When Contracts Turn to Forbidden Kisses Chapter 59

Michael

My phone vibrated against my desk, the caller ID showing "Mrs. Hopkins." I answered quickly, stepping away from the financial reports I'd been organizing for Ethan.

"Mr. Davis," Mrs. Hopkins's usually composed voice sounded concerned. "I was just cleaning the apartment and found Mrs. Black's room empty."

I straightened immediately. "Empty? What do you mean empty?"

"Her clothes are gone, her medical books, those painting supplies she always kept on the desk—all gone." Mrs. Hopkins paused. "There are some documents on the coffee table I think Mr. Black should see. And sir, her wedding ring is sitting right on top of them."

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath. "I'll tell him right away. Don't touch anything."

I felt a knot forming in my stomach. Amelia's leaving would devastate Ethan, though he'd never admit it. 

I walked briskly to Ethan's office, where he was in the midst of a video conference with potential European investors. I knocked twice before entering, something I rarely did.

Ethan

I looked up, irritation flashing across my face at the interruption. "I'll need to call you back," I told the investors before ending the call. "This better be important."

"Mrs. Hopkins just called. Miss. Amelia's gone."

I kept my face impassive, but I could feel my knuckles whitening as I gripped the edge of my desk. "What do you mean, gone?"

"She's cleared out her room. Left some papers on the coffee table. And her wedding ring."

Without a word, I stood up, grabbed my suit jacket, and strode toward the door. "Cancel everything for the rest of the day."

The elevator ride to the parking garage felt interminable. I repeatedly checked my watch, my jaw clenched tight.

Once in the back seat of my Mercedes, I loosened my tie, a futile attempt to ease the tightness in my chest.

"Speed up," I ordered, my voice tight with restrained emotion. "Manhattan traffic is particularly hellish today."

"We're almost there, sir," Michael replied, navigating through a yellow light.

When we finally arrived at the Upper East Side apartment, I didn't wait for Michael to open my door. I was out of the car before it fully stopped, using my key to access the private elevator that led directly to the penthouse.

The apartment was silent when I entered, sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I walked straight to Amelia's room and pushed the door open.

The space that had been filled with her presence was now meticulously clean and hollow. The medical journals that had cluttered her nightstand were gone. The easel where she often painted late into the night had vanished. Even the faint scent of her perfume seemed to have evaporated from the air.

I stood in the center of the room, my eyes scanning every corner. The closet door was partially open, and I walked over to look inside. The designer dresses I'd bought her still hung there, untouched. She'd left them all behind, a clear message of what she thought of my gifts.

'Goddammit, Amelia.' I slammed the closet door shut with more force than necessary. The sound echoed through the empty room.

She actually did it... She's really gone.

I walked back to the living room, where the coffee table held the papers Mrs. Hopkins had mentioned. There, torn into pieces but carefully arranged, was our temporary marriage contract. Beside it lay George's signed agreement to dissolve the arrangement and a complete divorce agreement, already signed by Amelia. Her wedding ring sat atop the documents, the diamond catching the sunlight and scattering it across the table.

I picked up the ring, the platinum band still warm as if she'd just taken it off.

"Did she say anything to Mrs. Hopkins?" I asked, pocketing the ring. "Leave a message? Anything?"

"No, sir," Michael replied. "Mrs. Hopkins said she was gone when she arrived this morning."

"To my grandfather's," I finally said, turning abruptly and heading for the door.

In the car, I was unnaturally quiet, staring out the window, lost in thought. Did he make this decision because I sheltered Ashley?

When we arrived at the Black family mansion, I ordered Michael, "Terminate all cooperation with the Miller Group."

"Yes, sir."

I then walked purposefully toward my grandfather's room. Parker, the family's long-time butler, intercepted me in the hallway.

"Mr. Black," Parker said formally, "I'm afraid your grandfather is resting."

"Parker, I know he's not asleep. I just need five minutes with him." My tone was controlled but insistent.

Parker's expression remained impassive. "I'm sorry, sir. He specifically asked not to be disturbed. He said to tell you that if you and Mrs. Black couldn't develop feelings for each other after all this time together, perhaps separation is the best decision."

My jaw tightened. "Did he now?"

"He also mentioned that his blood pressure has been elevated today. The doctor prescribed new medication, and he needs to rest."

For a moment, I looked like I might push past Parker anyway, but then something in my expression shifted. "Fine," I said, turning away from the study door.

"Would you like me to prepare your old room, sir?" Parker asked.

"No need," I replied. "I won't be staying long."

Michael expected us to leave, but instead, I walked to the spacious living room and sat down on one of the leather sofas, my posture rigid.

"Sir, should we head back to the apartment?" Michael asked after a moment.

I shook my head. "You can go. I'll stay here tonight."

"Are you sure? I can—"

"Go home, Michael. I'll see you tomorrow."

Michael hesitated, then nodded and left. Through the mansion's window, he could see me still sitting in the same position, staring at the antique grandfather clock across the room.

I pulled the wedding ring from my pocket, turning it over in my hand.

As night fell, the mansion's lights switched off one by one, but the ring remained shining.

The clock ticked steadily, marking the passing hours as I sat motionless, contemplating my next move.