---- Chapter 10 "Where did she go?" Darius demanded, his voice hoarse. "When did she leave?" "She left this morning," the worker replied, avoiding his gaze. "She had a suitcase. We don't know where she went." His mind went blank. She had no family to run to. Her parents were long gone. A desperate, frantic energy seized him. He started calling her friends, one by one. "Have you seen Joana?" "Do you know where she is?" The answer was always the same. No. No one had seen her. No one knew anything. The despair was a physical thing, a black hole opening in his chest, sucking all the air and light from the world. He felt like he was being pulled back into the chaotic, meaningless existence he'd had before he met her. She was the anchor of his life, the very core of his being. And now she had cut the rope. He felt a pain so profound, it was like a part of his own body had been ripped away. He let out a guttural roar, a sound of pure agony. "Joana, please! Don't do this! Stop playing games!" ---- Then, a thought struck him. The gift box. He sprinted up the stairs to his study. There it was, on his desk, wrapped in silver paper. He ripped off the sticky note, his hands shaking so violently he could barely hold it. This had to be it. She had left a clue, a message. She wanted him to find her. She had to. He tore open the wrapping paper and lifted the lid of the box. Inside, nestled on a bed of black satin, was a single stack of papers. A divorce agreement. Signed in her elegant, familiar script. "No... no, this can't be real," he whispered, his voice trembling. He sank into his chair, the papers clutched in his hand. "She loves me. She wouldn't leave me. Someone must have switched the gift!" He stormed out of the study and summoned the entire household staff, interrogating them one by one "Did you touch this box?" he roared, his eyes wild. They all shook their heads, their faces pale with fear. "We wouldn't dare touch your things, sir," the housekeeper stammered. "Maybe... maybe you should check the security footage from the study." He knew it was useless, but he couldn't stop himself. He was grasping at straws, desperate for any explanation other than ---- the one staring him in the face. He pulled up the footage. And he watched. He watched as, three weeks ago, Joana calmly sat at his desk, signed the papers with a steady hand, and placed them in the gift box. A part of him had known all along. But he had clung to denial, a desperate, drowning man clinging to a piece of driftwood. The surveillance footage was the final, crushing wave that pulled him under. He stared at the screen, his mind replaying every interaction they'd had in the last three weeks. Every strained smile, every distant look, every hollow touch. The signs had all been there, a constellation of her unhappiness that he had been too arrogant and self-absorbed to see.