Will goes crazy with anonymous text messages trying to find missing baby The Bold and the Beautiful
The quiet hum of the heating system was the only sound in Katie Logan’s office that night. The soft amber glow of her desk lamp illuminated framed Forrester memories — smiling faces, happier times frozen behind glass — while outside, the building slept. She had almost finished a late-night report when her phone buzzed once. Then again. Then again.
At first, she ignored it, assuming it was PR demanding yet another crisis response after weeks of chaos. But the fourth alert made her glance down. A text from an unknown number. No icon. No contact.
The child isn’t gone. You were lied to.
Her breath stopped. For a moment, the words made no sense — until they did.
The child.
Luna’s baby. The baby the world believed had died with Luna Nozawa on the Pacific Coast Highway. The tragedy that had shattered Will Spencer, left him hollow, unreachable, drowning in guilt.
Katie swallowed hard as the phone buzzed again.
He’s alive. Hidden in plain sight. Ask yourself — who benefits from a dead mother and a missing son?
The room seemed to tilt. She wanted to dismiss it — a hoax, a cruel stranger exploiting a family still in mourning — but something about the phrasing, the calm certainty, made her blood turn cold. And beneath her instinct to deny it… a whisper of dread, and something worse: hope.
When she showed the message to Electra Forrester later that evening, expecting laughter or skepticism, she received neither. Instead, Electra’s face drained of color.
“I got the same message,” she whispered.
They sat together in the dimly lit Forrester office, phones glowing like tiny lighthouses in the dark. Two women who loved the same fractured family, both staring into an abyss they didn’t know existed.
“What if it’s true?” Electra asked, her voice breaking.
Katie didn’t answer — because suddenly, painfully, she didn’t know.
THE SYMBOL THAT CHANGES EVERYTHING
More messages followed in the days after. Not threats. Not demands. Just fragments — unsettling glimpses into a secret someone desperately wanted them to uncover.
A crib in a shadowed room.
A blurred photograph of a woman holding a baby.
A hospital wristband: Luna N., half-smudged.
And always — always — a strange spiral symbol. Carved into the crib. Scratched into a window. Drawn faintly on a blanket. Sometimes black, sometimes red.
This wasn’t random. It was deliberate. A pattern.
Katie’s instincts sharpened. As a mother, as a journalist, as someone who had seen too many lies dressed as truth, she began digging.
Coroner reports. Ambulance logs. Hospital records.
Every document insisted the same thing: Luna died instantly. The baby never took a breath.
Yet as Katie dug deeper, inconsistencies began bleeding through.
A missing timestamp in ambulance notes.
A physician’s signature that didn’t match his own handwriting.
A hospital rotation schedule mysteriously redacted.
Alone, tiny errors. Together, a crack in the official story.
Electra spiraled in her own way. The messages awakened a memory she had tried to forget — Luna flinching at unknown numbers, checking windows, whispering, “They’re watching.”
Electra had dismissed it as prenatal anxiety.
Now? She wasn’t so sure.
A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD
A breakthrough came when Katie discovered an unsent draft in Luna’s cloud backup — a desperate message written the night before the crash.
If something happens to me, don’t believe it.
There’s more to this.
I can’t tell you who yet, but they’re closer than you think.
Protect him.
Him.
Will?
The baby?
Someone else entirely?
The ambiguity gnawed at Katie’s mind.
She brought the draft to Bill Spencer, expecting disbelief or anger. Instead, he went pale — and confessed that his security team detected unusual activity at Luna’s crash site weeks after the cleanup: power surges, camera interference, evidence someone returned.
At the time, he assumed vandals.
Now?
It reeked of cover-up.
THE COLLECTOR
Electra’s own investigation took her somewhere darker.
A woman named Harper — Luna’s former colleague at an art gallery — revealed Luna had been terrified of someone she called the Collector.
“He owns people,” Luna had whispered once.
“He collects more than art.”
Harper dismissed it as paranoia — until Electra showed her the spiral symbol.
Harper went white.
“She said this was his mark.”
Fear, real and immediate, pulsed between them.
Suddenly Luna’s death didn’t feel accidental.
It felt orchestrated.
THE VIDEO THAT BREAKS EVERYTHING
One week later, the messages changed.
This time, the anonymous number sent a video.
Grainy. Shaky. Filmed on what looked like an old security camera. A woman’s trembling hand rocking a cradle. A baby’s cry echoing faintly. Then a distorted voice:
“He’s safe for now.”
The camera panned — one second, maybe less — catching a spiral carved into the wall before the footage cut to black.
Katie’s heart lurched.
She turned to Bill once more.
But Bill warned her:
“If someone did all this to hide the truth, they won’t stop now.”
He was right.
Within days:
Strangers lingered near Katie’s home.
Electra’s email was hacked.
Her phone wiped clean.
Someone wasn’t just sending messages — they were watching.
THE DOCTOR AND THE REDWOODS
A final, chilling clue appeared in a forgotten hospital archive in Monterey:
A female patient with Luna’s blood type, admitted the night of the crash, transferred hours later under coded initials: MC.
The doctor in charge?
Dr. Marlo Carter.
Sheila Carter’s cousin.
A geneticist once accused of falsifying death certificates.
The implications were staggering.
If Marlo was involved…
Luna’s death may have been staged.
Katie and Electra drove north under cover of darkness, terrified but determined. Hidden in the redwoods, they found Marlo’s private clinic.
Empty. Silent. Door unlocked.
Inside — not Luna.
But a nursery.
A pacifier on the floor.
A blanket embroidered with a crest neither recognized.
And on the wall, painted in red:
He’s not yours.
He never was.
Katie nearly collapsed.
The message pierced deeper than fear — into identity, into legacy, into the question no one wanted to ask:
Was Luna’s baby even Will’s?
If the Collector was real…
If Luna had been running…
The father could be someone terrifyingly powerful.
AND THEN — ONE FINAL MESSAGE
A final text vibrated through the silence.
No photos.
No symbol.
Just three words:
She’s coming back.
Katie read it aloud, her voice trembling.
Was Luna alive?
Had she orchestrated her disappearance — even the messages — to protect her child from the Collector?
Or was someone using her memory as bait?
No one knew.
But one thing was clear:
Luna’s story wasn’t over.
Her death wasn’t an ending.
It was the opening move in a much larger game.
A CITY WAITING FOR A GHOST
As Christmas lights flickered across Los Angeles, peace felt like an illusion — a fragile mask over growing shadows.
Somewhere, a child believed dead was breathing.
Somewhere, a woman the world had buried was watching.
Somewhere, a man known only by a symbol was pulling strings.
And Will Spencer — shattered, unraveling — sensed the truth rising like a tide he could no longer outrun.
The whispers were not threats. They were warnings.
Because when Luna returns — and she will — the question won’t be whether her baby survived.
It will be:
Who is holding him…
and what will they do when she comes to take him back?