I stood in the middle of the airport, her figure disappearing past the gates, and for a moment, my legs wanted to move, to chase after her. But pride rooted me in place. Audrey would come back. She always did. Her love for me wasn't love at all—it was an obsession, a sickness she couldn't cure. She'd never walk away for good.
Back at the villa, the silence was unbearable. The rooms echoed with absence, the faint trace of her perfume lingering on the sheets. I lay on the bed, eyes wide open, tossing and turning until frustration burned through me.
Why couldn't I sleep? I never had this problem before. Then her voice slipped back into my mind, uninvited but clear. "This will help you breathe easier. You're going to get a good night's sleep." The way she used to say it when she pressed that ridiculous incense stick into my hand.
I sat up, jaw tight. "Ms. Lilibet," I called sharply. The housekeeper hurried in. "Where's the incense Mrs. Gillian uses for me to sleep?"
She wrung her hands. "I'm sorry, sir. Mrs. Gillian prepared it herself… and I noticed all the essential oils are gone."
I laughed under my breath, though it sounded more like a curse. "So that's your game, Audrey? Deprive me of sleep just to make me come crawling? You think I'll break first?" I sank back into the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Three days," I muttered. "You'll be back within three days."
But the night stretched endlessly, and sleep never came. By dawn, I was already at the office, a storm brewing behind my eyes.
"Coffee," I snapped, collapsing into my chair. Minutes later, Jason set a cup in front of me. I took a sip, then spat it out, fury rising. "What the hell is this? This is disgusting. What's wrong with this coffee?"
Jason paled. "I—I'll call Betty. She'll make a fresh cup."
As he scrambled away, I slammed the cup down so hard the porcelain cracked. Nothing tasted right. Nothing felt right. And still, against my will, I could hear her voice. "You'll sleep better now."
"I'm sorry, sir," Betty said nervously, hands twisting in front of her apron. "Miss Anderson didn't bring any coffee today, and no one knows where she used to get it from."
I froze. "What?" My voice sharpened like a blade. "Are you telling me Audrey was the one who usually brought me my coffee?"
Betty swallowed. "Yes, sir. She came to me once and said… well, she said you didn't want anything directly from her. She begged me to cover for her. 'Please,' she said, 'just give it to him and tell him it's from you. I don't want his disdain for me to taint it.' It was Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee—took me forever to track it down. She insisted you'd love it."
For a moment, my chest tightened in a way I refused to name. Then I slammed my palm on the desk. "You know nothing about my wife. Nothing. Get out."
The office door clicked shut, but I couldn't stop pacing. Audrey. Even here, even at work, I couldn't escape her shadow. That woman—she was everywhere. My sleep. My food. My coffee. My life.
"You're a control freak, Audrey," I muttered to the empty room. "You've dominated every damn corner of my life."
But the thought twisted back on me like a knife. No—she thinks I can't live without her. The truth? She won't survive without me.
I snatched my jacket off the chair, intent on leaving, when my phone rang. Rosemary. I answered with a clipped, "What?"
"She suspended me!" she cried. "Audrey went to my school and got me suspended! You have to fix this, Jer. Punish her. Drag her back here and make her undo it—"
"I'm busy," I cut her off, my tone cold. "Call Mother to deal with your mess." Before she could throw one of her tantrums, I ended the call and shoved the phone back into my pocket.
I stopped dead in the hallway when their chatter snagged on my name—voices ricocheting off the marble like a thousand small accusations.
"Did you guys hear the news from days ago about the Shepherd Anderson heiress returning home?" one of them whispered.
"Apparently, her net wealth is over $700.6 billion. Youngest richest in the whole world," another gaped.
"That's mind-blowing," a third breathed.
"And have you noticed Miss Anderson hasn't been in the office all day since yesterday? She's never been away this long," somebody else said.
My patience snaps. I wasn't paying them to gossip.
They all go quiet when they notice me standing there, breathing in the cool lobby air. "Mr. Gillian!" they blurt, voices shaking like leaves.
I look at them, one by one, and feel a laugh—too sharp to be amused—stuck behind my teeth. "You're not actually gullible enough to believe Audrey bribed her way into some fake heiress role, are you?" I bark. "Tell me—how much did she pay you to spread this nonsense? Huh? What?"
Ashley swallows and stammers, hands worrying the hem of her blue mini skirt. "Mr. Gillian, my husband works in El Salvador—he works with Anderson Tech. He said the heiress was actually in Andoria. She's been here for—" She stumbles over the number, eyes wide.
"Stop." My voice cuts through them like a blade. Their explanations crumble under my glare. I don't need to hear rumors; I don't want to hear explanations that make her look more powerful than she is. My jaw tightens. The idea that she could walk away with that kind of leverage is unacceptable.
"Enough. I don't need to listen to this." I breathe, letting the words land heavily. "You're all fired. Effective immediately."
They freeze—then panic blooms. I walk away before they can beg, before their faces can map the damage I've made. Fury burns hot and ugly in my chest, but it's not just anger. It's a bruise—something that aches because it could be true, and because she dared to make me feel the threat of it.