He was seated on the sofa, a storm of anger swirling around him. The household staff stood rigidly in a row, visibly trembling.
The head butler wiped his damp brow nervously. "Sir, Madam Alayna packed her belongings personally."
"Impossible!"
He couldn't accept it. He wasn't sure what infuriated him more—the idea of her erasing every remnant of her presence, or her audacity to openly defy him.
The room remained silent, thick with tension.
One maid, who had once been friendly with Alayna, found her voice. "Sir... ever since Miss Chloe arrived, Madam had been slowly packing. She burned some items, discarded others. We were instructed not to interfere."
His head whipped toward her, his gaze sharp and dangerous.
The maid shrank back, her words faltering. "But... I believe Madam left something for you in the study drawer."
He shot to his feet immediately, striding toward the study with purpose.
His mind raced. This had to be one of her dramatic gestures—probably some handmade token meant to reconcile. He'd never valued such sentimental displays, but if she was extending an olive branch?
Fine. He would humor her. Perhaps he had been neglectful lately. He'd leave the antique ring there as well—it might placate her. She would return eventually. The thought soothed his rising agitation.
But when he yanked the drawer open, every comforting assumption disintegrated.
There it lay—stark, undeniable black print on crisp white paper: divorce papers.
He went completely still.
Why were these here?
No. She had crossed a line.
A surge of panic propelled him as he grabbed the documents, flipping directly to the final page. His heart stuttered at the sight of his own signature.
His signature—complete with the distinctive flourish he always added. It was unmistakably genuine.
Yet he had no recollection of signing this.
Then, the memory struck him with brutal force.
That day—the day of Chloe's skin graft. Alayna had handed him two documents, pleading for his signature before he departed. He'd been hurried, distracted by Chloe, and signed without reading.
That was when he'd signed away their marriage?
His jaw clenched. His eyes dropped to the other item resting in the drawer.
The ring.
Alayna had cherished that ring beyond anything. She once vowed she would never remove it. So why was it here now?
It was smeared with blood.
The dark crimson had seeped into the edges of a white sheet tucked beneath, forming a macabre stain. The bold heading read: Medical Report.
His hand shook as he reached for it, dread coiling in his chest.
A miscarriage report—dated exactly when he discovered Chloe was pregnant. Back then, he had forced Alayna to donate blood to Chloe. He was illuminating the city with fireworks, foolishly celebrating Chloe's pregnancy.
While he celebrated, she was losing their child.
He had destroyed his own heir with his own actions.
What have I done? The realization slammed into him, stealing his breath. His legs buckled, and he nearly crumpled.
As he gripped the report, he noticed something else beneath it—a photo album.
He snatched it with unsteady hands. Page after page, faces stared back at him—women he had brought home, his numerous indiscretions. And on the final page, Chloe's photograph. Scrawled on the back in Alayna's handwriting were two words:
We're done.
His knees finally gave way. He collapsed to the floor, photographs scattering around him. Their smiling faces taunted him mercilessly.
The housekeeper approached cautiously, her voice hushed as she handed him a flash drive. "Sir, this is the last recorded footage of Madam."
He jammed it into the monitor. On screen, Alayna appeared—wheeling a modest suitcase behind her. She never glanced back as she stepped into the waiting car.
That final image pierced his heart like a blade.
He crumpled the divorce papers in his fist, a sharp pain erupting deep within his chest.
The panic he had struggled to contain now overwhelmed him like a tidal wave. He couldn't breathe.
Darkness swallowed him whole.