Chapter 5 

#Rhett

The heavy oak door of my study shut out the rest of the mansion, restoring the quiet, predictable order I preferred. I walked over to the crystal decanter on the side table, poured two fingers of scotch, and took a slow sip. Outside, the rain lashed violently against the glass, and the wind rattled the window frames, but inside, the fire burned steady and warm.

I sat down behind my mahogany desk, pulling a stack of hospitality acquisition reports toward me. Aveline had been completely out of line tonight. Pushing her way down the stairs, waving that ridiculous, folded piece of clinic paper, and claiming she only had six months left to live—it was purely an act. I knew my wife. She was quiet, predictable, and had always been entirely compliant. But lately, she had been growing desperate for my attention. Fabricating a terminal illness just because Celine was moving back into the house was childish, even for her.

She was just throwing a tantrum. A massive, high-society tantrum because her pride was temporarily wounded. She would go up to the master bedroom, lock herself in for a night to give me the silent treatment, and by tomorrow afternoon, she would come back down. She always did.

I turned a page of the corporate report, reviewing the profit margins for our new resort chain. The truth was, I still loved Aveline. She was my wife, after all. She kept this mansion running flawlessly, she never caused public scandals, and she looked perfectly elegant on my arm at charity galas. I fully intended to keep her as Mrs. Calloway. Once she calmed down and realized she was being completely irrational, I was even planning to buy her a new diamond necklace from the jeweler downtown. I would offer her a brief, proper apology for my sharp tone tonight, tell her I was just stressed from the empire’s quarterly numbers, and everything would go back to normal.

She just needed to see the bigger picture. My mother had been putting immense pressure on me for years to secure the family lineage, and Mother was right. A hospitality and food empire of our scale required a direct, biological male heir to inherit the throne. We had waited eight years for Aveline to conceive, and she couldn't deliver. We had resorted to adopting Lyra as an infant just to have a child in the house, but a daughter couldn't carry the Calloway name into the next generation.

Celine being pregnant with a boy solved everything. Mother had been absolutely thrilled when she called me about the scan results this afternoon, praising me for finally taking charge of the family’s future. If Mother was happy, then I knew I had made the right choice.

And really, when Aveline sat down and thought about it logically, she would see that I was actually doing her a massive favor. She had been complaining about being tired and coughing for months, probably just to get out of attending my corporate dinners. By bringing Celine in to handle the heavy maternal duties and give me my son, Aveline wouldn't have to stress herself anymore. She could just relax, enjoy her luxury lifestyle, and remain the respected matriarch of the mansion. Celine would do the hard work, and Aveline could just rest. I was protecting her health by relieving her of her duties.

It was a perfect, flawless compromise. Everyone won.

I set my glass down on the desk, the ice clinking softly against the crystal. I checked my gold watch. It was past midnight. The house had gone completely still. Celine and Lyra had gone upstairs to the east wing hours ago, leaving the ground floor empty. I decided it was time to head up to the master bedroom, pour Aveline a glass of wine, and lay out the terms of our new arrangement. She would be waiting in bed, probably looking a bit sullen, but she would be ready to listen to reason.

I walked out of the study and closed the door behind me. The grand foyer was dark, illuminated only by the occasional flash of lightning through the high arched windows. As I walked toward the grand staircase, I noticed the white piece of paper she had dropped earlier still sitting neglected on the cold marble floor.

I didn't bother to pick it up. I casually kicked it aside with the toe of my leather shoe, letting it slide into the shadows under a console table. I wasn't going to indulge her little attention-seeking script tonight. She would tell me what it said when she was ready to apologize for making a scene.

I walked quickly up the grand staircase, my leather shoes clicking loudly against the marble. She was probably upstairs right now, waiting for me to come beg for forgiveness. Well, I wasn't going to beg, but I would tell her she could keep her title as head of the household. She just had to accept Celine.

I reached the top landing and walked down the long, carpeted hallway toward the master bedroom. I reached out, grabbing the brass handle. I expected it to be locked, she loved locking me out when she was angry but to my surprise, the handle turned smoothly.

The door swung open.

