Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The dining room erupted into chaos the moment Ambelyn's footsteps could no longer be heard in the house anymore.

Thomas was frozen still at the head of the table, staring blankly at where the divorce papers had been laid on, only moments ago.

His face had gone from pale to crimson, a vein pulsing visibly at his temple.

"That ungrateful—" He didn't finish the sentence, he was going to say. Instead, he swept his arm across the table, sending china and crystal crashing to the floor, shattering into little pieces that got everywhere.

 

"Thomas!" Eleanor's voice was filled with alarm, as she flinched from the sudden noise, her hands on her chest as she snapped angrily at him. 

"Control yourself!"

But control was the last thing Thomas possessed at that moment, this wasn't meant to happen at all. Amberlyn did not get to call the shots in this marriage, he did. 

Five years. Five years of tolerating that woman's presence, of enduring the shame of her tainted past, of watching her moon over a sickly child who brought nothing but embarrassment to the family name. A son that she swore heaven and earth was his. And now she dared to humiliate him? In front of his mother? In front of Veronica?

"She doesn't get to do this," he snarled, grabbing his wine glass and hurling it against the wall where it exploded in a spray of red liquid that looked disturbingly like blood, sending the maids cowering for cover to avoid being hit by the flying shards. 

"She doesn't get to embarrass me in my own family's home. I'm the one who calls the shots here. I decide when this marriage ends, not her!"

"Darling, please—" Veronica started, reaching for his arm, but he shook her off roughly.

"Don't." The word came out as a growl, as he raised his hand in anger, shaking his head. 

"Just don't."

Veronica's face tightened, her own composure cracking slightly. This wasn't how tonight was supposed to go, sh ehad lived for this moment, she had been dropping hints, stylishly asking him when he would divorce her but he had always promised her later within 5 years that they have been together, but he never took any actions towards it. 

With Ambelyn finally out of the picture, she was supposed to step seamlessly into the role of Mrs. Thomas Blackwood.

Lucas would be recognized as the true heir. Everything she had worked for over the past three years would finally come to fruition.

Instead, Thomas was raging about his ex-wife like a man possessed, and Veronica could feel her carefully laid plans beginning to unravel.

"Thomas," she said more firmly, trying to gain control of the situation and pull him back to order.

 "she's gone. Isn't that what you wanted? What we all wanted?"

"I wanted her gone on my terms!" He kicked over a chair, the crash echoing through the dining room. 

"I wanted her to leave broken and grateful for whatever scraps I deigned to throw her way. Not—not this. Not her walking out with her head held high like she'd won something."

Eleanor had recovered her composure, though her hands trembled slightly as she dabbed at the wine stains on the tablecloth.

 "We need to think strategically here. If she makes good on her threats to go to the press—"

"She won't." Thomas was already moving toward the door, his jaw set with grim determination, focused like he already had a plan in mind to deal with situations exactly like this. 

"Because I'm going to bring her back here and make her understand exactly what happens when she defies me."

He stormed out of the dining room, his expensive Italian shoes crunching over broken glass. 

Behind him, Veronica and Eleanor exchanged worried glances while Lucas, mercifully oblivious to the adult tensions, continued eating his dessert, without a bother.

Thomas burst through the front door into the rain-soaked night. 

The storm had gotten heavier, soaking him completely within seconds, but he paid little attention to that.

His eyes scanned the circular driveway, searching for Ambelyn's familiar figure.

Nothing. The driveway was empty save for the parked cars—his Mercedes, Veronica's sedan, his mother's vintage Bentley. And there, tucked against the side of the garage, was Ambelyn's modest Honda.

She hadn't driven away. Her car keys were probably still in her purse along with those damned divorce papers.

Thomas pulled out his phone, water streaming down the screen as he fumbled for her contact, he had barely had any  reason to call her, so her contact was very down the list. 

The call connected, rang twice, then went to voicemail. He tried again. This time it rang only once before being declined.

She was declining his calls. His calls. After everything he had done for her—giving her the Blackwood name, tolerating her bastard child despite not being pure when he married her, also going as far ahead to providing a home and lifestyle she could never have achieved on her own—she had the audacity to decline his calls.

His fingers flew across the screen, typing out a message: *Answer your phone. Now.*

The reply came almost instantly: a single word. No.

Thomas's vision blurred with rage, when he saw this. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fist. He turned and stormed back toward the house, nearly colliding with Henderson who had appeared with an umbrella.

"Sir, perhaps you should come inside and—"

"Get Marcus," Thomas snapped, referring to his head of security. "Tell him to take one of the cars and find my wife. She's on foot, headed toward the main road. She can't have gotten far."

Henderson's expression remained professionally neutral, though something flickered in his eyes—concern, perhaps, or disapproval. "Sir, in this weather—"

"Did I ask for your opinion?" Thomas's voice rose to a shout. "Find her and bring her back. That's an order."

"Yes, sir." Henderson disappeared into the house , quietly, knowing better than to push his boss patience. He  had learned long ago not to argue with a Blackwood in a temper.