3

David’s POV

"Goddammit!"

I snatched the half-empty bottle of Macallan off Samantha’s vanity and, with one violent jerk, hurled it at the mirror.

Shards of glass exploded in every direction. My reflection shattered into a thousand jagged pieces—just as broken as my heart felt when I saw the look in Samantha’s eyes at the top of the stairs. That gaze, which used to be filled with adoration, held nothing now but a void that chilled me to the bone.

"Samantha!" I roared, my voice echoing through the vast room that now felt like a tomb.

I trashed everything within reach. The bedside lamps, our framed wedding photos, even the crystal flower vase her mother had given us. I needed physical pain to drown out the gaping hole in my chest. But the more I destroyed, the more suffocated I felt. This room screamed her name, yet all that remained was the white dress she had ripped off and discarded on the garden floor.

Erica stood in the doorway. Her garish red dress looked even more revolting to me now.

"David, stop! You’re going to hurt yourself!" she screamed, trying to step closer.

I turned with lightning speed. In one blur of motion, I was on her. My hand clamped around her jaw, pinning her against the wall with enough force to turn her face crimson. I didn't care if I was hurting her. This woman had set my entire life on fire.

"Tell me the truth, Erica!" I hissed, my face inches from hers. "When? When did I ever touch you? Because as far as I remember, I wouldn’t even deign to breathe the same air as you!"

Erica began to sob, crocodile tears streaming down her cheeks. "In London, Dave... at that hotel. You were drunk, you pulled me into your room—"

"LIAR!" I screamed right in her face. My grip tightened. "I have never been drunk enough to lose my mind. I love your sister! I would never lay a finger on trash like you!"

Suddenly, Erica’s crying stopped. Slowly, her trembling lips curled into a thin, chilling smile. The sobbing vanished, replaced by a low giggle that escalated into a cynical laugh echoing through the room. She looked at me with eyes that were suddenly sharp, predatory, and triumphant.

"You really are a great actor, David," Erica said, her voice now calm and cutting like a blade. She wasn't afraid anymore. "Stop acting so holy. Did you forget how you flirted with me at the hotel bar that night? Forgot how you looked at me like I was the escape you needed from that boring wife of yours?"

"Shut your mouth!"

"Why? Scared to admit you actually enjoyed it?" Erica pressed her palm against my chest, giving me a provocative stare. "Don't cry over Samantha, Dave. She’s gone. Besides, she isn’t as great as you think. She’s just a dull woman who got lucky with you. I can take her place. I can give you what she can’t. I’m carrying your child, remember?"

My hand flew up, the muscles in my arm taut with rage. I wanted nothing more than to land a devastating slap across her conniving face. I wanted to erase that smug smile. But just before my hand connected, I saw my reflection in a shard of glass.

If I hit her, I’d only be proving I was the monster she claimed I was.

I released my grip roughly, sending her sprawling to the floor. "You are nothing to Samantha. You’re just a parasite trying to steal the sunlight."

Erica straightened her hair as she rose slowly, her eyes cold. "Think carefully, David. If you ignore me, if you try to toss me or this baby aside... I’ll make sure the whole world knows. I’ll destroy your career, your company, and that 'genius' reputation you’re so proud of. You’ll be ruined, and you’ll have no one left but me."

Her words hit me like a physical blow to the gut. I hesitated. Not because I was afraid of ruin, but because I knew how powerful the media would be if Erica started spinning these lies. If I lost everything now, I wouldn’t have the resources to find Samantha. I was trapped between my pride and the bitter reality that this snake held the kill-switch to my career.

Without another word, I turned and stormed out, leaving Erica standing there with her winning smile. I needed air.

---

I marched toward my private study downstairs. Noah, my assistant and most trusted confidant, was already waiting, his face just as tense as mine.

"Noah!" I thundered.

"I’m here, sir."

"I don't care about the methods. Use the entire corporate IT team. Hack every satellite, every street CCTV in Beverly Hills, the LAX security systems, and every private airfield nearby," I spoke at breakneck speed, flicking on a row of monitors. "Samantha couldn't have gone far. She’s pregnant; she’ll be moving slowly."

Noah nodded quickly, his fingers dancing across the keyboard. The room filled with the rhythmic clatter of typing. "I’ve tracked her credit cards, sir. No activity since the last taxi transaction at the airport departure terminal."

"Check the passenger manifests! Look for aliases, fake passports, anything!" I commanded.

The minutes ticked by like a slow torture. I stood behind Noah, eyes burning as I scanned every screen showing grainy airport footage. Thousands of people passed by in various outfits.

"Sir, look at this," Noah zoomed in on a clip outside the ladies' room at the departure terminal. "Someone enters in a white dress... and ten minutes later, a woman in a black oversized hoodie and leggings exits with much shorter hair. Her face is covered by the hood, but the posture..."

"It’s Samantha," I whispered. My heart sank. She cut her hair. She really wanted to vanish from my life.

"She doesn't appear on any flight manifest, sir. It seems she’s using a highly classified identity or she left via an unmonitored land route," Noah reported.

"Keep looking! Check every corner of that bathroom! Make sure she’s safe!"

Noah paused, his fingers freezing. He received a message from his field team at the airport.

"Sir... the field team found something in the restroom where the woman suspected to be Mrs. Samantha changed," Noah’s voice was suddenly small, laced with hesitation.

"What? Speak!"

Noah cast a photo from his team onto the large screen. My heart stopped. On the dull ceramic floor, next to scattered clumps of blonde hair, was a dark, dried crimson stain.

A bloodstain.

I froze where I stood. All my strength seemed to drain away in an instant. The image of Samantha groaning in pain, alone in an airport bathroom while carrying our baby, hit me harder than anything ever had.

"Samantha, what happened, sweetheart..."

I gripped the edge of the desk until my knuckles turned white. An overwhelming wave of guilt began to suffocate me. I closed my eyes, and all I could see was Samantha’s deathly pale face, struggling alone in the dark while I was stuck here with Erica.

"Noah," I said, my voice now cold and lethal. "Get the private jet ready. We are going to scour every city, every hospital, and every clinic from here to the edge of the continent. If anything happens to Samantha and my baby..." I trailed off, staring at the bloodstain on the screen with pure, unadulterated hatred. "...I will personally make sure Erica and anyone else involved begs for death."