The master bedroom was pitch-black and freezing. A blast of icy air hit me square in the face, carrying the scent of heavy rain and wet earth. I frowned, reaching out to flip the light switch on the wall.

The massive crystal chandelier flooded the room with brilliant, blinding light.

The space was entirely empty. The grand king-sized bed was perfectly made, the silk duvet pulled tight across the mattress without a single wrinkle. The sheets hadn't been touched. I walked further into the room, my eyes scanning the pristine space. The French doors leading out to the balcony were wide open, banging violently against the exterior wall as the wind howled through the opening.

"Aveline?" I called out, my voice sounding thin and hollow against the high ceilings.

No response.

I walked over to the balcony doors, fighting against the heavy wind to pull them shut, locking the latch securely. Had she gone to sleep in one of the guest rooms down the hall just to make a point? No, she wouldn't do that. She knew how much I hated separate bedrooms.

*She'll come back,* I forced myself to think, my jaw clenching as I turned back toward the center of the room. *She’s just hiding out in the library or the conservatory to make me look for her.*

I walked toward the master closet to see if she had taken anything, but as I passed the glass vanity table, I froze dead in my tracks.

My breath caught completely in my throat.

Spread across the polished glass top, arranged in a stark, deliberate pile under the bright lights, was millions of dollars worth of jewelry. The diamond tennis bracelet I had bought her for our fifth anniversary. The rare pearl brooch I had forced her to wear to my mother’s birthday gala. The emerald earrings, the platinum necklaces, every single piece of luxury I had ever gifted her to showcase my wealth to my corporate rivals—they were all there.

And right in the dead center of the pile, sitting side by side like a silent, devastating mockery, were her heavy platinum wedding band and the massive diamond engagement ring I had placed on her finger eight years ago.

They were left completely bare on the glass, stripped away without a single care.

My heart took a sudden, terrifying plunge into my stomach. My hands began to shake as I stepped closer to the vanity, staring down at the naked metal rings. Aveline never took her wedding ring off. Never. In eight years of marriage, through every argument, every cold silence, and every holiday, that ring had remained firmly on her finger. Seeing it abandoned here, discarded alongside every luxury I had used to trap her, felt like a physical strike to my chest.

A massive, terrifying crack split through my absolute certainty.

"Aveline!" I shouted, turning around violently and sprinting out of the bedroom.

I tore down the hallway, throwing open the doors to the guest rooms one by one. Empty. Empty. Empty. The silence of the mansion was suddenly deafening, suffocating me as I ran back down the grand staircase. I checked the parlor, the dining hall, the kitchen. Nothing.

"Where is she?" I growled, my voice cracking with a sudden, wild panic I couldn't control.

I rushed toward the heavy side exit door near the back service staircase. The lock was undone. I pushed the door open, stepping out into the blinding, freezing downpour. The rain soaked through my tailored suit within seconds, but I didn't care. I ran across the wet, slick cobblestones toward the detached garage, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped animal.

I slammed my palm against the security scanner, the heavy garage doors rolling open with a slow, mechanical groan. The bright fluorescent lights flickered on, illuminating my fleet of luxury sports cars and custom SUVs.

I scanned the rows of vehicles, my eyes rushing to the very end of the line.

The space was empty. Her modest, five-year-old sedan—the cheap, ordinary car she had refused to let me sell because it was the only thing she owned before our marriage—was completely gone.

She had actually left. She had stripped off my rings, abandoned my wealth, and driven out into the middle of a historic, deadly rainstorm with absolutely nothing but the clothes on her back.

*She'll come back,* my brain screamed, a desperate, frantic mantra repeating over and over as I stood in the middle of the freezing garage, the rain splashing against my face. *She has to come back. She has no money. She has no family. She can't survive out there without me. She always comes back.*

I pulled my smartphone from my pocket, my fingers slick with rainwater as I frantically dialed her number.

*“The number you have dialed is currently unavailable or outside the coverage area. Please try again later.”*

I slammed my fist against the hood of my sports car, a raw, furious scream tearing out of my throat, swallowed instantly by the roaring thunder above.