Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Creighton’s POV

The bubbles in Chloe’s champagne glass kept rising and popping, making a tiny, annoying sound. She was laughing, her face flushed with excitement as she leaned against the counter of the penthouse kitchen.

"We are finally free, Creighton," she said, raising her glass toward me with a huge smile. "I can't believe it is actually happening. We can finally start our lives over again."

"Yeah," I said, taking a slow sip from my own glass.

I tried to force a smile for her, but my face felt stiff. I was supposed to be relieved right now, considering I had spent the last week thinking about how to end things with Priscilla.

But instead of relief, there was just this weird, heavy lump sitting right in the middle of my chest.

Chloe kept talking, her voice going on and on about the changes we were going to make and how she wanted to redecorate the penthouse. She looked beautiful in the soft lighting, exactly like the girl I had missed for the last five years.

But I wasn't really listening to her.

Every time I closed my eyes, I just kept seeing the way Priscilla looked right before I walked out of the mansion.

I had expected her to scream at me, or throw something, or at least cry and beg me to stay. She had always clung to me so hard, always trying to please me with those stupid breakfasts and dresses.

Instead, she had just been completely quiet.

She had looked at me with these empty, dead eyes, like I was a complete stranger she had never met before in her life.

"Creighton? Are you even listening to me?" Chloe’s voice broke through my thoughts, her fingers wrapping around my arm.

"Sorry," I said, shaking my head a little. "Just tired from work."

"You shouldn't be thinking about work tonight," she pouted, leaning her head against my shoulder. "You did the right thing, you know. Priscilla never really understood you anyway."

"She just liked the Cross name and the security that came with it," Chloe continued, her voice dropping to that sweet, comforting tone she always used. "She loved your status, Creighton. I am the only one who loves you for just being you."

"Yeah, I know. You're right," I muttered, looking down at her perfect hair.

I agreed with her out loud because that was what I had been telling myself for months. Priscilla was just the woman my family picked out for me when Chloe left.

But deep down, a tiny bit of doubt was starting to itch at the back of my brain. Priscilla had signed those papers without asking for a single dime of my money.

If she only cared about my wealth, she would have fought the alimony settlement or demanded half the company shares. She didn't take anything.

By the time midnight came around, the noise in the penthouse was starting to give me a headache. I told Chloe I had some late-night files to look over and drove back to the mansion.

The drive was completely silent, the rain finally stopping as I pulled into the massive driveway.

When I opened the front door, the silence hit me harder than I'd braced myself for.

Usually, the house had this warm, cozy feeling to it because Priscilla always left the dim lights on in the hallway for me. Tonight, the foyer was completely pitch black.

I flipped the switch, and the bright overhead lights made the empty marble floor look cold.

I walked into the dining room, but the record player was shut tight, and all her jazz vinyls were gone from the shelf.

Even the kitchen felt off. There was no smell of herbal tea or baked pastries that usually lingered in the air after she spent the afternoon cooking.

It just smelled like cleaning products and empty space.

I walked upstairs, my heavy footsteps echoing too loudly against the walls. I pushed open the door to our bedroom, expecting to see her stuff scattered around like usual.

The room was perfectly neat.

I opened the closet doors, and my heart did a weird, sudden jerk inside my chest.

Three-quarters of the space was completely empty. All her colorful dresses, her shoes, and her bags were gone.

She had left almost nothing behind, taking only a few basic suitcases and her personal belongings. She hadn't even touched the expensive jewelry I bought her for her birthdays.

It was all sitting right there on the velvet trays, completely untouched.

For some reason I couldn't explain, a sharp wave of panic gripped my throat, making it hard to swallow.

She was really gone. She hadn't just moved; she had completely wiped herself out of my house.

I walked over to her vanity table, looking at the empty glass jars where her perfumes used to sit.

My foot brushed against the small leather trash bin beside the stool, knocking it over slightly.

A single piece of crumpled white paper rolled out onto the dark wood floor.

I don't know why I cared, but I reached down and picked it up. It looked like a receipt from a local hospital clinic, the edges torn and wrinkled.

I slowly unfolded the paper under the dim lamp light, my eyes scanning the printed text.

It was a medical report from an obstetrics and gynecology center dated just two days ago.

My breath caught in my throat as my eyes locked onto the bold words printed near the bottom of the page.

Positive pregnancy examination.

The paper felt like ice in my fingers as I stared at her name typed at the very top. Priscilla Cross.

The room started to feel incredibly small, the air turning thick and heavy around me.

She was pregnant.

I stood there frozen in the middle of our empty bedroom, the crumpled receipt shaking in my hand as the realization hit me like a train.

Priscilla hadn't just walked out on our marriage.

She had left the house carrying my child, and I had let her go without saying a single word.