Chapter 2

2.

I didn't go to my parents' house or to any of my friends. I knew Damian's possessiveness all too well; he'd check those places first.

I went to an apartment in Brooklyn I had rented weeks ago. It wasn't big, and it was a bit worn down, but the windows let in beautiful light.

I got a new phone number and snapped my old SIM card in half, tossing it into a dumpster on the street. After doing all that, I collapsed onto the bed like a puppet with its strings cut.

There were no hysterics, no sobbing. Just an empty, unprecedented calm.

It was over. It was finally over.

Meanwhile, in a mansion in Manhattan, Damian yanked his tie loose and threw himself onto the leather sofa.

He assumed I would do what I always did: run crying to my parents and wait for him to come and coax me back. He even had his speech prepared.

He'd give me the cold shoulder for two days to teach me a lesson, then buy me a gift, say a few sweet things, and it would all be over.

He picked up his phone to call his assistant and track my location, but his finger hovered over the screen, and he put it back down.

He couldn't keep spoiling me. This time, she had to figure it out on her own and come back to apologize.

He closed his eyes, but all he could see was the look in my eyes as I left―as calm as still water. No love, no hate. Nothing.

A strange sense of panic pricked at his heart like a thousand tiny needles.

He shot up and grabbed his phone, dialing my number. A robotic voice answered: "The number you have dialed has been disconnected."

He froze. Disconnected? She would never be out of reach for him. No matter how bad the fight, she always answered his calls.

Damian’s heart sank. He immediately called my parents, his tone still arrogant, as if he were the one who had been wronged. "Is Elena with you?"

"No, Damian. Did you two have another fight?" my mother asked, her voice filled with worry.

"No," Damian said stiffly and hung up.

Not there. His frustration grew, and he started calling my friends one by one. The answer was always the same: "No."

An hour later, Damian had called everyone he could think of. No one knew where I was.

It was like I had been a stone dropped into the Hudson River, disappearing without even a ripple.

For the first time, he felt things slipping out of his control.

Just then, his phone chimed with a new email. The sender was his personal lawyer.

The subject line read: [Regarding the Divorce Agreement Proposed by Ms. Elena Vance]

Damian’s pupils contracted violently. His hand trembled as he opened the email. Attached was a scanned copy of the divorce agreement. The signature in the wife's section was clear and sharp.

Elena Vance.

The handwriting showed no hesitation, no tremor. It was as cool as if she were signing a business contract.

The lawyer had written in the email: "Mr. Thorne, Ms. Vance has sent the original documents to my firm and has authorized me to handle all proceedings. If you have no objections, please sign as soon as possible."

Crash!

The expensive phone slammed against the wall, shattering into pieces.

"Playing games with me… Elena, you’ve really grown a spine!"

His chest heaved, his eyes burning with a furious, humiliated rage.

He refused to believe I actually wanted a divorce. This had to be a new trick to get his attention! An extreme measure to force him to cut ties with Lily!

Fine. Just fine. Let's see how long you can last!

His face was dark as he buzzed his assistant on the intercom, his voice cold as ice. "Find her! Use every resource you have. Find Elena for me!"

But just as he hung up, ready to go look for me himself, another call came in.

The caller ID read―Lily.

He answered with a frown. Lily's weak, tearful voice came through the phone immediately.

"Damian… you have to come quick… I'm at a club in the Meatpacking District, and some guys are harassing me…"