Chapter 10: Mine. Always mine

Blake’s Point of View~~~

Why isn’t he picking up?

I gritted my teeth, staring at my phone like I could force it to ring just by glaring hard enough.

Damn it, pick up, Charles.

My thumb hit redial again, the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes. All I got in return was that stupid, cold automated voice telling me his phone was “unavailable.”

I dragged my fingers through my hair, pacing the length of my bedroom like a caged animal. My chest felt tight. Suffocated with rage.

I couldn’t focus. Damn it, I couldn’t do a single thing until he answered.

Earlier that evening~~

My phone buzzed while I was going through documents, and when I saw the name on the screen, my heart actually skipped a beat.

“Charles,” I answered immediately. “Tell me you found her.”

There was silence, then his voice came in a whisper. “Sir, I… I’m in a tight position right now. I'm about to move so I can’t talk much. But yes, I found her. I’ll reach out soon.”

Before I could demand details, the line went dead.

~~~

And now here I was, hours later, and the bastard had gone MIA.

“Where the hell are you, Charles?” I muttered under my breath as I pressed call again. The phone rang twice before going to voicemail.

I was about to sack you, you incompetent fool. You finally do your job, and now you pull this?

I dropped onto the edge of my bed, leaning forward with my head in my hand.

Everything else blurred into white noise.

Nothing mattered except finding her. My Rosette.

The sound of a soft knock pulled me out of my head.

“Not now,” I muttered, rubbing my temples.

The door creaked open anyway, and a familiar voice cooed, “Hey, honey.”

I didn’t bother looking up. My thumb moved across the screen again, redialing.

Leila padded across the room in slow steps, like she wanted me to look. But I didn't.

I already knew what she wore. It was like this every other day.

She was wearing one of those transparent nightgowns that barely qualified as clothing, silk brushing her skin in a way that was meant to tempt.

I didn’t even lift my eyes.

“Blake…” Her voice turned sugary sweet as she settled beside me, sliding her hand over my thigh.

“You’ve been working too hard. Let me help you relax.”

Her fingers moved higher, grazing the edge of my waistband. She leaned closer and stuck her tongue in and out my ear.

I exhaled through my nose as irritation flared. She probably mistook that for a moan and took it as an invitation as she started licking down my neck, towards my shoulders.

“Leila, not now.”

“Come on, just a little bit of attention, hm?”

When her hand reached for my manhood, I finally snapped.

Grabbing her wrist, I removed her hand firmly and stood with my phone still in my other hand.

“I said not now. Just leave.”

Her perfectly painted lips parted and her expression twisted in shock before settling into annoyance.

“Are you serious right now?” She crossed her arms, refusing to move.

I ignored her, walking toward the dresser and redialing Charles again.

The line was dead.

“Blake,” she said, more insistently this time, “you’re still sending people to search for that bitch, aren’t you?”

The word made my jaw tighten, but I kept my gaze on the phone.

Then she laughed bitterly. “You’re so miserable. She’s gone, Blake. Why can’t you accept that?”

I didn’t reply. My finger hovered over redial again, my focus fixed solely on the phone.

Leila let out a dramatic sigh and sat back on the bed, her voice rising.

“I still can’t believe you’re obsessed with her after everything she did. She was a gold digger! She used you!”

The words bounced off me like they always did. I’d heard this speech before from both my mother and her.

They always said so many terrible things about Rosette. It was always she did this and she did that.

Most of it was unbelievable. She would never do stuff like that. She wasn't a gold digger, she was with me even before I became someone. I still hate myself for the things I heard I did to her.

Leila pushed further and her voice grew shriller.

“Your mother and I told you everything she did. We made sure you understood who she was, and yet—”

“Leila.” My tone was flat, cold.

But she didn’t stop.

“Why are you chasing after her? You have me. I’m your wife!”

I finally turned to look at her.

Her face softened instantly, as if she thought my attention meant she was winning. Her voice turned softer and trembled, like she’d practiced it.

I sighed. I already knew where this was going.

“I’m your wife, Blake. The only reason I’m still here… is because I love you. Because I know you’re just ill, confused. But you’ll remember soon. You’ll remember how much I love you.”

Her voice cracked as tears welled in her eyes.

“I’ve stayed by your side, even when you ignored me. Even when you looked at me like I wasn’t even here. Because I love you.” Her lower lip trembled as a tear slid down her cheek.

Really? Are we really going to go down this lane again?

I stared at her for a long moment, my face blank.

Once, a long time ago, I might have fell for this silly act of hers. God, I was so foolish.

Even though I didn’t have all my memories, one thing was clear as day—I couldn’t stand her anymore.

Every word felt rehearsed. Every tear looked fake. Just crocodile tears.

If it weren’t for my mother insisting I stay married to her for now, Leila wouldn’t even be here.

Because she wasn’t who I loved.

Rosette was.

Rosette had always been.

And no matter what Leila or my mother said, I’d get her back.

I’d make her forgive me for the mistakes I couldn’t remember. I’d make her understand I wasn’t myself back then. That I’d lost my memories.

She’d feel bad. She’d come back. She’d have to.

Whether she had a family now or not.

Because she was mine. Always mine.

“Blake,” Leila called, her voice breaking again, drawing me back.

I was still staring at my phone, thumb hovering over redial again.

Suddenly, she sniffled, wiping her tears quickly. Her entire face changed as if she flipped a switch.

Her soft, desperate look hardened into fury.

“You’re unbelievable,” she snapped.

I looked up slightly, finally meeting her glare.

“How could you just stand there while I cried?” Her voice rose, trembling with anger. “I’ve been patient, understanding, and you can’t even look at me when I’m crying?”

Her voice cracked, but this time not from fake sorrow but anger.

She stomped closer, standing right in front of me. “I hate her. And I hate that you’re maltreating me for some whore who left you!”

“Hey,” I finally spoke, quiet but firm, “get out.”