4: When Hope Shattered

|| Slade ||

I stared at the engagement ring in my hand. The diamond glistened and burned with a blinding light, its brilliant-cut facets catching the sun. It reminded me of Rachel—of her eyes, the softest blue I’d ever seen. I couldn’t wait to go home and see her.

I was going to propose to her, to marry me for real this time, once the contract ended, and finally show her to the world—and more importantly, to my family. I already had the papers ready: a new contract that bound us for life, not just for three years.

My family had chosen someone else for me to marry, but I didn’t care. I never even asked who she was, because the one I wanted was Rachel.

I loved the way she was—fiercely independent and capable at work, yet soft and vulnerable when she let her guard down with me. Even her jealousy was adorable, like when she asked if I had a fiancée and I said yes.

I saw the message she sent me yesterday, saying she had signed the divorce agreement. I only told her yes because I couldn’t ruin the surprise I had planned—that she was the one I wanted as my fiancée, my wife.

I slipped the engagement ring back into my suit pocket and headed home. I’d been trying to reach her, but I couldn’t get through.

I just hoped she was alright. She’d been down lately, and it worried me. I pressed harder on the gas pedal, speeding toward our apartment. Soon, we’d leave that place behind—the apartment where we’d been hiding from the world for the past three years.

Rachel deserved so much better. Once she went on her trip to Hawaii, just like she wanted, and came back, I was taking her to my mansion where she belonged. I’d put the ring on her finger, and we’d have all the children she wanted. Because whenever I looked into her eyes, I saw forever. And when she smiled, it was like a spotlight turning on in a dark room—it changed everything and chased away every shadow.

I’d never felt so alive, so free, or so happy as I did when I was with her. They say forever comes once in a lifetime.

Rachel was mine.

When I arrived at the apartment, I unlocked the door and stepped inside, but immediately, something felt wrong. The house was unnervingly empty.

"Rachel... Rach..." I called out.

Silence answered me, thick and heavy. Panic started to tighten in my chest as I searched every room, but she was nowhere to be found. I strode to the office and froze. The divorce papers lay on the desk. My gaze zeroed in on the signature.

She’d actually signed them.

Cold disbelief cut through me, shattering the hope I’d built around her. The world tilted, and the surprise I’d been holding onto was gone. I gripped the edge of the desk, trying to keep myself from falling apart.

Where could she be? It wasn’t like she had anywhere else to go. Rachel knew no one here. The only relative she had was her aunt in Sicily, but they barely spoke.

I grabbed my phone and called her again. Nothing. The phone was off.

"Damn it, Rachel," I muttered under my breath. "Why did you do this?"

She told me she’d be waiting for me, that she’d be alright. That’s the only reason I even went on that damn trip. If I could turn back time, I wouldn’t have left.

I went into our bedroom and started searching. When I opened her side of the closet, most of her clothes were still there, but her favorite black and red travel bags were gone.

"She’s really gone," I whispered.

I called Cale, my personal assistant. He picked up immediately.

"Hello?"

"Hey… is everything okay?"

"No. Rachel’s gone. I need you to find out what flight she took, where she went, and send me her full itinerary—every booking, ticket, anything from the last forty-eight hours. Now."

"Understood. I’ll pull her emails, check the travel apps, and text you everything as soon as I find it."

"Do it. I don’t care how, just get it done."

I ended the call and paced the room, my pulse hammering. A few wrenching minutes later, my phone buzzed with a message from Cale:

Rachel Foxx – One-Way Ticket to Palermo, Sicily

Flight: AZ671 (ITA Airways)

Departure: Yesterday, 19:00

Status: Confirmed / Ticket Purchased

She had left yesterday.

I was about to call Cale again to book me a ticket. I was going after her. I wasn’t going to let her go. I’d fly across the world, track her down in Sicily, and make her listen to the truth—that she was my future, divorce papers be damned.

Then my phone rang again. It was Cale.

"Cale, what is it?" I answered quickly.

His voice, usually quick and efficient, was slow, hesitant. "Boss… I ran the manifest for Flight AZ671. I—I’m afraid it didn’t make it. It’s bad. The flight crashed shortly after takeoff. The wreckage is in flames. First responders are reporting… no survivors."

I loosened my tie; the silk dug into my throat like it was choking me. "Did she… was she on it?" My words barely made it past a whisper. Hope felt absurd, foolish.

"Sir… based on the ticket purchase and the timing, it’s highly probable she was on that flight. I’m so sorry. There’s nothing left. No one made it."

I ended the call, letting the phone slip from my hand. My chest tightened. My breaths came in ragged, shallow bursts. I stared at the ceiling, vision blurring, my mind refusing to process it.

I reached into my suit pocket. The engagement ring—the symbol of everything I had planned for us—suddenly felt unbearably heavy.