---- Chapter 10 Panic, cold and sharp, seized Ethan. He fumbled for his phone, his fingers clumsy. "Markham!" he barked at his head of security when the man answered. "Find Amelia. Now. | don't care what it takes. | need to know where she is." His voice was raw, desperate. The carefully constructed facade of indifference had shattered. Markham' s reply came back within the hour, concise and brutal. "Mr. Caldwell, Ms. Hayes... formerly Mrs. Caldwell... appears to have left the country. Her flight to New York departed this morning. She closed all her local bank accounts, sold her assets. Her forwarding address is a P.O. Box. She' s... gone, sir. Cut all ties." Ethan' s hand clenched around his phone, the knuckles white. New York. She had actually done it. She had escaped. He felt a wave of desolation so profound it almost choked him. He drove back to the penthouse, the divorce decree a burning weight in his pocket. ---- He stalked through the rooms Amelia had once inhabited, searching, desperately, for some trace of her, some sign that this wasn't real Her closet was empty, her drawers bare. The only thing he found, tucked away in a forgotten jewelry box, was a small, folded piece of paper. A note. Her handwriting, elegant and familiar. He unfolded it with trembling fingers. "Ethan," it read. "Our marriage is over. This chapter is closed. | wish you... whatever it is you seek. Amelia." That was it. No accusations, no pleas, no lingering affection. Just a simple, devastatingly final farewell. The coldness of it, the utter lack of emotion, was like a physical blow. She didn't hate him. She didn't love him. She simply... didn't care anymore. And that, he realized with a sickening lurch, was far worse than any hatred. Jessica chose that moment to make her entrance, breezy and triumphant. "Darling, | was thinking," she began, surveying Amelia' s empty ---- He stalked through the rooms Amelia had once inhabited, searching, desperately, for some trace of her, some sign that this wasn't real Her closet was empty, her drawers bare. The only thing he found, tucked away in a forgotten jewelry box, was a small, folded piece of paper. A note. Her handwriting, elegant and familiar. He unfolded it with trembling fingers. "Ethan," it read. "Our marriage is over. This chapter is closed. | wish you... whatever it is you seek. Amelia." That was it. No accusations, no pleas, no lingering affection. Just a simple, devastatingly final farewell. The coldness of it, the utter lack of emotion, was like a physical blow. She didn't hate him. She didn't love him. She simply... didn't care anymore. And that, he realized with a sickening lurch, was far worse than any hatred. Jessica chose that moment to make her entrance, breezy and triumphant. "Darling, | was thinking," she began, surveying Amelia' s empty ---- closet with satisfaction. "Now that she's finally out of the picture, | can move my things in properly. This closet is divine. I'll need more shoe racks, of course..." She chattered on, oblivious to the turmoil raging within him, already claiming Amelia' s space, Amelia' s life, as her own. Ethan barely heard her. He nodded vaguely, his mind numb. His gaze was fixed on a spot on the wall where Amelia used to hang a small, Impressionist painting Eleanor had given her. The wall was bare now, a faint outline marking where it had been. He felt a pang, sharp and unexpected. He hadn't even noticed the painting was gone until now. He hadn't noticed so many things. Jessica, taking his silence as acquiescence, began directing the household staff. "This dresser needs to go. It's hideous. And these curtains... ghastly. We'll redecorate. Something modern, minimalist. No more of her fussy, old-fashioned taste." She picked up a small, porcelain bird, one of Amelia' s few remaining knick-knacks, and examined it with disdain. "Trash," she declared, tossing it into a nearby wastebasket. The sound of it hitting the bottom, a small, sharp crack, resonated through Ethan like a shockwave. ---- A memory surfaced, unbidden. Amelia, years ago, her face alight with pleasure as she unwrapped that same porcelain bird, a gift from Eleanor. Isn't it lovely, Ethan?" she had asked, her eyes shining. "It reminds me of spring." He had grunted, barely looking up from his phone. He hadn't cared then. Now, the memory, the image of her innocent joy, his own callous indifference, was a fresh stab of pain. He saw Jessica about to discard a stack of Amelia' s art books. "Stop!" he said, his voice harsh. Jessica looked up, surprised. "What? These old things?" "Leave them," he said curtly. He couldn't explain why. Later that night, Ethan found himself alone in his study, a bottle of scotch in his hand. He replayed their last conversation, Amelia' s calm pronouncements, her unwavering resolve. "| would rather die than feel a flicker of what | once felt for you." He had dismissed it as melodrama. Now, he understood. She had meant it. He had driven her to it. His cruelty, his blindness, his endless parade of Jessica. ---- A wave of regret, so potent it made him gasp, washed over him. 2 He had destroyed something precious, something he hadn't even recognized until it was gone. Jessica flounced in, wearing one of Amelia' s silk robes - it was too big for her, hanging awkwardly. "Darling, the staff are being so slow with the redecorating," she complained, pouting. "And that dreadful little bird you made me keep? It's still on the dresser. It' s an eyesore." Ethan looked at her, really looked at her. Her perfectly made-up face, her calculating eyes, her endless, shallow demands. 1 He remembered Amelia, her quiet grace, her genuine, uncomplaining love. The way she used to tend the small herb garden on their balcony, her hands gentle among the leaves. Jessica had insisted he rip it out, said it was "messy." The contrast was stark, brutal. He had traded gold for glitter. A horrifying realization dawned on Ethan. Some things, once broken, could not be mended. Some things, once lost, could never be recovered. He had let Amelia go. And in doing so, he had lost a part of himself he hadn't even known existed. The scotch tasted like ash in his mouth. ---- He wanted her back. Desperately. But a cold, sinking feeling told him it was too late. Far too late. He looked at the empty space on his finger where his own wedding ring used to be. He'd taken it off years ago, at Jessica's insistence. He hadn't even noticed its absence until now.