6. I Won’t Let Her Go

Ethan's POV

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t do anything but stare at the empty space in our mansion where she should have been. Lena. The thought of her name burned in my chest, sharp and relentless, making my stomach twist in knots. I had made her sign those papers. I had done it with a calm, cold voice, telling myself it was power. Control. But that control had crumbled the instant she left, leaving nothing but echoes and silence.

I grabbed my phone, not thinking, dialing numbers at random. Airports, hotels, flight operators. Anyone. everywhere. Every operator who answered my frantic voice, every receptionist who heard my sharp, demanding tone, I begged them to give me a clue. A hint. Anything. And every single call ended the same way: not available, no records, no trace.

“No,” I shouted, throwing the phone against the wall. It bounced once, then fell silent. I felt my hands shake uncontrollably. How could she disappear? How could someone I knew so intimately, someone I had loved since we were kids, vanish without leaving a trace? It wasn’t just impossible. It was inconceivable.

I ran my hands over my face, trying to keep myself grounded. But the panic was spreading, like fire in my veins, making my vision blur. I was out of control. I had always been able to handle everything. Business, family, my pack everything. But Lena? She had always been my weakness. And now she was gone.

I called every airport again. My voice cracked with desperation, the kind I had never allowed myself to show in front of anyone. “I don’t care about policies,” I snapped at the operator who tried to tell me they couldn’t give me information. “My wife left. I need to know where she went. Now.”

There was a pause, a hesitation. And then, “Sir, there’s nothing on record under that name.”

I slammed my fist into the desk. Nothing. Nothing! She had disappeared. She had planned this. My pride, my arrogance, had blinded me to her intelligence, to her strength. I had divorced her thinking I was the one in control, thinking she would beg, thinking she would collapse without me. I had underestimated her in every way that mattered.

I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t stop pacing. I was shaking with a mix of rage and panic, and in the center of it all was the unbearable, painful truth: I loved her. I had always loved her. I loved her too much to let her go, even though I had destroyed our marriage with my own hands.

I grabbed my laptop and started running through flight manifests, hotel bookings, rental car records. I cross-referenced dates, times, and possible routes. I worked through every scenario, every town she could hide in. Each dead end made my chest tighten further. I felt like my heart was being crushed under the weight of my own obsession.

“She’s out there,” I whispered to myself. “She’s alive. She’s somewhere, and I’ll find her.”

Ryan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me with a mixture of exasperation and judgment. “You’re obsessed,” he said quietly, but I barely registered it.

I whirled around, green eyes blazing. “Obsessed? Obsessed is calling her a thousand times a day and getting nothing. Obsessed is realizing that the one person I love more than anything is gone because of my pride and my arrogance. Obsessed is not letting her slip through my fingers when I finally see what I’ve done!”

Ryan stepped back, clearly trying to avoid the storm I had become. “Maybe you should let her breathe, Ethan.”

“Let her breathe?” I laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. “She’s not just breathing. She’s disappearing. She’s gone because of me. And I can’t I can’t let her go not like this not ever.”

I slammed my fists on the desk again. Papers, files, and pens scattered across the surface. The room seemed to spin around me. My heart was hammering so hard it hurt. Rage, regret, fear, helplessness they all collided in a storm I could not contain. Every thought, every memory, every heartbeat screamed at me: I love her I don’t care if I divorced her. I don’t care if she hates me right now I need her I need her here.

I dialed the airports again. Flight after flight, line after line. I demanded names. Dates. Destinations. Any blonde woman with blue eyes. Any clue. My voice was rough, fraying at the edges from the desperation I couldn’t hide.

“Sir, I’m sorry. There’s no record,” a voice said politely on the other end.

I slammed the phone down so hard I thought it might break. Nothing. Every piece of information was a dead end. She had erased herself from my world entirely. My chest tightened. I could feel the panic rising into pure fury. I had to find her. I had to.

I thought about Los Angeles, the life I had destroyed. The nights she had waited up for me, the mornings she had cooked my coffee just the way I liked it. Every memory stabbed me like a knife. And every memory reminded me of my failure. My arrogance. My pride. I had believed the lies. I had let manipulation and fear make me destroy the only woman I had ever truly loved.

And now she was gone.

I didn’t care about laws, rules, or polite conversation. I needed her. I needed to see her. I needed to hold her. To apologize. To beg, if that’s what it took. But even as I thought that, I knew she would never let me grovel. She was too strong for that. She was always too strong for me, and I had finally understood it the hard way.I called every hotel in the region, every inn, every small bed and breakfast. I cross referenced license plates, flights, rental cars. I offered rewards. I bribed clerks. I threatened operators. Nothing. Nothing!

The helplessness clawed at me. It was a new kind of pain. I had felt anger, fear, loss but this was something sharper. Something that burrowed deep into my chest and made every breath a struggle.

I sank into my chair, pulling at my black hair in frustration. Green eyes blazing, I stared at the empty screen in front of me, imagining her face. Her blue eyes, her blonde hair, the curve of her smile, the way she would tilt her head when she was thinking. I loved her. I loved her so much it hurt more than the divorce ever did.

Ryan leaned closer, voice careful. “You’re going to break yourself, Ethan.”

I laughed bitterly, almost maniacally. “I don’t care. I will break. I will tear this city apart if I have to. I will find her, no matter what it takes. She left me once. I won’t let her leave me again.”

I ran my hands through my hair, pacing like a caged animal. My mind raced through every possibility. She could be hiding in a hotel, renting a small apartment, or even trying to make a new life somewhere nearby. I imagined her walking through the streets of a coastal town, feeling proud of herself for escaping me. That thought nearly made me throw up. I hated the idea of her moving on while I was still alive, still breathing, still desperate.

I dialed the airports again. I called rental car agencies. I called hotels in every town I could think of. Every operator I yelled at, every desk I interrogated, I felt the edges of sanity slipping further and further away. The obsession consumed me. The love I had buried under pride and anger now burned like fire, all-consuming, unbearable.

I remembered the first time I saw her, the first time I kissed her, the first time I realized she was mine in every sense that mattered. And I realized, with sickening clarity, that divorcing her had been the single greatest mistake of my life. The papers. The contract. The cold words. They meant nothing now. They were a monument to my failure, and I would destroy every rule, every line, every law if I had to to fix it.

I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t think of anything besides finding her. And even as the world told me to stop, even as Ryan warned me against obsession, I knew I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I loved her too much. I had always loved her too much. And she was out there, somewhere, oblivious to the hell I was living without her.

I slammed my fists on the desk one last time, the wood splintering under my strength. Rage, grief, love, obsession they all collided into one fierce, consuming fire. I was broken. I was desperate. I was powerless and powerful all at once. And I promised myself something I knew I would keep: I will not let her go. Not ever. Not until I see her again, until I feel her in my arms, until I hear her say my name again.

I stared at the phone, willing it to ring, willing for a miracle, willing for anything. Lena. My wife. My everything. She was gone, but I would find her. And I would never forgive myself if I didn’t.