Chapter 9

Holden Jackson POV:

My phone was dead. The screen staring back at me was black, mirroring the void in my gut. I' d been calling Celeste for hours. No answer. Just the automated voice, polite yet firm, telling me her phone was switched off.

Celeste, why aren' t you picking up? My thoughts were frantic, a desperate jumble. Where are you? We need to talk about Isabelle. About the balcony. She said you pushed her, but... A cold knot twisted in my stomach. Did you?

Isabelle appeared in the doorway, her hair disheveled, her eyes still red from crying. She walked over, wrapping her arms around me. "Holden, darling, why are you so upset? It's that bitch, isn't it? She tried to kill me, Holden. She's crazy."

I pulled away from her, my focus solely on Celeste. "Isabelle, tell me the truth. What happened on the balcony? Did Celeste push you?"

She looked at me, her eyes wide and innocent, but there was a flicker of something else beneath the surface. "Of course, she did! She's always been jealous of us, Holden. She went crazy, said she' d take us both down."

A cold doubt seeped into my mind. Celeste hadn't seemed crazy. She had seemed... empty. But Isabelle was crying, clinging to me. And Celeste had been so cold lately. It had to be Celeste. It had to be.

"I believe you," I said, but the words felt hollow.

Just then, my phone buzzed. A text. Not from Celeste. From the Civil Affairs Bureau.

Your divorce has been finalized. Please come to collect your divorce certificate.

The phone slipped from my grasp, clattering to the polished marble floor. Isabelle bent down, picking it up, her eyes widening as she read the message. A triumphant smirk played on her lips before she quickly masked it.

"Holden, what is this?" she whispered, feigning shock.

I snatched the phone back, my hands trembling. I redialed Celeste's number, again and again. Still off. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, desperate beat.

I called Mrs. Davies, my voice hoarse. "Mrs. Davies, where is Celeste? Is she home?"

"Mr. Jackson," her voice was hesitant, "Mrs. Jackson... she left this morning. She told me she was no longer Mrs. Jackson. She said the divorce had been finalized."

The words hit me like a blow. Left. She left. My mind reeled. No. No, she wouldn't. This was a game. A tantrum. She always came back. She always loved me.

"No, she's not. She's just playing games. She'll be back." I slammed the phone down, grabbed my car keys, and sprinted out the door.

I drove like a madman, ignoring traffic lights, the speedometer needle buried deep in the red. My mind was a whirlwind of images: Celeste's empty eyes, the divorce notification, Mrs. Davies' s words. It couldn't be real. It couldn't.

I burst into the mansion, calling her name. "Celeste! Celeste!" The house echoed with my shouts, vast and empty.

I ran to our bedroom, hope clawing at my throat, only to find it stripped bare. Her clothes were gone. Her books, her trinkets, even the small, personal touches that made it her room. It was as impersonal as a hotel suite.

On the nightstand, a small, velvet box. My wedding ring. Beside it, the signed divorce agreement. My signature, bold and arrogant, stood in stark contrast to her delicate, precise one. And a note.

My hands trembled as I picked it up. Her handwriting, elegant and precise.

I'm gone, Holden. I'm not coming back. Don't look for me.

The air left my lungs in a ragged gasp. No. This wasn't a game. This was real.

I called her again. Still off. I called Maya, her best friend. No answer. I called her company.

"Ms. Sparks is no longer working in the domestic office, Mr. Jackson," the receptionist said, her voice polite but firm. "She's been transferred overseas."

"Overseas? Where?" I demanded, my voice raw.

"I'm afraid I can't disclose that information, sir. Ms. Sparks requested absolute privacy."

The phone slid from my numb fingers. I collapsed onto the floor, the cold marble seeping into my bones. She was gone. My wife, the woman who had loved me for ten years, the woman I had taken for granted, was gone. And I had no idea where.