Until The Last Day (Claire and Lorenzo) novel Chapter 7

Lorenzo’s POV 

I was still at the hospital with Aria. Her wrist was hooked to a thin line. She said the IV burned a little. I peeled another orange and tried to smile. 

“Lorenzo,” she whispered. “You should rest now. 

“I’ll call Claire first,” I said, reaching for my phone. “She’s alone at the hotel.” 

I stepped into the hallway and dialed. It rang and rang. No answer. I tried again. Nothing. 

A strange chill ran through me. 

I called a third time. Voicemail. 

I stared at the screen. “Pick up, Claire. Please.” 

I called again. And again. Still nothing. 

The whole situation was more tensed than I imagined. I rushed back in. “I have to go,” I told Aria. “Claire isn’t answering.” 

Her eyes widened. “Now? But-” 

“I’ll call you,” I said, already backing out. “Rest. I’ll text you when I land.” 

I grabbed a taxi outside the hospital. “Airport,” I told the driver. “As fast as you can.

The city lights slid past the window in streaks. I kept calling, kept texting. 

Are you okay? 

Claire, answer me. 

Please pick up. 

No reply. 

At the airport, I bought a ticket on the earliest flight to Switzerland. I found a seat by the gate and kept texting Claire untill my flight arrived. But she didn’t reply to any of those. 

My heart beat so hard like I was running a marathon. I tried to remember the last time she’d looked at me when we were together at our hotel in Switzerland. Her face was just too calm and unresponsive, like she didn’t care at all. Like she already had something in her head. 

I realized something was wrong but I just didn’t listen to my intuition enough that day. I knew I should have stayed. And now, I am sweating all over with the worry. My thoughts were racing to the worst scenarios possible and I don’t even want to name them. 

“Boarding Group A,” the agent called. 

I stood fast. On the jet bridge, I dialed her number one more time but it went straight to voicemail. I just wished she’d okay. 

I couldn’t sleep throughout my journey. And, when the plane touched down, I was the first to stand. I didn’t even wait for the seatbelt sign. The woman beside me gave me a look. I muttered an apology and shoved my bag down the aisle.

Outside, I grabbed a taxi and gave the driver the hotel name. The mountains in the distance looked like white ghosts, though the sky was clear. No snow. 

“Fast, please,” I said. 

He nodded and pressed the accelerator. 

The hotel lobby was warm and bright. A Christmas tree glittered in the corner. I ran to the elevator and rode up to our floor. 

The hallway was silent. 

I opened the door to our room. 

Empty. 

The bed was made. The chair by the window was turned slightly toward the glass. Her suitcase was gone. My heart stuttered. 

“Claire?” I called. 

Finally, I went back to the desk. “Please,” I said, trying to sound calm. “May I see the security footage? I’m worried. I can’t reach her.”  

The manager came out. He looked at me, then at my shaking hands, and nodded. 

We watched the screen. 

There she was, in the morning light, moving steadily toward the door, one hand on the wheel, the other guiding a small suitcase. Ten a.m. December 25. 

“How long has she been gone?” I asked, my voice thin. 

The manager checked the time stamp. “Thirty-two hours,” he said softly. 

Thirty-two hours. 

My mind seized on a thought. She might have went home. 

I grabbed my phone and booked the soonest flight back. 

Before boarding, I called my mother. It rang twice. 

“Lorenzo?” she said, surprised. “Why are you calling at this hour?” 

“Mom,” I said, and my voice cracked. “Please go to our house. Right now.” 

“What happened?” 

“I can’t reach Claire. She left the hotel yesterday morning. I don’t, I’m flying home. Can you check if she’s there? Please. Use your key.” 

My mother went quiet for a second. “Okay. I’ll go right now.” 

I hung up and stood at the window facing the runway.