---- Chapter 12 The news that Sarah wanted to see him washed away all the irritation he felt towards Olivia. A thrill, sharp and proprietary, shot through him. She was finally coming back to him. He remembered all the times she had done this before. After an argument, she would retreat into a stony silence, but eventually, she would relent. She would bake his favorite cookies or leave a new book on his nightstand, silent peace offerings that he would magnanimously accept. He was certain this was another one of her games, a prelude to surrender. He decided to be generous. He stopped by the hospital's gift shop and bought an enormous bouquet of white roses, her favorite. He even tucked the small, velvet-lined box containing his grandmother's ashes into his pocket, a trophy he could now afford to return. He would be the benevolent king, welcoming his wayward queen back to the fold. He arrived at the private dining room she had booked at a five -star restaurant. He pushed open the door, a confident smile on his face, ready to receive her apology. The room was full of his friends, a boisterous group of men who stood up and cheered when he walked in. "There he is!" one of them shouted, slapping him on the back. ---- "We were just toasting to you, Ethan! To the future heir!" Ethan's smile froze. Sarah wasn't there. It was a trap. "What is this?" he demanded, his voice dangerously low. "Sarah set it up," his friend explained, oblivious to Ethan's darkening mood. "Said you had something to celebrate. We thought it was about the baby! Congratulations, old man!" The men laughed and clapped, their faces beaming. They were talking about Olivia's baby, the one that no longer existed. The one he had never intended to acknowledge as anything more than a biological fact. "Don't ever speak of this again," Ethan snarled, his voice a whip crack. "To anyone. Do you understand?" The room fell silent. His friends stared at him, their smiles fading. They had never seen him this way, this close to losing control. They knew he cherished his privacy, but this was different. This was raw. He turned and stormed out of the restaurant, leaving them in a stunned silence. As he drove home, the pieces started to click into place. The fake party, the public humiliation, the empty room. It was all a distraction. She had played him. A wave of something hot and unfamiliar washed over him. It wasn't just anger. It was a primal fear. The world, which had always bent to his will, had suddenly tilted on its axis. ---- click into place. The fake party, the public humiliation, the empty room. It was all a distraction. She had played him. A wave of something hot and unfamiliar washed over him. It wasn't just anger. It was a primal fear. The world, which had always bent to his will, had suddenly tilted on its axis. He realized, with a sickening jolt, that he didn't want the pliant, predictable Olivia. He wanted Sarah. He wanted her fire, her defiance, the challenge she presented. He wanted the woman who fought him, not the one who groveled. On a sudden impulse, he pulled over at a small bakery, the one she loved, and bought a box of her favorite pastries. A peace offering. A desperate, belated attempt to turn back the clock. He arrived at the hotel and went straight to her suite, his heart pounding a strange, erratic rhythm. He knocked on the door. "Sarah? It's me. | brought you something." Silence. "Sarah, open the door," he said, his voice tighter now. "Don't play games with me." Still silence. He tried the handle. It was locked from the inside. "Security!" he roared. "Get this door open! Now!" The hotel staff came running, their faces pale with alarm. As they worked on the lock, he heard them whispering. "Do you think she... you know?" one of them murmured. "After what he did at the gala... | wouldn't blame her." "He drove her to it," another agreed. "Shut up!" Ethan snarled, a cold dread creeping up his spine. "Don't you dare say that." ---- He refused to believe it. She wouldn't. She was a fighter. She was his fighter. The door finally burst open. The room was dark and still. He flicked on the lights, his eyes scanning every corner. The bed was neatly made. The windows were closed. There was no note, no sign of a struggle. The room was completely, utterly empty. She was gone.