Love Unspoken

The door, now broken, bore the faintest of scratch marks, the paint on its panels mostly clawed away. Alexander's expression visibly darkened at the sight.

Kyle, feeling a wave of unease, cast a furtive glance at the man's somber face. He hadn't checked in over the past three days, fearing that the sight of Quinn's dire state would soften his heart. After all, if her own husband didn't care, why should he?

"Alexander," he said, "it seems like someone took Quinn away. I'll look into it."

With that, Alexander turned, leaving the storeroom behind. He walked into the living room, where, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a complete divorce agreement bearing Quinn's signature.

Wordlessly, almost reflexively, he tore the document to shreds and cast it aside. The paper scraps scattered across the floor.

Upon scanning the room once more, he found no other clues of value, apart from the torn divorce agreement. "Check the security footage," he commanded.

"Right away," Kyle responded.

Reviewing the records would reveal any visitors - this should be

and handed it to Alexander. "Alexander..." he began, but stopped himself. As he glanced at the security footage, he sensed an impending storm of violence. Alexander clicked on the monitor. The screen left no room for doubt. Someone had definitely been there, and it wasn't just anyone. It was Abigail. When Abigail had left, Quinn was slung over her shoulder. Alexander remained calm, scrolling through the footage to the end where Abigail's car disappeared into a blind spot, and

Alexander's phone rang. It was Oliver. Glancing at the caller ID, Alexander caught Kyle's eye, causing him to break out in a cold sweat. Yes, as soon as he had finished reviewing the footage, he

it down on the coffee table. "Alexander, I will resolve this situation.

left the house these past days. Why would she abruptly take Quinn away?" His implication was clear. Maybe Quinn had reached out to Abigail, and whatever they had discussed had led her to

had initiated everything, then the blame should not

"What?"

want to

a while, and

hung up. Alexander closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch, his fingers still toying with his wristwatch. "Go find them," he commanded, "Search everywhere if