It's been thirteen days since Lila disappeared.
Thirteen days since I walked into the house and saw the contract signed, the ring laid like a gravestone on top of it. No note. No goodbye. Just a quiet, final message
She was done.
I thought I knew pain before.
Loss. Betrayal. Regret.
But this?
This is worse.
This is hell.
I haven't slept since the third day. I don't even bother lying in bed anymore. What's the point? Every room smells like her. Every shadow tricks me into thinking she's just around the corner. Every single morning I wake up forgetting — for half a second — that she's gone.
Then it hits me all over again.
She left me.
No one else knows that.
To the world, she's just… missing.
The press caught on within the first week.
"Lila Harper-Blackwell vanishes."
"Wife of billionaire Dominic Blackwell reportedly missing — last seen entering their home."
"Friends say the couple was in love."
"Dominic refuses to comment."
Because what could I say? That my wife vanished and I don't know where she went? That she walked out after pretending to forgive me for two months? That I broke the one person who made me believe I still had a soul?
No.
I kept quiet.
I hired investigators. Flew in tech experts. Had my private security sweep every angle of our surveillance, every transaction, every trace of her last movements. I even offered a private reward for information, buried behind legal walls so no one would know it came from me.
But she planned this too well.
She left no digital trail. No plane tickets in her name. No cards used. No calls made. The phone I gave her was found in a trash bin across town. Disconnected. Wiped.
She wanted to disappear.
And she succeeded.
But I can't live with that.
I stood in her old room today — the one she fled to after I threw the case.
The broken frame still hadn't been replaced. I didn't want it replaced. I wanted the reminder. I needed it. To remember how far I pushed her. How I lost her by my own hand.
I sat on the edge of the bed, the silence pressing in around me like water around a drowning man. My hands curled into fists.
Then — the tightness in my chest cracked.
The breath I'd been holding for days gave out.
And I cried.
For the first time in years.
I cried like something in me had broken open. My shoulders shook, and I couldn't stop it, couldn't fight it. I buried my face in my palms and let it come out, raw and heavy.
Because I didn't know where she was.
Because I didn't know if she was okay.
Because I didn't know if she ever planned to come back.
Because I knew I didn't deserve her forgiveness — but I still wanted it.
Because I missed her more than I ever thought humanly possible.
She wasn't just my wife.
She was Lila.
The fire I fell in love with.
The woman who made my empire feel less hollow.
The only person who looked at me like I was more than money and power and ice.
And I broke her.
I let her walk out thinking she meant less to me than my pride.
Now all I have is silence.
And a world that still thinks she's just lost.
But I know better.
She didn't vanish.
She ran.
From me.
And I have no idea how to find her.
But I swear — if there's still a chance…
If there's even a spark left in her heart for me…
I'll search every corner of the earth.
I'll bring her home.
Or I'll burn everything down trying.
It's been thirteen days since Lila disappeared.
Thirteen days since I walked into the house and saw the contract signed, the ring laid like a gravestone on top of it. No note. No goodbye. Just a quiet, final message.
She was done.
I thought I knew pain before.
Loss. Betrayal. Regret.
But this?
This is worse.
This is hell.
I haven't slept since the third day. I don't even bother lying in bed anymore. What's the point? Every room smells like her. Every shadow tricks me into thinking she's just around the corner. Every single morning I wake up forgetting — for half a second — that she's gone.
Then it hits me all over again.
She left me.
No one else knows that.
To the world, she's just… missing.
The press caught on within the first week.
"Lila Harper-Blackwell vanishes."
"Wife of billionaire Dominic Blackwell reportedly missing — last seen entering their home."
"Friends say the couple was in love."
"Dominic refuses to comment."
Because what could I say? That my wife vanished and I don't know where she went? That she walked out after pretending to forgive me for two months? That I broke the one person who made me believe I still had a soul?
No.
I kept quiet.
I hired investigators. Flew in tech experts. Had my private security sweep every angle of our surveillance, every transaction, every trace of her last movements. I even offered a private reward for information, buried behind legal walls so no one would know it came from me.
But she planned this too well.
She left no digital trail. No plane tickets in her name. No cards used. No calls made. The phone I gave her was found in a trash bin across town. Disconnected. Wiped.
She wanted to disappear.
And she succeeded.
But I can't live with that.
I stood in her old room today — the one she fled to after I threw the case.
The broken frame still hadn't been replaced. I didn't want it replaced. I wanted the reminder. I needed it. To remember how far I pushed her. How I lost her by my own hand.
I sat on the edge of the bed, the silence pressing in around me like water around a drowning man. My hands curled into fists.
Then — the tightness in my chest cracked.
The breath I'd been holding for days gave out.
And I cried.
For the first time in years.
I cried like something in me had broken open. My shoulders shook, and I couldn't stop it, couldn't fight it. I buried my face in my palms and let it come out, raw and heavy.
Because I didn't know where she was.
Because I didn't know if she was okay.
Because I didn't know if she ever planned to come back.
Because I knew I didn't deserve her forgiveness — but I still wanted it.
Because I missed her more than I ever thought humanly possible.
She wasn't just my wife.
She was Lila.
The fire I fell in love with.
The woman who made my empire feel less hollow.
The only person who looked at me like I was more than money and power and ice.
And I broke her.
I let her walk out thinking she meant less to me than my pride.
Now all I have is silence.
And a world that still thinks she's just lost.
But I know better.
She didn't vanish.
She ran.
From me.
And I have no idea how to find her.
But I swear — if there's still a chance…
If there's even a spark left in her heart for me…
I'll search every corner of the earth.
I'll bring her home.
Or I'll burn everything down trying.