Chapter 9

Graham Ellison POV:

"The number you have dialed is not in service."

The automated voice was a death knell, echoing in the sudden, terrifying silence of my world. The chilling finality of those words slammed into me, crushing me. The vague unease I' d felt, the anxiety that had been gnawing at me, crystallized into a suffocating weight. Katelyn. Gone.

I shoved Britney away, hard, her startled cry barely registering. "She's gone," I whispered, my voice raw with terror, already running towards my car.

I sped back to the hotel, my mind a frantic scramble. She couldn't have. She wouldn't. We had plans. We were getting engaged. I burst into the lobby, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I ran to her room door, swiping my key card. It beeped, a mocking red light flashing. Invalid.

"Katelyn!" I hammered on the door, my fist slamming against the wood. "Katelyn, open up! It's me!" My voice was hoarse, desperate.

A cleaning lady, pushing a cart, stopped, staring at me with a frown. "Sir, you can't be doing that. You'll disturb the other guests."

"I'm looking for my girlfriend!" I gasped, trying to steady my breathing, but my body was trembling uncontrollably. "Katelyn Hicks! Is she in room 307?"

"Sir, if you're not a registered guest in that room, I cannot give you any information," she said, her voice firm.

"Please! Just... just tell me if she's there!" My composure was crumbling. I could feel the edges fraying.

She sighed, her expression softening slightly. "I'm not supposed to, but... Katelyn Hicks checked out this morning, sir."

Checked out. The words echoed, hollow and final. My mind went blank, a deafening roar filling my ears. She checked out. She left. No. No. Impossible. She loved me. She couldn't have just left.

I stumbled back, shaking my head. "No. No, she wouldn't. We... we were getting married. She was transferring here for me. She loves me."

I remembered the ring. The one I was going to propose with tonight, after dinner, after our romantic reconciliation. The one I' d been planning for months. My chest ached with a sudden, sharp pain.

I turned to leave, a numb despair settling over me.

"Sir!" the clerk called after me. "She might be on a flight. She left early this morning. And... she waited for you all night, you know. She sat in the hallway by her door for hours, waiting."

The words hit me like a physical blow. A gut punch. She waited. All night. While I was with Britney.

Then, the memory of her terrified scream on the phone. "Help me!" And my own arrogant, dismissive reply: "I'm busy!" I had hung up on her. I had abandoned her to a mugger, to potential harm, because Britney was having a "panic attack" over a chipped nail.

My heart seized. A cold, icy grip clenched around my chest, squeezing the breath from my lungs. Pain, sharp and agonizing, tore through me. I couldn't breathe. My vision blurred.

I stumbled out of the hotel, the cold rain washing over my face, indistinguishable from the tears that now streamed down my cheeks. The bustling London streets, once symbols of our future, now mocked me with their indifference. I was lost. Utterly, completely lost.

Britney appeared out of nowhere, her umbrella a bright splash of color against the grey. She wrapped an arm around me, offering a handkerchief to wipe my face. "Graham, honey, what's wrong? Did she leave you? It's for the best, you know. She was never good enough for you. So clingy, so insecure."

I shoved her away, my voice a guttural growl. "Don't you dare talk about her!"

She recoiled, her eyes wide. "But Graham, she's old news! She left you. She probably couldn't handle the long distance. You deserve someone who's here, for you."

"She didn't leave me," I insisted, my voice tight with denial. "She's just... angry. She's upset. I'll find her. I'll make her understand." My eyes darted around, desperate. "I need to go back to New York. I need to find her."

Britney grabbed my phone from my hand as I was about to call for a taxi. "No! You can't just run after her! She doesn't want you! She probably already moved on!"

"Give me my phone, Britney!" I snarled, trying to snatch it back. She held it away, her face twisting into a stubborn pout.

We struggled, a pathetic dance in the rain. My phone, and then hers, slipped from our grasp, clattering onto the wet pavement. As I bent to retrieve mine, Britney' s phone screen lit up. A notification from her social media. A comment on a picture.

My blood ran cold. The picture was of her, smiling, proudly displaying her silver bracelet. And the comment, from a friend: "OMG, Britney, that couple's bracelet is so cute! Still can't believe Graham got it for you on your six-month anniversary! Best boyfriend EVER!"

My hand froze, inches from my own phone. Six-month anniversary. Couple's bracelet. My mind reeled. Britney had told me it was a "thank you gift." A thank you gift for what? For her "anxiety"?

A sickening wave of realization washed over me. All of it. The lies. The manipulation. The innocent act. It was all a calculated game. My gaze snapped to Britney, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear.