---- Chapter 9 Ethan recovered quickly from his superficial scratch. The theatrics surrounding it faded. But a strange emptiness began to settle in. Amelia was gone. Really gone. No frantic calls, no tearful messages, no dramatic appearances. Just... silence. It was unnerving. He found himself listening for her footsteps, for the sound of her quiet humming as she sketched, for the arguments he used to despise but now, strangely, missed. The penthouse felt too large, too quiet. Jessica did her best to fill the void, chattering endlessly about social events, shopping sprees, her latest Instagram triumphs. She was attentive, affectionate, everything he thought he wanted. But Ethan found himself distracted, his thoughts drifting. He' d catch himself staring at the door, half-expecting Amelia to walk in, to shatter the silence with some new demand, some fresh accusation. ---- The box she had left sat on his coffee table, unopened. He couldn't bring himself to touch it. "Are you even listening to me, Ethan?" Jessica pouted one evening, interrupting his reverie. "You seem so... distant lately. Is it because of Amelia? Are you actually missing her?" Her tone was light, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of insecurity, of possessiveness. She was watching him, gauging his reaction. "Missing her?" Ethan scoffed, forcing a harsh laugh. "Don't be ridiculous, Jessica. I'm glad she's gone. Good riddance." But even as he said the words, a cold knot of unease tightened in his stomach. Amelia had always come back. No matter how cruel he was, no matter how much he pushed her away, she had always, eventually, returned, begging for scraps of his attention. Her complete and utter silence now was... unnatural. It defied everything he knew about her. It was as if the Amelia who had loved him, obsessed over him, no longer existed. Jessica, sensing his internal conflict, pressed her advantage, her voice laced with subtle poison. ---- "Well, | heard she' s already moved on," Jessica said casually, examining her perfectly manicured nails. "Probably shacked up with some starving artist or a male model. You know her type. Always so dramatic, so desperate for attention." She was referencing his own past taunts, twisting the knife. "Shut up, Jessica!" Ethan snapped, his voice raw. The image of Amelia with another man, happy, laughing, free of him - it was intolerable. He slammed his fist on the table, rattling the champagne flutes. Jessica looked momentarily startled, then her expression hardened. He was losing control, and the thought terrified him. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Amelia was supposed to be a wreck without him. He stormed out of the penthouse, needing to escape Jessica ' s cloying presence, his own suffocating thoughts. He drove aimlessly, finally finding himself in front of the grand Caldwell mansion, the house he and Amelia had shared after their wedding, before he' d moved them to the sterile modernity of the penthouse. He hadn' t been back in years. It was kept by a skeleton staff, a relic of his grandmother' s era. ---- He let himself in, the air thick with dust and disuse. "Amelia?" he called out, his voice echoing in the cavernous foyer. Silence. Of course, she wasn't here. Why would she be? But a desperate, irrational hope had driven him. He walked through the silent rooms, each one filled with the ghost of her presence. Her small, sunlit studio, still smelling faintly of turpentine and dried flowers. Her favorite armchair by the library window, a book still resting on the side table, as if she' d just stepped away. He found himself standing in front of the small, unassuming box she had left him. He' d brought it with him, unconsciously. His fingers trembled as he finally lifted the lid Inside, nestled on a bed of black velvet, were two items. Her wedding ring. And a crisp, official-looking document. A divorce decree. His name. Her name. Stamped, sealed, finalized. ---- Irrevocable. Ethan stared at it, the words blurring before his eyes. His breath hitched. A cold dread, sharp and absolute, pierced through him. She had actually done it. She had left him. For good. A wave of disbelief, so powerful it made him sway, washed over Ethan. "No," he whispered, shaking his head. "No, this is... this is just another game. A trick." He sank into a nearby chair, the document clutched in his hand. But her calm demeanor, her final words, her complete disappearance... The horrifying truth began to dawn. Amelia hadn't been playing a game. She had been deadly serious. And he, in his arrogance, in his blindness, had let her walk away. He had lost her.