knowing had been a corrosive torment eating away at my sanity. Every time a phone rang late at night, every time a detective requested an urgent meeting, my heart would pound with frantic hope, only to be crushed by another false lead. A blonde woman spotted in Paris. A case of mistaken identity in Cape Town. We threw millions at the problem, receiving nothing but dust and shadows in return.

And now, out of nowhere, she had called.

She was alive.

But she was dying.

Sienna had a timeline. Three months. The words echoed in the quiet room, forming a cruel, mocking loop inside my head. I wanted to believe it was a sick joke. I wanted to call her back and demand she stop messing with me. I wanted to scream at her for disappearing and putting us through hell. But Sienna would never lie about a terminal cancer diagnosis. My brilliant, stubborn, beautiful little sister—the girl who used to follow me around the tennis courts when we were kids—had thrown her future away to escape an arranged marriage she did not want. We had let her go. I had let her go. The guilt had been a rotting weight in my gut ever since.

"Donovan?"

The sharp voice sliced through my heavy grief. I jerked my head up, startled by the intrusion. My mother stood in the doorway of my office, the late afternoon light catching the edges of her silhouette. At fifty-two, Eleanor Sinclair still commanded unquestioned authority. Her tailored charcoal suit and styled hair projected an image of unbreakable power. She was a force of nature who dominated corporate boardrooms and charity galas alike. But the relentless years of searching for her lost daughter had carved deep, unhidable lines into her face. No amount of expensive skincare could hide the permanent exhaustion shadowing her eyes.

Her sharp gaze zeroed in on my severe distress. The stern matriarch facade cracked in a fraction of a second. She stepped into the room and closed the heavy oak door behind her, sealing off the ambient noise of the massive estate.

"Darling, you look like you have seen a ghost. What is wrong?"

I opened my mouth. No sound came out. I swallowed hard, tasting the bitter ash of the terminal diagnosis. How could I say the words out loud? How could I look my mother in the eye and tell her we had finally found our missing girl, only to lose her forever to an incurable disease? I gripped the edge of my desk, steadying my trembling hands against the smooth wood. I needed to focus.

"It is Sienna," I said, my voice rough and foreign to my own ears. "She called."

The color drained from my mother's face. She swayed on her feet before lunging for the leather guest chair across from my desk. She gripped the back of it, her knuckles turning bone-white against the dark upholstery.

"Is she alive?" she asked, her voice a desperate, breathy rasp.

"Yes. She is in Chicago. She has been hiding there this whole time."

The name of the city tasted like poison on my tongue. Chicago. We had funded massive global searches. Europe, Asia, South America. We had chased ghosts across the world, and she had been hiding in plain sight just a few states away. We never assumed she would stay close to home. It was brilliant and maddening all at once. The best hiding place was right in our backyard.

My mother's voice spiked with a chaotic mix of relief and pure disbelief. "Chicago? She has been in Chicago this entire time? Why didn't she call us? Why didn't she come home? Is she hurt, Donovan? Is someone keeping her there against her will?"

I paused, constructing the lie of omission. Sienna needed me to be her rock right now. If our mother knew she was dying of terminal cancer, she would fall apart. The overwhelming grief would destroy her before we even got Sienna back to New York. I could not let that happen. I had to protect them both.

"No, Mom. Nothing like that. She is married. She has a son. Things are not good. Her husband isn't the man she thought he was. She wants to come home."

Tears spilled hot and fast down Eleanor's cheeks. Her hand flew to her mouth to muffle a sharp sob. The revelation of a child broke through her shock, replaced by an overwhelming tide of raw emotion.

"A son? We have a grandson? Oh my God, Richard!"

She pivoted toward the door, her heels clicking on the hardwood as she moved to summon my father. She reached for the brass handle. I surged out of my chair, clearing the distance between us in two long strides. I caught her arm.

"Mom, wait. Please stop."

She froze, spinning back to me with wide, searching eyes.

"What aren't you telling me, Donovan?" she demanded.

I maintained a steady gaze. I forced my heart rate to slow, banking the crushing sorrow behind a wall of calm authority. I had never been good at hiding things from the woman who raised me. She could read a room in seconds and dissect a lie faster. But this massive secret had to be kept locked away.

"She has been through hell. The marriage is toxic, and she is overwhelmed. She needs space and time to process everything before she faces the whole family. She specifically asked for just me."

"But she is safe?" she pressed, searching my eyes for reassurance.

"She will be. I am going to bring her home."

Eleanor reached for her phone, her fingers trembling over the screen as she unlocked it. "We should all go. I will call Richard right now. We can take the jet and be on the ground in a few hours."

"No."

My voice cracked like a whip in the confined office. My mother flinched, her thumb freezing over the keypad. I softened my tone, dropping my hand from her arm.

"Mom, listen to me. She is fragile right now. If we all ambush her in Chicago, it might be too much. It might scare her away again. We cannot risk that."

A flash of pure terror illuminated my mother's eyes. I watched the painful realization hit her like a physical blow. We had lost Sienna five years ago because we pushed too hard. We had suffocated her with expectations and cornered her into an arranged marriage until her only option was to run far away. If we repeated that same mistake now, we would never see her again.

Eleanor's shoulders slumped. The authoritative aura dissolved, leaving behind a desperate, grieving mother yearning for her child.

"But I am her mother. I need to see her. I need to hold her and know she is really okay."

"And you will. I swear it. Just give me a day or two to assess the situation. Let me see what she is dealing with firsthand. I will talk to her about seeing everyone else when I know she is ready. Please, Mom. You have to trust me on this."

Silence stretched between us. The heavy ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner filled the tense void. Eleanor studied my face, the tears tracking down her cheeks, ruining her pristine makeup. She nodded, sliding her phone back into her pocket.

"Okay. I understand. But you call me the exact second you see her. The very second, Donovan. I want to know everything."

"I will."

"And Richard needs to know." Her voice broke, a raw sob tearing from her throat. "He has been so lost without her. We both have."

I knew what she meant. My father had spent the last five years punishing himself. He lived at the corporate headquarters, grinding out grueling sixteen-hour workdays because coming home to an empty house was unbearable. He carried the heavy blame for driving his only daughter away. He had convinced himself that he failed to protect her. He thought she hated him for prioritizing the family legacy over her personal happiness.

"Tell Dad. But make him understand the reality of the situation. This has to be handled with extreme care. Sienna needs us, but she needs us to be patient and move at her pace."

Eleanor pulled a silk handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. She drew a shaky breath, pulling the steel back into her spine. The powerful matriarch returned, fueled by the promise of her daughter's imminent return.

"I will talk to him. When are you leaving?"

"Tonight. I am prepping the jet right now."

She stepped back, her sharp gaze locking onto mine. Her final command rang with desperate, fierce love.

"Bring our girl home, Donovan. Whatever it takes."