Denver couldn’t breathe. He paced the marble hallway of the estate like a man possessed, phone gripped tightly in his hand. He had called her at least thirty times in the past hour, each time with the same result–no answer. No read receipts. Alicia had vanished.
“Call everyone,” he barked into the phone, dialing his head of security. “Check every airport, bus terminal, train station. If she booked a ride, I want the driver’s name. Pull street cams. Bank activity. I don’t care what it takes–find her.”
He ended the call without waiting for a reply.
His car screeched into the driveway minutes later. The front door flew open as he stormed inside, shouting her name. “Alicia!”
Silence answered him. The air felt colder. Still. Like the walls knew what he didn’t want to admit. He ran up the stairs two at a time, rushing to their room, the one they used to share. The door creaked open–and he stopped short.”
Empty. The drawers were open. Her closet was bare. Even her favorite book–gone. No shoes lined the corner. No scent of her perfume lingered in the air.
She was really gone. Panic clawed at his throat.
He stepped into the walk–in closet, hoping–praying–that she’d just taken a few things to scare him. But as he turned toward the built–in drawers, something caught his eye.
A black envelope.
Inside was a photo album. He opened it.
It was the prenup shoot. Him and Patricia. Posed, polished, picture–perfect. It had been hidden in that drawer… until now.
“She saw it,” he whispered, realization sinking in like venom. “She saw everything.”
He staggered backward as flashes flooded his mind–Alicia walking in on him with Patricia ir the garden, brushing it off with a brittle smile. The time she caught him at midnight near Patricia’s room, and only said she couldn’t sleep. Every soft silence. Every glance she held second too long before turning away.
Denver remembered the moments Alicia had nearly caught on–moments he’d brushed off with a smirk and a lie. Like the night Alicia walked into the garden and saw Patricia on his lap. laughing as her fingers played with the collar of his shirt.
He hadn’t even flinched.
‘We were just reminiscing old times,” he told Alicia, rising smoothly, voice calm and confident ‘You know how close Patricia and I are. Don’t twist it into something ugly.”
And she’d believed him. Or maybe, she just wanted to.
There was another time, late at night, when Alicia entered the kitchen to find Patricia in his shirt pouring wine, her body leaning into him with practiced ease. Alicia’s eyes had locked on his, bu he waved it away.
“You’re overthinking again,” he said, draping an arm around Alicia like nothing had happened “Don’t ruin things with your imagination.”
973 24.0
2:55 pm DD DD.
He was sure he had her–until she left.
He grabbed the nearest lamp and hurled it across the room. Glass shattered. A framed portrait followed. Then his watch box. Then a drawer ripped from its hinges. He tore through everything, eyes blazing, fists clenched until blood dripped from his palm.
“Damn it, Alicia!” he roared, “You don’t get to leave me!”
Behind him, the door slammed open.
“Denver?” Patricia stood there, wide–eyed, taking in the wreckage. “What the hell are you doing?”
He didn’t answer. His chest rose and fell in short, rapid breaths.
Patricia stepped in, her heels crunching over broken glass. “You’re doing all this… for her?”
He turned to face her slowly, his jaw tense.
“Do you love her?” she asked again, softer this time.
He blinked. And for the first time in his life, Denver didn’t know the answer.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he muttered. “I had a plan. She was never supposed to leave. I was going to drug her. Set her up. Make it look like she cheated so her family would demand a divorce. I was going to be the one who walked away.”
“But now she beat me to it,” he hissed. “Now she made me the fool. She’s the one who left. Me!”
Patricia’s voice trembled with a strange mix of disgust and confusion. “Is that really why you’re upset? Not because she’s gone? Or because… you loved her?”
“No,” Denver said too quickly. “I never loved her. It was always you. You were supposed to be my wife.”
She stepped closer, brushing a hand down his arm. “Then prove it.”
He didn’t resist when she kissed him. It was familiar. Expected.
But his hands didn’t move. His eyes didn’t close.
And his heart didn’t respond.
Because in his mind, it wasn’t Patricia he saw.
It was Alicia, Standing at the doorway, that quiet hurt in her eyes the night he called her worthless. The day he watched her eat shrimp–knowing she was allergic–and said nothing.
He had shattered her.
And somehow, that realization hurt more than anything.
She was gone.
And maybe for the first time, he understood what it meant to truly lose.
When Patricia pulled away, she smiled. “See? It’s us now.”
But Denver said nothing.
He simply turned away, fists clenched, blood still trickling from his hand.
Because no matter what he said….
He knew the truth.
He had lost Alicia. And it hurts like hell.
