Chapter 6
I pulled the SIM card from my phone, my fingers steady despite the storm raging inside me.
Without hesitation, I tossed it into the airport trash can. Then, without looking back, I boarded the plane.
On the other side of the world, Atlas stood atop a secluded mountain estate, watching the sun dip below the horizon.
Beside him, Ivy smiled, her delicate fingers adjusting a loose strand of her hair.
Just as Atlas reached out to fix it for her, his phone rang. Annoyed, he pulled it out, his brows furrowing at the unfamiliar number. “Mr. Whitmore, your wife… she’s gone.”
His hand stilled midair. The warm glow of the sunset cast long shadows, but the sudden chill in his veins made him feel as if the temperature had dropped several degrees.
“Gone?” His voice was sharp, controlled. “What do you mean?”
The person on the other end hesitated, then spoke with clear apprehension.
“The nurses said she left in the middle of the night. And she left a document behind… You should see it for yourself.”
Atlas’s grip on his phone tightened. “What document?”
A pause—“a divorce agreement.”
The words landed like a physical blow. His chest constricted, his heartbeat a slow, forceful thud against his ribs.
He had to have misheard. Or maybe this was some kind of joke. Celeste wouldn’t do this.
Even if she was angry, even if she refused to apologize, she wouldn’t take things this far.
Beside him, Ivy’s expression flickered with something unreadable–something sharp and dangerous–but it disappeared in an instant.
She reached for his sleeve, her voice soft with concern.
“Celeste… did something happen to her?” she asked, tilting her head just slightly, feigning innocence. “Let me come with you, Atlas. Maybe there’s something I can do to help.”
Atlas barely acknowledged her, nodding once before turning on his heel and striding down the mountain path.
A deep scowl had settled onto his face, his usual controlled composure fraying at the edges.
Ivy hurried after him, her delicate fingers brushing against his chest in a reassuring touch.
“Don’t worry,” she murmured. “I’m sure Celeste is fine.”
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The moment her hands made contact, irritation flared in Atlas’s chest. His patience was already worn thin, and Ivy’s touch only fueled his frustration.
With a sharp frown, he brushed her hands away.
“Enough,” he muttered.
The car ride to the hospital was silent. Ivy stared at him, unsettled. He had never rejected her touch before.
Her nails dug into her palm as she turned her attention to her phone, sending a quick text.
The reply came instantly. “Don’t worry. It’s been handled.”
Inside the VIP hospital suite, the tension was suffocating.
The hospital director sat rigidly in his chair, his forehead damp with nervous sweat.
It wasn’t every day that a hospital lost a patient–let alone the wife of Atlas Whitmore.
The moment the door swung open, the atmosphere dropped several degrees.
Atlas stepped in, his presence casting a heavy weight over the room.
The director stood abruptly, wringing his hands. “Mr. Whitmore-”
“Where is she?” Atlas’s voice was dangerously quiet, a sharp contrast to the fury simmering beneath his skin.
The director hesitated before shakily handing him a thin stack of papers.
Atlas’s gaze flickered down. The words stared back at him, stark and unforgiving.
*Divorce Agreement*
The crisp edges of the paper bit into his fingers as he flipped to the last page, and there it was—-Celeste’s signature.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. His fingers curled around the papers, crumpling the edges as a dark storm gathered in his expression.
His voice, when he spoke, was lethal. “Where is she?”
The hospital director swallowed hard.
“We… we don’t know. She left in the middle of the night. The nurses tried to stop her, but-”
“You lost her?” Atlas’s patience snapped, his voice a low growl.
A small, broken sob cut through the tense silence.
In the corner of the room, a young nurse wiped at her tear–streaked cheeks.
“I–It’s my fault, Mr. Whitmore,” she stammered. “I should have stopped her. She’s still so weak after the
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miscarriage-”
The air was sucked from the room. Atlas’s entire body went rigid.
His grip on the divorce papers tightened, the paper nearly crumpling in his fist. “What did you just say?”
The nurse hiccupped, still crying. “S–She lost the baby…”
