Chapter 5 5

Cleo woke to the relentless pounding in her head, a cruel reminder of the previous night. A deep, aching pressure settled in her chest, making it hard to breathe. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing away the dull throb behind them, but it was futile. The memories came rushing in-every word exchanged, every heated glance, every sharp edge of pain that had sliced through her heart.

She groaned, rolling onto her side, her fingers instinctively reaching for the phone resting on the nightstand. She hesitated before unlocking the screen, her breath hitching with desperate hope. Maybe-just maybe-Ethan had called. A text, even the smallest acknowledgment that he regretted the way things ended.

Her heart sank as the screen lit up. Nothing. No missed calls. No messages. Just the glaring emptiness of rejection staring back at her.

A lump formed in her throat, thick and suffocating. She swallowed hard, willing herself to keep it together, but the tears came anyway. Hot, silent, and relentless, they streamed down her face as she curled into herself, her body wracked with sobs. She clutched the sheets, as if holding on to something-anything-that could anchor her in this storm of heartbreak.

Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity, and when the tears finally ceased, all that remained was the crushing emptiness. Her chest felt hollow, her limbs heavy with exhaustion. She lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, her mind a fog of regret and sorrow.

But she couldn't stay like this. She wouldn't.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Cleo forced herself to move. She reached for her phone again, this time dialing a familiar number. It rang twice before a voice answered.

*"We're leaving the hotel soon,"* Cleo said, her voice raw, barely above a whisper.

*"Okay, ma,"* came Sophie's soft, knowing reply before the call ended.

Dragging herself out of bed felt like moving through quicksand, but she pushed forward. She stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the hot water cascade over her. It scalded her skin, but she welcomed the sensation-anything to distract from the pain clawing at her chest. As the steam curled around her, she leaned against the cold tile, eyes squeezed shut, willing herself to wash away the night before.

By the time she stepped out, the mirror was fogged over, obscuring her reflection. Perhaps it was better that way. She didn't want to see the dark circles under her eyes or the redness that betrayed her tears. She didn't want to look at herself and see the remnants of the woman she had been before last night.

Forcing herself into a semblance of composure, she dressed in silence, slipping into a simple but elegant black dress. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek bun-neat, controlled, in stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside her.

Downstairs, the car was already waiting at the hotel entrance. Sophie stood by the door, her usual composed expression tinged with concern. Cleo met her gaze for only a moment before slipping into the backseat without a word.

The drive home was long, silent, and suffocating. The hum of the tires against the pavement was the only sound accompanying her thoughts, looping in an endless cycle of what-ifs.

And then, they arrived.

The house loomed before her, standing as pristine and imposing as ever, yet something about it felt different now. It was colder, emptier-a shell of what it had once been. The moment she stepped inside, she felt it in her bones. The warmth was gone. The love that had once filled these walls had vanished, leaving only echoes of the life she had built with Ethan.

She inhaled sharply, steeling herself. She couldn't afford to break down again. She had to be strong. She had to pack her things before Ethan returned.

With determined steps, she climbed the staircase, each footfall heavier than the last. The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and as she pushed it open, her breath caught.

There was movement inside the closet.

A chill ran down her spine. Her pulse quickened. Was Ethan here already?

She hesitated, gripping the doorknob tightly before stepping forward. The closet door swung open, and a man emerged, carrying bags-Ethan's bags.

Her heart stilled.

But it wasn't Ethan. It was Jamal, his personal assistant.

Cleo's mouth went dry as she took in the sight before her. The closet, once shared between them, was half-empty now. The shelves where Ethan's clothes had been were bare, the space that once held his shoes vacant.

*"Where are you taking his belongings?"* she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with shock.

Jamal turned to face her, his expression unreadable, professional yet impersonal. *"Good morning, ma'am,"* he greeted politely. *"The boss asked me to collect all his things."*

Cleo's stomach twisted violently. She swallowed, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. *"To where?"*

Jamal hesitated. *"I'm sorry, ma'am, but he gave me strict instructions not to disclose that information."*

The finality of his words hit her like a blow to the chest.

Ethan was gone.

Truly gone.

Her fingers tightened around her phone as she dialed his number, each ring stretching her agony further.

One ring. Two.

Straight to voicemail.

She tried again, desperation clawing at her.

No answer.

Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out everything else.

*"Ma'am,"* Jamal spoke again, his tone neutral but firm, *"I'll have to go now."*

Cleo swallowed hard, her throat constricting painfully. Slowly, she nodded, stepping aside. She watched, powerless, as he carried out the last remnants of the life she had shared with Ethan-one suitcase at a time, until there was nothing left.

And then, silence.

She stood in the center of the room, her gaze locked on the empty closet. It was over.

Whatever they had, whatever they had been-it was truly over.

A bitter laugh bubbled up in her throat, but it never made it past her lips. Instead, she turned away, her steps slow, measured, as she made her way to the window. The car outside pulled away, taking Ethan's things-and any hope of reconciliation-with it.

Tears threatened once more, but she refused to let them fall. She had shed enough already.

This was her closure. It had to be.

Because if she allowed herself to hope-if she allowed herself to believe for even a second that he would come back-she would never survive this.