Chapter 12
It had been weeks since Alicia vanished from Denver’s life. At first, he felt nothing but relief. Freedom. He told himself that she would come back like she always did–after all, where else would she go?
But Alicia didn’t return. Not after a day. Not after a week.
Denver buried himself in work and in Patricia. They went shopping for suits and silks, dined in luxury, and spent late mornings tangled in each other’s arms. Patricia was glowing with satisfaction. She had waited so long to have Denver all to herself–and now she finally did. “You see?” she whispered one night as they shared wine by the fire. “We were meant to be together.”
Denver kissed her neck, murmuring agreements he wasn’t entirely sure he believed.
Meanwhile, Paula–Alicia’s biological mother–was growing anxious. At every family meeting, she reminded Denver: “Find her. Before the board realizes she’s missing.”
Denver scoffed. “She left on her own.”
“Then bring her back. If the press finds out that the Montero heiress has disappeared, you think that won’t blow back on us? She’s still my daughter by blood.”
Patricia’s voice always came in like poisoned honey. “But she doesn’t want to be here, Mother Let her go. It’s not like she’s the face of the company. She’s always been… quiet.”
“She’s still your sister, Paula said coldly. “And honestly, she is actually the real heiress.”
Patricia smiled thinly. “Still, I was the first one here. And I’ve done more for this family than she ever did.”
But then… the absence began to ache.
At first, it was small things. The silence in the hallway where Alicia’s laugh used to echo. The untouched seat at the dining table. The missing jar of cinnamon she used to sprinkle on her morning coffee–no one knew where she hid it.
The house, though full, began to feel empty.
One morning, Paula stood outside the conservatory with a teacup in hand. She watched the garden. It was blooming poorly.
“She always trimmed the roses; she murmured.
Patricia, overhearing from behind, clenched her jaw. “We can hire a gardener.”
But it wasn’t about the roses.
It was about the warmth that Alicia–quiet, obedient Alicia–had somehow managed to breathe into every cold corner of the house. Now that she was gone, they finally noticed it.
Denver too began to notice.
He found himself staring at her old bedroom door. Opening it. Closing it. Sleeping in their bed but reaching instinctively to the other side.
One night, he walked into the room with a bottle of whiskey and noticed the faintest imprint of her perfume on her pillow. He sank to the floor and stared at it, numb. The memory of her scent
2:57 pm DDDD
brought with it the image of her smile, her voice, the way she whispered his name in the dark.
His chest ached.
And that ache turned into obsession.
He hired private investigators. Called every contact. Checked every flight manifest he could get access to. Still, nothing.
She had disappeared completely.
And that terrified him more than anything.
Patricia tried to hold onto him tightly, sensing the shift.
“You’re still thinking about her,” she said one evening, pulling his face toward hers. “You love her don’t you?”
“I don’t,” Denver snapped. “I just hate that she left first.”
But the way he said it… even he didn’t believe his words.
Meanwhile, Patricia spiraled.
She drank more. Grew more jealous.
One night, at a bar, she let her bitterness spill. Patricia leaned against the backrest, twirling her wine glass with a smirk tugging at her lips. Her closest friends, Vanessa and Camille, leaned in eagerly, their expressions matching the wine–fueled curiosity burning in the air.
“You know,” Patricia said, voice smug, “I still can’t believe Alicia finally left.”
Vanessa raised an eyebrow. “Weren’t you two supposed to be… sisters?”
Patricia snorted, swirling her wine. “Adopters sisters, technically. But let’s be honest–she was never meant to stay. Even if she is the Montero by blood.”
Camille giggled. “Still, she was the wife. Didn’t Denver love her at some point?”
Patricia rolled her eyes. “He thought he did. But Alicia? She was dull. Always painting, always quiet. Always trying to win over people who had already made up their minds.”
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “I helped her leave, you know.”
Vanessa blinked. “You helped her?”
“Not directly.” Patricia gave a knowing grin. “But I may have… pushed things along.”
The wine dulled her filter, and the truth came pouring out.
“It started small–swapping out her things, ‘accidentally‘ spilling paint on her favorite canvases, taking credit for her art during those childhood exhibitions. She never fought back. She just let it happen.”
“She always seemed so… fragile,” Camille said,
“Exactly,” Patricia replied. “Like she was born to break.”
She took a deep sip from her glass. “I ruined her painting the day of her college portfolio review. She cried and said I ruined her chances, and I told her maybe she should try business like our mother wanted.”
The table burst into giggles.
“And Denver?” Vanessa asked.
Chapter 12
2/3 46.7%
2:57 pm DD
Patricia tilted her head, playing coy. “He was mine before he was hers. She just got him through. an arrangement. So I… reminded him. Slowly. Every chance I got.”
There was a memory that flickered behind her smile.
One afternoon, Alicia had walked into the kitchen, arms full of grocery bags. Patricia was sitting at the counter, laughing at something Denver had whispered in her ear. Alicia said nothing. Just lowered her gaze and passed them quietly.
Later that night, Patricia had “accidentally” left her bra in the guest bathroom. Alicia found it. Of course, she did. But she said nothing.
“She was always so quiet,” Patricia mused. “Like a ghost in her own house.”
Vanessa leaned closer. “So why are you upset now? She’s gone.”
Patricia’s smile faltered. “Because Denver isn’t looking at me the way he used to. Not anymore.”
At that moment, she didn’t notice the tall figure standing just beyond the booth, rigid as stone.
