---- Chapter 13 Derek Gomez POV: The aftermath was a blur of shame and chaos. My parents, their faces etched with a disappointment so profound it was like a physical blow, tried to manage the fallout, issuing apologies and ushering stunned guests out of the ballroom. | was a ghost at my own funeral, a silent, hollowed-out spectator to the complete implosion of my life. Mark drove me home, the silence in the car thick with unspoken condemnation. When we arrived at the apartment, it felt even emptier than before, the silence screaming with accusations. "What are you going to do?" Mark finally asked, breaking the silence. "I'm going to find her," | said, the words a raw whisper. "I'm going to get her back." Mark just shook his head, a look of pity in his eyes. "Derek, did you see that video? Did you see what you did? There is no coming back from this." "You don't understand," | insisted, a desperate, frantic energy surging through me. "She's my life. Without her, I'm nothing. | have to make her understand. | have to make her forgive me." ---- For the next year, finding Elaina became my obsession. | was a man possessed. | hired a team of the best private investigators money could buy. | liquidated company assets, pouring millions into the search. My business, once my pride and joy, faltered from my neglect. My reputation was in tatters. The charismatic tech mogul was now a pariah, the villain of a viral wedding-day scandal. None of it mattered. Only Elaina mattered. | flew to Portland. | found the gallery from the business card. It was a beautiful, light-filled space in a trendy part of the city, showcasing bold, contemporary art. It was thriving. It was her. Full of life and strength and a beauty that took my breath away. But she wasn't there. The gallery manager, a chic woman with sharp eyes, recognized me instantly. Her expression was one of pure, unadulterated contempt. "She's not here," she said, before | could even speak. "And if she were, she wouldn't want to see you." "Please," | begged, my pride a distant memory. "I just need to talk to her. | need to apologize." "Some things can't be fixed with an apology, Mr. Gomez," she said, her voice like ice. "You had your chance. You destroyed it. Now, please leave before | call security." ---- | was forced to leave, the laughter of the gallery patrons following me out the door. The investigators hit dead end after dead end. Elaina had covered her tracks brilliantly. She was living under a new name, her finances routed through a series of anonymous corporations. She had vanished, a ghost | was chasing across the country. | became a specter myself, haunting the places we had loved. The cafe where we had our first date. The park bench where | had promised her forever. | sat there for hours, hoping for a miracle, hoping she would somehow appear, a mirage of the life | had lost. My health began to fail. | couldn't eat. | couldn't sleep. The nightmares were relentless. | saw our baby's face, the one | would never know. | saw Elaina's eyes, once full of love for me, now cold and dead. | started drinking, the burn of the whiskey the only thing that could numb the gnawing, all-consuming guilt. One evening, after months of dead ends, my lead investigator called. "We found her," he said. My heart leaped into my throat. "Where? Where is she?" "She's not in Portland anymore. She's in a small town in Northern California. But, Mr. Gomez... you need to be prepared. ---- She's not alone." He sent me a file. | opened it with trembling hands. There were photos. Elaina, walking on a beach, her hair blowing in the wind. She was laughing, a genuine, joyful laugh that | hadn't heard in years. And she was holding a man's hand. He was handsome, in a rugged, unassuming way. He was looking at her with an expression of pure, uncomplicated adoration. In another photo, they were sitting on the porch of a small, charming bookstore, reading side-by-side, their shoulders touching. He had his arm around her. She was leaning into him, her expression peaceful, content. Happy. She was happy without me. The name on the file was Graham Barnett. Owner of "The Reading Nook" bookstore. A simple, quiet man who had given her what | never could: peace. Stability. A love that didn't come with conditions or betrayals. The hope that had sustained me for a year finally died, leaving a cold, hard despair in its place. She had moved on. She had found someone new. She had built a new life on the ashes of the one | had burned down. | had lost. The game was over. | had played with fire, and now, my entire world had been reduced to smoke and cinders.