---- Chapter 12 His first instinct was to rip the divorce papers to shreds, to destroy the evidence of her decision. But his hand froze mid- air. This was the last thing she had given him. The last piece of her he had left. If he destroyed it, he would sever their final, fragile connection. He smoothed the papers out on his desk, his fingers tracing her signature over and over again, his eyes filled with a desperate, agonizing longing. "I'm sorry, Joana," he whispered, the words catching in his throat. "| was wrong. | only love you. Please, don't leave me. Hit me, scream at me, do whatever you want. Just come back. | can't live without you." He repeated the words like a mantra, his voice growing hoarse, until he realized the person who needed to hear his apology was gone. It was all useless. "| won't sign it," he declared to the empty room, his voice filled with a new, fierce determination. "We're still married. And | will find you." ---- He would never let her go. She was his. She would always be his. He would admit his mistakes, but he would never, ever accept her leaving him. He carefully placed the divorce papers in a protective sleeve, treating them like a precious artifact. He needed something of hers to hold onto, something to ease the gnawing ache of her absence. Her photos. He still had the photos on his phone. He searched the house, frantic for any other trace of her. But she had been ruthless. Her clothes were gone, her personal belongings had vanished, even the furniture in their bedroom had been replaced. The house felt like a stranger's home, scrubbed clean of her scent, her presence, her soul. She had left him nothing. His phone rang. It was Kaylee. "Did you see the news?" she asked, her voice bright and cheerful. "That necklace of yours is up for auction online again." A jolt of panic shot through him. He hung up without a word. He immediately called his assistant. "The 'Joana' necklace is being sold. Buy it back. | don't care what it costs." He paced the room, waiting for the call back, every second stretching into an eternity. When the phone finally rang, his assistant's voice was hesitant. "Sir... I'm sorry. An international collector bought it. We were too late." ---- The phone slipped from Darius's hand, shattering on the marble floor. He didn't care. Too late. Just a little too late. How? That necklace was a symbol of his love for her. She had sold it once, and now she had arranged for it to be sold again Did his love mean so little to her? He looked down at his hands, his expression a mixture of grief and despair. The jewel belonged to someone else now. A terrifying thought entered his mind. Will she belong to someone else, too? The idea was unbearable. It threatened to destroy the last remnants of his sanity. He remembered the first time he'd seen her, how he had known, in that instant, that she was the only one for him. He had imagined a lifetime of happiness with her. How had it all come to this? He hated himself. But he hated Kaylee more. If she had never entered the picture, would things be different? He sat alone in the empty house, consumed by loneliness and tegret. His eyes fell on the trash can, on the untouched box of cream puffs. He gently lifted it out, holding it as if it were a ---- sacred relic. The pastries were cold and stale. But to him, they were priceless. She didn't even take one bite. His gaze shifted, and he saw something else in the trash. A small, glittering object. The SIM card from her phone. His heart hammered against his ribs. He fished it out, cleaned it carefully, and inserted it into his own broken phone. It was a desperate, irrational act, as if this small piece of plastic could somehow bring her back to him. The screen flickered to life. A notification popped up. A message from a familiar number. He read it, and his blood ran cold. It was from Kaylee, a long, taunting message, detailing her affair with him, sent to Joana's number weeks ago. And it was attached to a photo of his own rumpled bedsheets in Kaylee's villa.