"Has it been found?" Zeus asked, his voice strained as he stood in the receiving room of the Monteverde mansion. He faced Cielo and Romos, trying to remain composed.
He wanted to scream, to tear the walls apart, but he couldn't. He wasn't in his own home, and Cielo's condition is delicate.
The Starlight necklace, the one he gifted Ceres on her twentieth birthday, was missing.
He remembered clearly seeing it in her walk-in closet two months ago. It was placed inside her glass cabinet where Ceres kept all the gifts he had given her, carefully arranged and untouched. But when he returned last month, the necklace was gone.
"I'm sorry, Zeus," Cielo said softly, her expression laced with sorrow.
Zeus clenched his fists. He had already gone through every possible route to find it. He even requested that every single employee of the Monteverde household be questioned, despite their long years of loyal service and the lack of any motive to steal from the family.
And yet, no one objected. They all knew how important the necklace was, not just to Zeus, but to Cielo and Romos as well. It was a treasured memory of the daughter they lost.
It had been a year since Ceres's death.
Almost everyone had found a way to move on.
Almost everyone, except Zeus.
For the first month after losing her, Zeus spiraled. He did nothing but drink and cry.
He thought alcohol might numb the pain. It didn't.
He couldn't even stay at his own club, Club Olympus, because that was where their story began. After four years of patiently courting her, that was where Ceres finally acknowledged his feelings.
His penthouse? Unbearable. His mansion? Too many memories. His office, his car, everything reminded him of her. Of laughter in the hallways, kisses in the elevator, sleepy morning coffee on the balcony.
In the end, Zeus moved from hotel to hotel, just to keep functioning like a normal man.
Not even his parents or closest friends knew how to help him. How to fix him.
The only thing that gave him purpose again… were the charities. The shelters. The orphanages Ceres once supported.
He buried himself in her legacy. Took over every foundation, every cause. He flooded them with funding, made sure every child, every widow, every forgotten soul that Ceres once helped, was never forgotten again.
It was the only way he could still feel close to her.
Cielo and Romos only allowed him to visit the Monteverde mansion once a month, to sit in Ceres's room.
Because they, too, wanted him to move on. They believed it's what their daughter would have wanted.
Once, they banned him from entering the house entirely.
And still, Zeus didn't leave.
He stood outside their gates through rain and cold until Romos relented. Because no matter how much they wanted him to heal, they couldn't bear to watch the man who loved their daughter most suffer like that.
"Then how did it disappear if no one took it?" Zeus asked, his voice low but tight with restrained anger.
"We already checked the security footage inside her walk-in closet," Romos answered calmly. "There was a one-minute glitch in the recording. A blackout we couldn't recover. But aside from that, no one entered the room. No one… except you."
Zeus's jaw tensed. "I didn't take it. I checked every item I brought that day. Every step I retraced, home, the car, the office, even the hotel. It's not there."
"I had the footage reviewed by another technician," Romos said. "A specialist. They're trying to recover the missing minute. I'm waiting for their call."
Then, gently, he added, "For now, go home, Zeus. Get some sleep."
Zeus let out a bitter laugh, devoid of humor. "I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I only see her."
The pain in his voice was raw enough to make Cielo look away.
"We have to leave for the hospital now, Zeus," Romos said gently. "Evadne is due for her checkup. If you can't sleep, at least try to rest in Ceres's room. For now, stop thinking about the necklace, let's wait until we hear from the technician I hired."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hold you up," Zeus murmured, guilt flickering in his eyes.
Romos patted his shoulder. "It's fine. We'll find the necklace, Zeus. But for now, get some rest."
With that, Romos took Cielo's arm and helped her out the door, followed by a maid gently carrying a baby girl in her arms.
Like a machine running on nothing but routine, Zeus climbed the stairs to the second floor and made his way to Ceres's room.
He didn't hesitate.
He walked straight to her bed and dropped onto it, curling around one of her pillows, burying his face in it. Her scent still lingered, floral and warm. He knew her nanny had been spraying it regularly, trying to keep even that faint comfort alive for him.
His eyes drifted to the right side of the room.
There it stood, her gown.
The same ballgown she wore on the day of Ryzel's wedding… the day she was hit by that truck.
