6

6

Alex.

The first thing everyone tells you about divorce is that it comes with relief, as if someone finally cuts you loose from a bad anchor. They don’t tell you about the empty echo of footsteps on hardwood floors or the way silence starts to hum around you like an old fridge with a broken motor. It wasn’t freedom. It was hollow.

For two weeks after Stella left, I didn’t set foot in the house. I holed up in a city hotel; penthouse, corner suite, view of everything but the parts of my life that mattered. I’d tell myself it was for convenience. For privacy. For work. Really, I couldn’t stand the idea of walking into that house and smelling her perfume, hearing her laughter replay in my head like an earworm, finding strands of her hair in places she hadn’t been in months. It was everywhere, her. In the scent of clean sheets, in the chipped mug she always left beside the sink, in the lingering trace of her favorite shampoo in the upstairs bathroom. Even the pillows were stubborn, refusing to flatten the way she liked.

But you can’t run forever. Especially when your mother calls and tells you she and Dad are finally home after three months abroad and can’t wait to see you, and Stella, of course. Of course. The “of course” sounded casual, but I could hear the expectation laced through it, like a warning.

I showered, shaved, dressed like a model son. I rehearsed lines in my head the whole drive back, trying to figure out how to say “we’re divorced” in a way that wouldn’t turn the house into a war zone. Maybe I could pretend we were just fighting. Maybe I could lie. But my mother was a human lie detector. It would never work.

The house looked unchanged as I pulled up, the garden as immaculate as ever. But the feeling was different; emptier, somehow. Like it was holding its breath.

When I opened the door, I heard voices upstairs. At first, I thought it was just the maid on the phone. Then a sharp laugh, too high and artificial, echoing through the halls.

Sophie.

I found her in the master bedroom, arms full of dresses; Stella’s dresses, her own suitcase open on the floor, shoes spilling out everywhere like a boutique robbery gone wrong. She was humming, barely missing a beat as she yanked Stella’s clothes from the wardrobe and tossed them into a pile by the door. Cashmere, silk, that ugly green sweater Stella used to wear when she was cold and angry. Sophie flicked it onto the floor as if it had personally offended her.

“What are you doing?” I asked, voice low and even.

She whirled, eyes wide, fake innocence plastered on. “Oh, Alex! I didn’t know you were home. I thought…well, I assumed you’d want me to move in now. It’s silly, I know, but I just thought it was time. You need a woman’s touch again, don’t you think?”

She said it with a smile that tried to be sweet and just came out brittle.

I took a slow breath. “Put those back.”

Sophie pouted, but before she could argue, the front door opened downstairs; my parents. Their voices traveled up, my father’s deep and booming, my mother’s sharper and more direct.

I hadn’t even had time to process Sophie’s insanity when my parents reached the top of the stairs and saw the two of us standing amid the chaos.

My mother froze. Her eyes raked over the room; over Sophie, the mess, the stack of Stella’s clothes on the floor. My father’s face darkened, his mouth set in a line that meant someone was about to be thrown out, possibly literally.

“What is going on?” my mother demanded, voice icy.

Sophie straightened, tried for dignity. “Mr. and Mrs. Marwood, I was just—”

“Guards!” my mother snapped, not even looking at Sophie. “Remove this woman. Right now. Throw her and her things out.”

Sophie stuttered something; an apology, a plea, I couldn’t even tell, but the house guards moved quickly. In less than a minute, she and her suitcases were out the door, her protests muffled behind the heavy wood.

The silence she left behind was almost a gift.

My mother turned on me next, her eyes bright with fury. “Explain. Now.”

I swallowed, suddenly wishing I was anywhere else in the world. “Stella’s gone. We’re… she signed the divorce papers.”

She stared, unreadable. “Why?”

I hesitated, then handed her a copy of the letter, the one that ruined everything. “There was a letter. From a driver, confessing to taking money from Stella and Eleanor. He claims they hired him to, hurt you. To break up me and Sophie.”

My mother’s eyes flashed. She took the paper, scanning every line, then tossed it onto the dresser as if it was dirty.

“Unless that driver stands in front of me and says those words himself, I don’t believe it,” she said coldly. “You have three months to find him. Bring him here.”

I nodded, knowing there was no arguing. My father just shook his head, disappointment radiating off him in waves.

They left me alone in the chaos, the only sound the low hum of the heater and the distant rumble of Sophie’s complaints outside.

I should have felt vindicated. Instead, I felt tired and old.

I found Sophie at the hotel she’d been staying at. She was waiting for me in the lobby, wrapped in a coat two sizes too big, eyes red as if she’d actually been crying. She stood when she saw me, her arms open for a hug I didn’t return.

“Alex,” she breathed, tears welling. “Why are you doing this? I don’t remember anything. I swear! After the accident, after being kidnapped, it’s all just a blur. I’ve tried to remember, but it’s all so dark... please, you have to believe me.”

She reached for my hand. I pulled it away, gently but firmly.

“I need the truth, Sophie. The real truth. If you know anything about the driver, anything at all, you have to tell me.”

She shook her head, her lower lip trembling just the way it used to when she wanted something. “I don’t. I swear. I’m the victim here too, Alex. I was taken, threatened, left terrified for months. I loved you. You know that.”

I tried to ignore the guilt, the little voice telling me she really was scared once, that maybe she still was. But I couldn’t get Stella’s face out of my mind; her steady gaze, the way she signed those papers without a word.

Sophie leaned in closer, voice softening, “You don’t have to go. Stay the night. Please. Just for a while. We can talk, figure things out together like we used to.”

I stepped back. “I can’t. I have work to do.”

Her face crumpled. I almost believed it.

I left before she could say anything else, stepping out into the cold night, the city humming around me. I drove to the office, telling myself it was for distraction, that maybe work would numb the ache in my chest. It didn’t. It never did.

When I got there, my PA was already waiting at my desk, files in hand, urgency written all over his face.

“Sir, there’s been a development. You’ll want to see this immediately.”

And just like that, the world shifted under my feet again.