Chapter 28
ELIJAH
Goose bumps crawl across my skin like an army of ants, pulling me from a deep sleep. Something about the air feels off—still, but not peaceful. A silence that doesn’t sit right. And trust me, I know a thing or two about silence. Gabriel despises it.
I sit up, leaning against the headboard, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My body aches in ways it hasn’t for a very long time.
I reach over and flick on the bedside lamp. The sudden stream of light stings my eyes, but I let them adjust. Once the blur clears, I begin taking inventory—one sock lies abandoned by the nightstand. Clothes are still in a pile on the floor. So far, so good.
But then it hits me. Those are my clothes.
Alex’s lounge pants—the ones he was wearing last night—are nowhere in sight.
My chest tightens. I grab my phone. It’s nearly midnight.
“Alex?” I call out, my voice gritty, like sandpaper.
Sliding out of bed, I pull on my rumpled pants and pad barefoot across the bedroom. The ensuite is empty. No steam. No damp towels. No sign the shower was even touched.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise.
I move faster now, shuffling into the kitchen, spinning in a slow circle. The apartment’s open layout gives me a full 360-degree view of… an empty apartment.
Fuck!
My heart rate takes off like a rocket, anxiety building in my veins like building blocks—block after block, sharp and suffocating.
I speed dial Alex. He doesn’t answer.
I scan the room, searching for a note. Nothing.
I call again. Then text. Another. And another. Still nothing.
I don’t understand.
And yet… maybe I do.
The intensity of last night—the way he touched me, the hunger, the dominance—it wasn’t just passion. It was goodbye.
Those tears he shed against my back weren’t from joy or release.
They were grief.
He was already mourning the end of us… and I hadn’t even realized it.
The only thing that could have changed it—the one gesture that might have given me his forgiveness—I never gave him.
My divorce papers.