"Love," Zeus whispered, voice hoarse. "I miss you. I'm so tired. But if I could just see you again… if I could just hug you, kiss you, one more time…"
He closed his eyes.
And at last, his body gave in to the exhaustion he had ignored for days.
Sleep claimed him.
Almost immediately, he slipped into a dream, vivid and blinding.
There she was.
Wearing the Starlight necklace, aglow beneath a warm sun, her back to him as she stood near a bed of white lilies.
But before he could move toward her, before he could even speak her name,
Zeus awoke.
The sharp ring of his phone shattered the dream. Disoriented, he sat up quickly.
It felt like only seconds had passed, but the room was now cloaked in darkness. He reached for his phone, 9:00 PM.
The caller ID flashed the name of one of the animal shelter coordinators.
"Hello?" he answered groggily, still shaken from the abrupt waking.
"Mr. Falcon!" a woman's voice cried on the other end, panicked and breathless. "There's been an accident, I'm on my way to the shelter now. I just got a call… it's on fire."
Zeus bolted upright.
"Did anyone call the fire department?" he asked, already throwing on his coat.
"Yes, sir! But they said no one's arrived yet!" the woman said.
"I'm heading there now," Zeus said and ended the call.
As he rushed down the stairs, he nearly ran into Romos in the foyer.
"Zeus?" Romos asked, alarmed.
"I'm sorry, Romos. I have to go. The animal shelter is on fire," Zeus said quickly before rushing out the door.
Moments later, the roar of Zeus's car echoed through the sleeping city as he sped down the dark roads, his heart pounding in his chest.
Ceres had loved that place.
Just like she loved the orphanage.
Just like she cared for the women's shelter she supported in secret.
He had known about them all along. There were moments when he had wanted to use that knowledge, to manipulate her, to win her over.
But he never did.
Because those places were sacred to her. Untouchable.
They were the windows into her soul, the places where her carefully hidden heart revealed itself.
Even when she rolled her eyes at him.
Even when she treated him like every other man.
Even when the people in their social circle whispered cruel names behind her back,
He saw her.
He saw the real her.
Through the shelters and the orphanage she protected quietly. Without fanfare. Without expectation.
And he had fallen harder for her because of it.
He had already lost the Starlight necklace.
He couldn't lose another memory of her.
Not this one.
When he reached the shelter, flames were already devouring the roof. Thick smoke poured into the sky. But still, no fire trucks.
Staff members were outside, coughing and weeping, some of them cradling injured animals in their arms. Others ran frantically, still trying to save more lives.
Zeus didn't wait for questions or orders.
He charged into the burning shelter without a word.
The smoke stung his lungs. Heat pressed down like a physical weight. But he pushed forward, shoving open doors, unlocking cages, guiding frightened animals toward the exit, just like the others.
It wasn't until his vision blurred from the smoke that he heard it, the faint sound of whimpering, from a room at the far end of the hallway.
Without hesitation, Zeus ran.
The door was half-melted, the metal too hot to touch, but he kicked it open.
And there they were.
A few dogs and cats, still locked in their cages.
They had been forgotten in the chaos.
In their confusion and fear, the staff must have missed the room, too deep in the building, too far from help.
Zeus rushed to the cages and opened each one, expecting the animals to flee in panic.
But none of them moved.
Not even the cats, creatures born to run from danger.
They stared at him with tired, glassy eyes.
And in them, he saw surrender.
They had given up.
He was supposed to run. He had done all he could.
But he didn't.
Because on the wall, through the smoke and the firelight, he saw it,
A photograph. Framed.
A picture of Ceres, crouched down in that very room, surrounded by the same animals, hugging one of the cats with a soft smile on her face. The same cat now lay silently near the frame, unmoving.
Something in Zeus shattered.
He pulled out his phone, hands shaking, and typed a message.
"I love you. But I can't do this anymore. I don't want to live like this. But I just don't know how to go on. Forgive me."
It was addressed to his parents.
Then, quietly, Zeus pressed the photograph to his chest and sat down beside one of the dogs. The cats crept from their cages and curled around him. A few dogs followed, resting their heads on his legs, his lap.
He did not cry.
He did not scream.
He just closed his eyes.
And waited.
Waited for the fire to take them all.
Together.
With her memory.
With the last piece of her he couldn't bear to lose.