---- Chapter 12 The next morning, Ethan' s rage had solidified into a cold, hard resolve. Jessica' s perfume still lingered in the penthouse, a cloying, offensive scent. He ordered the staff to air out the entire apartment, to remove every trace of her. His suspicions about Jessica, once vague and easily dismissed, now consumed him. Amelia' s journals had been a revelation, a brutal illumination of Jessica' s calculated cruelty and his own willful blindness. He remembered countless incidents, small and large, where Jessica had subtly poisoned his mind against Amelia, incidents he had brushed off at the time. Now, they played back with horrifying clarity. He summoned Markham. "| want a full investigation into Jessica Thorne," Ethan commanded, his voice devoid of emotion. "Everything. Her past, her finances, her associates. | want to know every dirty secret she has." Markham, a discreet and thorough professional, nodded. "Consider it done, Mr. Caldwell." ---- Ethan knew, with a sickening certainty, that there would be many. The preliminary report landed on Ethan' s desk within days. It was worse than he could have imagined. Jessica Thorne was a con artist, a predator in designer clothing. A string of wealthy, older men, discarded once their bank accounts were sufficiently depleted. Whispers of blackmail, of emotional manipulation so profound it bordered on abuse. Evidence of her systematically sabotaging Amelia: anonymous tips to gossip columnists painting Amelia as unstable, orchestrating "accidental" encounters designed to humiliate Amelia, feeding Ethan a constant stream of lies and half-truths about his wife. She had been playing a long game, with Ethan as the ultimate prize. Ethan felt a cold fury build within him, a rage so intense it made him tremble. He had been a pawn, a fool, a willing accomplice in Jessica' s destruction of Amelia. He thought of Amelia' s quiet suffering, her uncomplaining endurance, her steadfast, unshakeable love for him, a love he ---- had repaid with contempt and ridicule, all while being expertly manipulated by Jessica. The shame was a physical ache in his chest. A former friend of Jessica' s, a woman Jessica had apparently double-crossed, contacted Markham. She had evidence. Incriminating texts, voicemails. Markham played one for Ethan. Jessica' s voice, smug and triumphant, talking to this friend: "_.Ethan is so easy to control. He eats out of my hand. And Amelia? That pathetic little mouse? |' Il make sure she never has a moment's peace. He' II divorce her soon enough. And then, darling, his fortune will be mine. All mine." Her contempt for Amelia, her cold, calculating greed - it was all there, laid bare. The recording ended. Silence filled the room, heavy and suffocating. Ethan felt something snap within him. The rage, the guilt, the shame - it was overwhelming. He remembered Amelia' s face, pale and bruised, after Jessica' s orchestrated "accident" at the gallery. He remembered her tear-filled eyes, her quiet pleas for him to believe her, pleas he had callously dismissed. ---- He had been Jessica' s weapon against Amelia. He had wielded his cruelty, his indifference, at Jessica' s behest. He was as guilty as she was. He slammed his fist onto his mahogany desk, the wood groaning under the impact. Pain shot up his arm, but he barely registered it. The physical pain was nothing compared to the agony ripping through his soul. He had to make this right. He had to destroy Jessica, for Amelia. And then... then he had to find Amelia. He had to beg for her forgiveness, even though he knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that he didn't deserve it. He confronted Jessica at a charity event she was attending, a desperate attempt to maintain her social standing. He played the recording for her, his voice cold and steady, in front of everyone. Her face, usually so artfully composed, crumbled. Panic, then terror, flashed in her eyes. "Ethan, no," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It's not... it's not what it sounds like." The crowd murmured, shocked. Her carefully constructed ---- facade was shattering. Jessica tried to deny it, to twist the narrative, but the evidence was irrefutable. Ethan presented more: bank statements showing her lavish spending of his money, testimonies from her previous victims, evidence of her deliberate sabotage of Amelia. He systematically, ruthlessly, dismantled her reputation, her social standing, her financial support. He watched, his expression unreadable, as her world collapsed around her. Public disgrace. Isolation. Potential legal action for fraud, for defamation. Her downfall was swift, brutal, and absolute. Ethan felt no triumph, no satisfaction. Only a vast, hollow emptiness Destroying Jessica wouldn't bring Amelia back. It wouldn't erase the years of pain he had inflicted. It was a hollow victory, a desperate, futile gesture. He was left with the wreckage of his life, the crushing weight of his guilt, and the unbearable knowledge that he had lost the only woman who had ever truly loved him. And he had no idea where to even begin to look for her.