Chapter 2

Damian's POV

I didn't sleep a wink.

When dawn broke, I looked around the empty penthouse, only to realize with a jolt of terror that I had no idea where Elena would go.

With trembling hands, I dialed her mother's number.

Margaret Vance picked up. After hearing my voice, she only had one cold question: "Did she finally dump you, you ungrateful parasite?"

I gripped the phone, my face burning. "Margaret, please. Where is Elena?"

"Don't address me by my name as if we are family. It makes me sick," Margaret's voice was devoid of warmth. "My daughter doesn't need to report her whereabouts to a cheating bastard."

Click.

The line went dead.

I stared at the black screen. For the first time, this multi-million dollar penthouse felt terrifyingly hollow.

In the walk-in closet, Elena's old coat still hung.

On the vanity, her hand cream was half-used.

In the fridge, there were ingredients she had bought just two days ago to make my favorite dinner.

Her presence was everywhere, but she was gone.

I didn't have time to process the ache in my chest. I raced down to my car and sped toward the Sterling Group headquarters.

But the moment I walked through the lobby, my CFO met me with a ghost-white face.

"M-Mr. Sterling... we have a massive problem. The investment firm just sent over a foreclosure and restructuring mandate!"

"Let me see that!"

I snatched the document, my eyes tearing through the text.

There, stamped clearly at the bottom, was the seal of the proxy firm.

"All creditor rights transferred."

"Board veto power reassigned."

"Forensic audit initiated immediately."

Every single clause was a scalpel, slicing directly into Sterling Group's jugular.

I slammed the papers onto my desk, my eyes bloodshot. "Who authorized them to enter my building?!"

The CFO trembled. "It... it started six months ago. They used a highly confidential offshore proxy channel. The funds were so clean we couldn't trace them. We had no idea the actual client behind the proxy was Mrs. Sterling..."

Six months ago.

Again, six months ago!

My mind flashed back to the garage last night, to Elena's utterly detached face.

She wasn't bluffing. Step by step, she had personally woven the noose around my neck.

I grabbed the desk phone and dialed the managing partner of the investment firm.

He picked up quickly, but his tone lacked any of his usual warmth. "Mr. Sterling, the contract is clear. We are simply following standard legal procedures."

"You went behind my back and conspired with Elena?!"

"Let's not use such ugly words, Mr. Sterling. The debt transfer was entirely legal. When you signed that VC debt agreement, it was your own greed that drove you. No one forced your hand."

"But she's my wife!!" I screamed, on the verge of a breakdown.

The man let out a dry chuckle. "Then you should probably know better than anyone just how many of your dirty secrets your brilliant wife is holding."

The line went dead.

I collapsed into my chair, paralyzed.

Outside my glass office, I could hear the hushed whispers of my employees.

I looked up. The staff who used to bow and scrape to me were now scattering like I was a leper. Some were even looking at me with blatant amusement.

I had been stripped of my power.

In the very company I took pride in, I had become a useless joke waiting to be kicked out.

I grabbed my keys and ran out of the building like a headless chicken.

I went to the florist Elena always visited. The clerk said she hadn't been there in three months.

I went to her favorite cafe. The waiter checked the system and said her card hadn't been swiped there in half a year.

I even drove down to the Columbia Business School campus, to the little diner where we used to share a single bowl of cheap ramen when we first started the company. But the staff had changed, and nobody recognized me.

New York was massive, and I realized with a wave of despair that I had no idea where she actually spent her time.

I knew nothing about her soul.

By evening, I dragged myself back to the penthouse.

The foyer was pitch black.

My hand hovered over the light switch, freezing for a long time.

In the past, no matter how late I got home, Elena would always leave a lamp on and keep a warm bowl of soup waiting on the table.

Back then, I found her annoying. I thought of her as a boring housewife whose questions only ruined my mood.

But now, the living room was as dark as a tomb.

I flipped the switch. The blinding light flooded the room, making my eyes sting.

Like a madman, I began to tear the place apart.

Drawers, bookshelves, nightstands... I threw everything onto the floor, desperate to find a single clue, an address, a new phone number.

Finally, in the deepest drawer of the study, I found a worn, dark-leather journal.

My hands shook as I opened the first page. The date was exactly six months ago.

"Today, I checked the accounts and found he transferred another $30,000 to Serena. He labeled it 'medical advancement.' He was careful, but I saw it instantly."

My fingers went numb.

Next page.

"He did something highly unusual tonight. He brought home my favorite red velvet cupcakes. I asked him where he was this afternoon, and he said he was in board meetings. When he lies, he can't look me in the eye. And to think, I used to believe he was just tired."

Another page.

"The bank called to remind me about the outstanding mortgage on my mother's townhouse. When I risked that house to save Sterling, he knelt in the rain and swore he'd remember it forever. Today, he used Sterling's cash to lease a luxury penthouse overlooking the Hudson for Serena."

Each page felt like a physical slap to my face.

There were no hysterical rants in her diary.

Just cold dates, exact dollar amounts, locations, and my pathetic, self-satisfied lies.

Every excuse I thought was foolproof had been recorded by her like she was watching a clown perform.

"Today, he came home with a medical report, crying that Serena was dying. I stared at the paper and suddenly remembered my own doctor reminded me last week that I needed a chest scan. Damian forgot. He forgot entirely."

"I have decided to play along. I will pretend to be sick."

My breath hitched, cold sweat soaking through my shirt.

I kept flipping, my hands trembling so violently I could barely hold the book.

"If he has even a shred of love left for me, he will notice that the medication bottles I bought don't match my alleged symptoms."

"If he asks my doctor even once, he will know my oxygen levels are dropping."

"If he just looks at the medical report on my nightstand, he will see the word: Cancer."

"But he won't. He didn't even look."

With a sharp gasp, I clutched the diary to my chest, my knuckles white as the paper crumpled under my grip.

During those six months, it wasn't like I hadn't entered our bedroom.

But every time I did, I was too busy texting Serena!

I had seen that medical report on the nightstand.

I had simply ignored it, assuming it was just another one of Elena's pathetic ploys to get my attention!

Just as the tidal wave of regret threatened to drown me, the phone in my pocket buzzed.

Serena flashed on the screen.

I stared at the name for a long time before numbly pressing answer.

"Damian~ why didn't you come see me today?" Serena's voice was sweet and whiny, dripping with her usual fragile helplessness. "The doctor said I can't have any stress. I can't be left alone. You promised me..."

Yesterday, I would have dropped everything and rushed to her.

But now, I stared at the very last line of Elena's diary.

The date was just three days ago.

"He's leaving again to be with Serena. I didn't stop him. I am giving him one last chance."

My throat felt like it was filled with sand.

On the other end, Serena kept coaxing. "Damian? Are you there? My chest feels so tight..."

"If your chest is tight, hire a nurse."

My voice was raspy, carrying a chilling coldness that startled even myself.

Serena froze. "Damian? What... what did you say?"

I didn't give her a chance to explain. I hung up and immediately blocked her number.

The penthouse fell back into dead silence.

I stared at the leather journal on the desk.

I finally saw the last chance Elena had given me.

It wasn't the debt agreement in the garage.

It wasn't her quiet nights.

She had laid my salvation right on the nightstand I passed every single day, right within my reach.

And I had chosen never to look down.